I have zero complaints. I have the opposite of complaints.
I have a bone-deep contentment that I didn’t know was possible, lying in a nest of sheets while a man who once terrified me feeds me chocolate and looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world worth seeing.
“I have to leave tomorrow,” he says quietly.
There it is. The thing we’ve been avoiding.
“I know.”
“But I’m coming back. After you’ve had time with Enzo. All three of us will be back.”
“That sounds ominous.”
I kiss him. Then I reach for the chocolate croissants.
“First, I need more pastries. I have to rebuild my strength before I face that particular emotional gauntlet.”
He laughs. Feeds me more croissants.
I want to freeze this moment. I want to tattoo it behind my eyes for the days when the world tries to make me forget I can be this happy, this fed, this thoroughly fucking seen.
Maybe that’s greedy. But I’ve always been greedy for him. For all of them. For every feral, hungry, impossible part of myself.
Somewhere between the chocolate and the champagne and the way he looks at me like I’m worth every complication, I start to believe that this impossible thing might actually work.
All of it.
All of them.
All of me.
Finally, impossibly whole.
Chapter Thirty-Six
ENZO
The deal takes three weeks to negotiate.
Three weeks of meetings in federal buildings that smell like floor wax and judgmental assholes. Three weeks of lawyers and prosecutors and people in suits asking me questions I don’t want to answer about things I’ve spent my whole life pretending didn’t happen.
Saul’s there for most of it. Not officially. He’s not supposed to be involved, but he shows up anyway. Sits in the back of conference rooms. Drives me to meetings when I’m too wrecked to drive myself.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him once. “Babysit me.”
“I’m not babysitting.” He hands me a coffee. Black, no sugar. He’s learned how I take it. “I’m invested.”
“In the case?”
“In you.” He holds my gaze. “You’re going to be part of her life. That makes you part of mine. So yeah, I’m invested.”
I’ve never had someone invest in me before. Not like this. Not without expecting something in return.
The deal, when it finally comes together, is better than I deserve. Full immunity for my testimony. Witness protection for life. New identity, new location, new everything. In exchange, I give them Sal. Every murder he ordered, every body I buried, every secret I’ve kept for twelve years.
The prosecutor, a woman named Lancaster with sharp eyes and zero patience for bullshit, lays it out in her office on a Tuesday afternoon.
“You understand what you’re agreeing to,” she says.
