72. Katie
Katie
You don’t get one without the other, Katie.
The words loop in my head as I stare at him. He’s right in front of me, close enough to touch. He looks like my Michael. He sounds like my Michael, but I know he’s not. He’s been lying to me since the moment I met him.
“You’ve killed people?” I ask quietly.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t pause or try to soften it, but his hands move at his sides.
He’s wants to reach for me, but he stops himself.
Everything in my head goes quiet as it all starts falling into place.
Every moment I ignored. Every piece I didn’t want to see.
The late-night calls. The way his voice changed with his men.
The security. The parties. The way people moved around him. This fucking house.
God. You are such an idiot, Katie.
“You got me to stop working at the bar,” I say, my hands trembling as I hold his gaze. “You moved me into your house.”
“Yes.”
I look up at him. He looks wrecked. His brows are pulled tight, and his whole body is locked like he’s holding himself in place. Like if he moves, he’ll touch me.
“And you pushed me to quit teaching.” My throat tightens, but I don’t stop. “You said you wanted more for me. Said I didn’t have to worry about anything anymore because you’d take care of me.”
“Yes.”
His jaw flexes, and his eyes shine in a way I’ve never seen before.
“I sold my house for you.”
He takes a step forward without thinking.
“Don’t,” I snap.
“Doll—“
“Shut the fuck up!” The words rip out of me, loud enough to echo, and he flinches.
The man who runs an entire criminal organization, the man who orders people around as if it’s nothing, and the man who kills just flinched because I raised my voice.
“You took everything,” I say, my voice breaking. “You took everything from me, and I didn’t even see it happening.”
“Katie, please.”
“You were supposed to love me.” My voice breaks. “Someone who loves me doesn’t do this.”
I try to go around him, but his arm comes around my waist, pulling me back.
“Let me go!” I hit his chest, hard, over and over, but it doesn’t move him.
He wraps his arms around me, holding me there. He’s not hurting me. He’s just not letting me leave.
“Please,” he says, his voice rough now. “Just listen to me.”
“I hate you,” I choke out.
The second the words leave me, he lets go. I stumble back, catching myself, and when I look up at him, he looks destroyed. He’s not angry or cold. He’s devastated.
“Katie,” he says. “I can’t let you leave the estate. If the wrong people find out—“ He swallows. “You won’t be safe.”
I stare at him, chest heaving.
“But I won’t force you to stay with me,” he adds. “Go back to our room. I’ll take one of the guest rooms.”
I stare at him, disbelief crashing over everything else.
“I’m a prisoner.”
He sinks into the chair. The fight’s gone out of him. I don’t wait. I walk out. I don’t look back or stop. I make it to the bedroom, shut the door, and the second it clicks—I collapse. The sobs tear out of me, like I’m mourning something that’s still standing on the other side of the wall.
I don’t know how long I stay on the floor, but eventually the sobs ease enough that I can breathe again, and I force myself up.
My legs feel unsteady as I make it to the bathroom, gripping the counter as I turn on the sink.
I splash cold water over my face again and again until my skin burns, and my breathing evens out just enough to think.
When I walk back into the bedroom, I realize. My phone isn’t here. It’s in Michael’s office. I dropped it when I tried to run and then Adam grabbed. The image sits in my mind—Michael, the gun, the way he held it to Sal’s head, the anger on his face.
Stop, Katie. Stop.
I go back to the door and open it slowly. I ease it open just enough to slip through without making noise. It doesn’t matter. The second I look up, I see him. Marco is sitting in a chair directly across from my room.
“Miss Katie,” he says respectfully, exactly the way he always has.
“I guess you’re my guard dog now.”
He presses his lips together, but he doesn’t correct me. “You should get some rest, Miss Katie.”
“Where’s Michael?”
“He’s not here right now.”
Of course he isn’t. He’s still out there finishing whatever I walked in on.
My stomach twists. “Is he going to kill Sal?”
Marco’s face changes for a split second before smoothing back out. “That’s not something I can discuss.”
Right.
“I’m thirsty,” I say, already stepping forward. “I’m going to the kitchen.”
I barely make it a step before he’s on his feet. “I can get it for you.”
I stop and turn back to him. “I can’t even get a drink in my own house?”
His head tilts slightly, and there’s something there that almost looks like sympathy. “I’ll walk with you.”
It’s not a question or suggestion.
I let out a breath through my nose, shaking my head. “Whatever.”
He walks a few feet behind me as we go down the stairs, close enough that I can hear every step he takes, but far enough that he doesn’t touch me. The house is quiet, and the only sound is the two of us moving through it.
In the kitchen, I take a glass from the cabinet, fill it with ice and water, watching it settle before I carry it to the table and sit down. My hands stay wrapped around it, but I don’t take a sip. I just sit there, staring, trying to catch up to everything that’s happened.
I was just here, in this same kitchen, at this same table, a few hours ago completely unaware of the shit-fest I was about to walk straight into. My grip tightens on the glass. Everything felt normal, and now none of it does.
“Miss Katie,” Marco says after a second, his voice careful. “I know he lied to you. I know what he does—what we do—isn’t exactly honorable, but don’t ever question whether he loves you.”
I swallow, my throat tight. “You have to say that. He’s your boss.”
“Actually,” he says, and there’s something firmer in his tone now, “I shouldn’t be saying it at all. If he knew I was having this conversation with you, it wouldn’t go well for me.”
That makes me look at him.
He holds my gaze. “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
That does it. My vision blurs fast. Tears fill my eyes before I can stop them. I press my lips together, biting down, trying to hold it together, but it doesn’t work. One slips free and another.
I look away, wiping at my face, but it’s too late.
“Everything okay in here?”
The voice cuts through everything.
Michael.