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“Lucia.”
“Mason.” I keep walking toward the exit, willing him to disappear. “Not now.”
“You look exhausted.” He falls into step beside me, his shoes tapping against the linoleum in an even rhythm. “When’s the last time you ate anything that didn’t come from a vending machine?”
“What do you want?”
He shrugs. “I want to help you.”
Mason Dellinger and I dated for eight months, so I know that he’s always been good at convincing himself he’s the hero of every story. He’s got a knack for being attentive and constantly available, and he says all the right things to make you believe he’s the safest option. Then he slowly convinces you that you’d be foolish to not follow his advice. It took me a year after we ended things to understand that safety and control are the same to him, and that he’s never quite accepted my choice to walk away.
I halt and turn to face him in the middle of the corridor, ignoring the nurses and orderlies flowing around us. “Help me with what?”
Mason arranges his expression into a careful mask of concern. “I know about Marco Santori. I know about the Benedetti compound, the engagement, all of it.” He holds up a hand to cut off my reply. “I’m not here to judge. I’m here because I’m worried about you.”
“You’re worried.” My voice comes out flat and hollow.
“I am.” He reaches into his coat and withdraws a folder thick with papers. “I’ve been investigating Santori for months. We’re building a case on his boss.” He opens the folder, exposing slightly grainy crime scene photos. “And Lucia, this is who you’re involved with. This is what he’ll turn you into.”
Despite every instinct screaming at me to look away, my eyes scan the photos. Marco’s at a warehouse entrance, his silhouette unmistakable. The poor quality of the pictures doesn’t hide his bloodstained hands or the bodies he stands over.
“This doesn’t prove anything.” My voice shakes, but I still manage to force the rest of my statement out through gritted teeth. “Photos without context are just images. Where did you get these, and what exactly are you trying to tell me?”
“He’s a killer, Lucia.” The way Mason’s tone gentles cuts deeper than a scalpel. “Look at the evidence. In the past two months, three men, all connected to Benedetti operations, have died. Each one has Santori’s fingerprints all over them…literally, in some cases. He’s a merciless executioner.”
The photos blur as I blink rapidly, forcing my vision to clear.
I open my mouth to defend him, then hold myself back. What can I say? That Marco’s different? That the man who taught sick children to fight and held me through nightmares couldn’t possibly be capable of this?
I’ve seen it. I watched him beat Tomas until the marble floors were slick and red. I saw him emerge from an interrogation with another man’s blood crusted beneath his nails. I know exactly what he’s capable of and have known since the beginning.
Still, I chose him. “I’m not asking you to break up with him.” Mason closes the folder and tucks it back into his coat. “I’m asking you to be careful. Is this really the life you want? Because Lucia, once you're in, you’re truly in. There’s no clean break and no walking away unscathed.”
His hand brushes a strand of hair from my face, and I flinch on pure reflex, pulling away.
“I still care about you, Lucia.” His voice softens. “That never stopped, no matter what happened between us. And if you ever need a way out or a safe harbor, I’m here.”
He leaves without waiting for my reply, disappearing into the flow of visitors and staff and suffering.
Marco’s face rises in my memory as I stand frozen in the corridor. But rather than the blood-covered version from the photos, I picture the man who looked at me like I was precious.
I think about Marco’s hands and how they stay gentle on my skin even after they’ve committed violence. How his voice, rough with emotion, whispers, “I love you,” in the dark. He regards me like I’m the only person keeping him tethered to this earth.
You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. The voice in my head sounds like my mother and contains every warning she ever gave me about getting too close to broken shards that could cut me. You can’t fix him. You can only drown with him.
As I take long strides to my car in the parking garage, the concrete echoes with my footsteps. By the time I reach for the handle, I’ve made a decision.
I’ll talk to Marco. As much as I’m ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, because I’ve come to know the real Marco, I can’t deny my desire for clarity. His usual way of skirting around difficult subjects won’t cut it. Not this time. I need to know whether he’s willing to build a life that doesn’t run on bloodshed, and whether I can live inside his world if he isn’t. If I can’t find a way to reconcile who he is with who I need him to be…
I can’t finish the thought.
Right on cue, my phone starts humming against the console. The screen lights up to display a text from an unsaved contact.
Your friend Jenna seems nice. Brunette, works the ER night shift on Tuesdays. It would be a shame if anything happened to her. Stay close to Marco, Dottoressa. It’s your only way to keep everyone alive.
My blood turns to ice. The phone slips from my fingers and bounces onto the passenger’s seat.
Marco’s world isn’t just putting me at risk anymore. Now I’m a danger to the people I love, to anyone who’s ever been kind to me, to everyone within reach.
