Page 230 of The Lies We Play

My stomach rolls.

Creed clears his throat. “But I swear we will protect you. Lang is good at it.”

Lang gives a small shrug, as if being excellent at preventing disaster is mildly inconvenient but not unexpected. He tells me the plan, “We will move you out of Florence on a private plane. The pilot is my cousin, who also owns a security company—his team can handle not only transportation but also your safety. He has an airstrip in upstate New York. From there, you will be brought into the city. You will stay in a secure location. As you know, you are already under surveillance protection, and you will have a larger team once you file the petition.”

“After the conservatorship is dissolved?”

“The team will continue looking after you until we can drag their asses to jail,” Creed says. “They tried to kill you. They’re embezzling money, and⁠—”

“Stop those murderous thoughts, Creed,” Fitz cuts in. “Livia, we need to know your decision. The last thing we want is to interrupt your life⁠—”

“Yes,” I say.

Everyone stills.

I look at each of them, then at Creed.

“Of course I’m going to fly to New York and fight those monsters.”

Creed’s face changes.

Barely.

A fracture in the restraint. A flash of relief so fast he probably thinks he has hidden it.

He hasn’t. I’m sure he forgot I have the catalog.

“Good,” Fitz says, softer now. “We will work out the details. Eleonora will come to you with instructions.” He inclines his head. “Livia, it has been a great honor to meet you in this format. I hope to meet you in person very soon.”

“Thank you, for helping us.”

He bows his head. A second later, he and Lang disappear from the screen.

Leaving Creed and me alone.

The silence after them is not empty.

It is full of everything we have not survived yet.

Creed’s kitchen remains behind him. His mug sits near his hand. He looks at me like he is afraid I might vanish if he blinks.

“I missed you so fucking much,” he says.

My body gives one small, helpless response.

Not a sob.

Not a breath.

Something between both.

“Creed.”

“Yeah?”

“Why did it take you so long?”

The question comes out quietly, which makes it worse. I wanted it to come out with dignity. With polish. With the emotional maturity of a woman who has gone to therapy, read the correct books, and occasionally remembered to drink water.