Page 127 of Shades of Grey & Gold

I heard him coming before I saw him; the tires were squealing around the corner and I was sitting on a curb hyperventilating, hugging myself. I’m not even sure he put the car in park before the door opened.

Gio pulled up behind him, and they both had guns drawn as they walked up to me, clearing the area around us.

It was just me in the alley, though. Me and the pain.

From then on, a pit formed in my stomach and stayed there thinking about the fact that the Russians still might try and take me again. I wouldn’t be worth anything now that he is dead, but the stark realization that someone might still come after me gave me a new appreciation for Gio and Rudi following me everywhere.

“You should go,” Becca says without looking up from her laptop.

Sophia and Maggie found Becca a job at one of the family’s shops doing some kind of administrative work so she could move here fast. She works from home most days but goes into one of the buildings on the east side a few times a week. They told her it was the least they could do to help give me some comfort.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’ve been staring at your phone for four minutes with that face.” She looks up. “Go. You love them. They love you. And you need to eat something that isn’t cereal.”

I don’t want to argue with her.

So, I go.

Chapter Forty-Six

Max

Theirhousesmellslikegarlic and something slow-cooked and that special warmth of a home that has been lived in for decades, full of love and memories.

It’s been over six weeks since I was here after the shooting, and I really didn’t want to come back.

Their mom opens the door before I knock and pulls me in by both hands. She holds me for amoment, and I let her.

Maggie is in the kitchen wearing an apron that says WORLD’S OKAYEST CHEF and arguing with Sophia about whether the pasta water is salty enough.

The argument stops when I step in.

They both look at me with the same expression—careful, surprised, warm, but trying not to make it a big deal—and then Sophia mumbles something that sounds like “finally” and Maggie swats at her.

I laugh, briefly, which surprises all of us.

Nico isn’t there. I don’t ask why.

We eat at the little kitchen table instead of the dining room and their mom puts way too much food in front of me. But I eat it. And she watches me with satisfaction.

Maggie tells us a story about a disastrous attempt to make tiramisu that devolved into another argument with Sophia about mascarpone. Sophia tells me about a fashion show she went to. They ask about school and I answer. We are all careful with each other, gentle in the way of people navigating the same absence from different angles.

It’s a good dinner. But I feel more empty than I have since the funeral.

Becauseheisn’t here. And he should be. He should be sitting at this table making Maggie crazy and stealing food off Sophia’s plate, and making his mom sit while he does the dishes and clears the table.

He should be hanging his arm off the back of my chair and making inappropriate comments in my ear whenever the conversation erupts without us.

The empty chair next to me feels like a black hole in the universe.

That is, until Nico walks in.

We hear him before we see him as he calls out from the foyer, “Hey, sorry I’m late, I was at the penthouse taking care of some documents and stuff that was left.”

He pauses as he walks into the kitchen; his hand freezes on his sleeve that he was rolling up seconds before he came in. He tries to smooth his shocked expression but fails miserably.

“Wow, uh, hey Max,” he says tentatively, like he might startle me, and makes his way to the stove to grab a plate. “Didn’t, uh, expect to see you here, uh, good to see you.”