Page 152 of Forged

“Because talking about Gabriel hurts,” Zara says. “Falco is easy to hate. A man who plants bombs is simple. A man that he fell in love with isn’t.”

I look out toward the windows, the rain still stitching itself across the glass. “I think Lars believes if he stops moving, he’ll have to feel all of it.”

“You’re probably right.”

I laugh. “You are not as comforting as people claim.”

Zara bumps my shoulder lightly. “I’m not here to give you pretty lies. I’m here to remind you that you and Lars are still in this together. Lars would raze half the city before he let anything happen to you. That man is hunting people down because he loves you so much that he doesn’t know where to put the fear. And you’re sitting here crying over him and Gabriel both because your heart is bigger than the situation allows. That doesn’t sound broken to me. It sounds unfinished.”

I take a deep breath. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Talk to your husband.”

Shaking my head, I say, “You make it sound so simple.”

“It isn’t simple,” she says. “But it is necessary. You don’t needto solve Gabriel tonight, or Falco, or whatever fresh hell Enzo is brewing in the war room. You need to tell Lars the truth. That you’re angry. That you’re grieving. And especially that you still love him.”

My eyes sting again, “He knows I love him.”

“Men like ours need to hear things they already know,” she says dryly. “They’re like puppies with treats when it comes to verbal affirmations.”

That makes me smile. She sees it and smiles too.

I reach for my coffee again. “Thank you for the pastries and the intervention.”

“Anytime.”

For a while we stay there together at the island, Zara tells me Enzo has become almost unbearable about making sure she’s eating enough and how much she rests, though her expression glows with affection while she complains. It feels good to laugh at the absurdity threaded through all this fear.

When she’s leaving to head back up to her penthouse, she turns to me.

“He chose you,” she says. “And he loves you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

The enginein my car has been off for nearly twenty minutes, but I haven’t moved.

I sit waiting, my hands resting loosely on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the building across the street. The Mason Grill glows in warm gold light, its polished windows reflecting the city in softened fragments. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t need to announce its exclusivity.

Tonight, it’s hosting a fundraising dinner for the Marchetti Foundation.

Which means they’re all here.

I told myself I came for practical reasons. Surveillance and protection. A precaution in case Falco decides to escalate again. A public event like this would be the perfect opportunity to finish what he started with Neomi’s car.

That’s the story I’ve been feeding myself since I parked.

It’s a lie.

The truth sits heavier in my chest, impossible to ignore no matter how many times I try to dress it up as strategy.

I can’t stay awayfrom them.

A month has passed since everything fell apart, and I’ve spent every day watching from a distance. After the emails were released, I’ve had to get new plates, stay at hotels under every name you could imagine, and I never stay anywhere long enough to be located. The emails she sent burned through whatever anonymity I had left. I move through the city like a phantom.

And still, I end up here.

My gaze drifts back to the entrance, where valets move in steady rhythm beneath the awning, opening doors and greeting guests. Conversations blend into the sounds of the street, heels clicking against the pavement, laughter slipping easily into the evening air. It all looks controlled, curated, and untouched by the kind of violence that the Syndicate orchestrates.

Then a familiar black SUV pulls to the curb. Everything inside me tenses, knowing who’s inside.