34. Veronica
34
VERONICA
I wake to an empty bed.
The sheets beside me are cold, which means Maxim has been gone all night again.
My fingers skim over the space he should occupy, the ghost of his presence lingering in the rumpled fabric.
A dull ache spreads in my chest, irrational but real. I should have told him last night about the pregnancy. I’ll do it now. If I can find him.
Is Vito Lombardi dead? Did it happen while I slept? I was up so long worrying that I crashed out in the end. Woke up just now. Alone.
I push the blankets off, slipping out of bed and pulling on the first sweatshirt I can find. The quiet hum of the mansion feels different today.
Is it possible that Maxim is dead? No, someone would have told me already.
Padding barefoot down the hallway, I listen for him, expecting to hear the faint click of his lighter or the low murmur of his voice on a call. But the place is silent.
A flicker of unease presses against my ribs, quickening my steps. When I reach the front entrance, the unease solidifies into something real.
The doors are wide open, letting in the crisp morning air. And outside, Maxim is standing by his car, loading a suitcase into the trunk.
My suitcase.
My stomach drops.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out sharp, cutting through the morning stillness like a blade.
Maxim doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pause. He doesn’t even turn around as he secures the latch on the trunk, his movements measured. The way he always is before something bad happens.
I step onto the stone driveway, the cool ground biting at my bare feet. “Maxim,” I press, coming up behind him. “What the hell are you doing?”
He exhales slowly before turning to face me, his expression unreadable. The morning light casts sharp shadows on his face, making him look impossibly distant.
“You need to leave,” he says simply.
The words knock the breath from my lungs. “Excuse me?”
“Vito made me an offer,” he says, shutting the trunk with a firm click. “You leave today. This time tomorrow we’re at war with the Italians. You need to be out of here before you get caught in the crossfire.”
I stagger back a step, disbelief slamming into me with the force of a freight train. “You agreed to send me away? Why?”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Veronica.” His voice is colder now, sharper. He turns back to the car, gripping the edge of the trunk.
“I don’t want to leave,” I snap, my voice rising. “I want to stay here with you.”
Maxim clenches his jaw, exhaling through his nose. “You have to leave.”
“No, I don’t!” My fists clench at my sides. “This is our decision, Maxim. Not Lombardi’s. Ours .”
“There is no our ,” he bites out, his voice turning ice-cold. “You leave. You survive. You stay. You die.”
His words are like a slap.
I shake my head, heart pounding. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me?—”
“Yes, I do,” he interrupts, stepping closer, his presence towering over me. His eyes burn. “Because I promised to protect you. And this is the only way I can .”
I shake my head. “That’s bullshit. You taught me to fight. I killed Marco by your side for fuck’s sake. Why are you telling me I can’t handle this all of a sudden?”
“This is a mob war. It’s different.”
“Is it? Or are you just scared you’re feeling things for me? Things that make you human?”
His features harden.
“I used you to bring Marco into the open.”
“What?”
“That’s what I do, Veronica. I couldn’t find him so I did the next best thing, baited a trap. Sent you to the bookstore knowing he’d come for you.”
“I almost died, Maxim.”
“I know.” His expression is cold, his eyes dead.
The wall between us slams shut, stronger than ever.
I search his face, looking for a crack, a hesitation— anything that will prove he doesn’t mean it. That he’s not actually telling the truth. But he just stares at me, his expression carved from stone.
The ache in my chest deepens. He’s shutting down, retreating into that cold, unfeeling place he thinks will protect him.
But it doesn’t protect him. It only destroys everything in its path—including me.
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Fine.”
His hands tighten into fists, but he gives a curt nod. Without another word, he walks to the passenger side and opens the door, waiting for me to get in.
I don’t move.
Every instinct in me screams to fight. To make him see reason. To tell him what’s at stake. But the words lodge in my throat, tangled in anger and heartbreak.
I don’t tell him. Not about the pregnancy. Not about how much I hate him for doing this. I say nothing.
I climb into the car, my hands curling into fists in my lap.
When we reach my apartment, he doesn’t turn off the engine. Just idles at the curb, staring straight ahead.
I push open my door. “I’ll go then, shall I?”
“You’re safer this way,” he says finally, his voice devoid of emotion.
I turn to him, waiting.
For an apology. A regret. A something .
His grip tightens on the steering wheel. His mouth opens slightly, like he’s about to say something?—
But then he doesn’t.
Instead, he presses his lips into a firm line and looks away.
I nod once, fighting the sting in my chest, and open the door. The cold air rushes in, but it doesn’t compare to the emptiness spreading inside me.
I step out, shutting the door behind me without another word.
He doesn’t drive off immediately.
For a long moment, he just sits there, hands clenched, jaw tight.
Then, without looking back, he pulls away from the curb.
The tears don’t come.
Not yet.
I stand there for what feels like hours before I finally move, my limbs numb as I enter my apartment. The silence is suffocating.
I pull out my phone and dial Elena.
She picks up on the second ring. “Veronica?”
I swallow hard. “He sent me away.”
She exhales. “I heard. Don’t worry. It’s only temporary.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Felt pretty permanent.”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “He’s dealing with Vito Lombardi and a mob war. It’ll take all his focus.”
“I know that.”
“Then you must know he’s doing this to protect you.”
“Give him a message from me, will you?” I say.
“Sure.”
“Tell him to go fuck himself.”