22. ADRIANA
ADRIANA
A knock at the door startled me. I hesitated, glancing toward it, debating whether to answer. Would there ever come a day that I don’t flinch at every loud sound? I opened the door and found Joey standing there.
“Joey, what are you doing here?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest. I was relieved he wasn’t a cop coming to arrest me for the murder of my husband, but I still didn’t want to see him. Not now. Not after Renee had confronted me.
“I needed to see you. Can we talk?”
I soaked in all his charm. How he leaned against the door frame, his blue eyes begging for me to let him in. I couldn’t say no to him, and that was becoming a big problem. A sigh escaped my lips as I stepped back. We moved to the kitchen table, where I sat across from him, my arms still crossed.
“Renee came by earlier,” I started, watching his reaction.
“She did?” He blinked, caught off guard.
“She was upset,” I continued, “ convinced that something is going on between us. I told her she was wrong, but she didn’t believe me. She’s quite adamant that we’re having an affair.”
Joey’s jaw tightened. “She said that to you? Jesus, I’m sorry, Adriana. She had no right coming here, and I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it.”
I looked at him skeptically. “Joey, I don’t want to be part of whatever mess is happening between you two.”
“You’re not,” he said quickly.
I arched an eyebrow. “It doesn’t feel that way. She said some awful things—about you, about me, and whatever story she’s spun in her head about us.”
Joey leaned forward, his gaze steady. “Adriana, trust me. You’re not the problem.” He reached across the table, his hand brushing mine. His touch sent a shiver down my spine. I hated that it did. I should’ve pulled away, but I couldn’t. His touch paralyzed me. “She’s not the one I care about,” he said in a hushed tone. “She never has been.”
I yanked my hand back, clutching it in my lap like it burned. “Don’t say that, Joey. She’s your girlfriend. You have history—she said so herself.”
“History doesn’t matter if there’s no future,” he replied. “And history is not the word I would use, but that doesn’t matter.”
I shook my head. “Joey, this isn’t fair. To me or to her. My life is messy enough without you making it worse. Whatever you’re involved in, I don’t want any part of it.”
His hand hovered over the table, as if he wanted to reach for me again, but didn’t. “I know things are complicated, Adriana. But ever since the ferry, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you— or Antonio. You both deserve better than the life you’ve been handed, and I want to do whatever I can to make it better for the two of you.”
I clenched my fists in my lap, the pull of his words hitting too close to home. His charm and his intensity were dangerous, but so was my reaction to them. “This has to stop,” I said. “It isn’t right. You know where this is headed.”
“It’s the truth. And you deserve the truth. I care about you, Adriana. ”
I stiffened. “Let's not forget, you’re with Renee.”
“For now,” he admitted. “But not for long. You don’t know the circumstances of our relationship. I need to end it. But I’ve got to do it cleanly, for both of our sakes. You don’t need to do anything. Or worry about anything. Just sit back and let me handle it. I’ll handle everything .”
I shook my head again, resisting the pull I felt toward him. “You can’t just show up here and expect me to fall into your arms. I have to think about Antonio. About his life. About our future. We’re finally in a good place. I can’t screw that up.”
He nodded. “I don’t expect anything, Adriana. I never expected anything from you. I just can’t pretend anymore. I need you to know how I feel. It’s hard for someone like me to even express this to you. But it’s the truth. I care about you. More than I even understand.”
I stared at the table, unsure if his confession made everything simpler or infinitely more complicated for us. I was almost certain it was the latter.
“That’s not the only reason I came, though,” he said. Our eyes met, and I searched his face, trying to read him, but he gave nothing away. “Where’s the gun?”
The question knocked the air from my lungs. My fingers tightened around the arms of my chair. His question sent goosebumps crawling up my arms. The gun? How did he know about that? I swallowed hard. “What gun?” I murmured.
He sighed, the scent of cigar smoke lingering on his breath. Then, without warning, he grabbed the legs of my chair and pulled me closer. My knees brushed against his, and suddenly, I was trapped between his legs. His gaze held mine, and it was impossible to focus when he was this close. His fingers trailed up my legs—slow, deliberate—before settling on my thighs.
I should tell him to stop. I should push him away. But I couldn’t .
“Where’s. The. Gun?” he asked again, each word a slow, measured demand.
He knew. Somehow, he already knew.
“Sweetheart, I don’t give a damn what you’ve done—or what you think you’ve done. I need that fucking gun.” His eyes locked onto mine. Unrelenting. I felt cornered with those ice blue eyes piercing straight through me.
I frowned. “What do you mean, what I think I’ve done?”
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face before tugging at his bottom lip. His hesitation told me everything—whatever he was about to say, he didn’t want to. “You didn’t kill him,” he said. “But I will.”
My breath caught. Everything felt as though it came to a standstill. Frozen in place.
“I just need the gun,” he continued. “Because if the feds come sniffing around and they find it? Adriana, sweetheart, you’re going down. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull you out of it.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. My body was hot. Burning with fear. Anxiety.
“I’m going to clean this up for you,” he said, softer this time. “I told you—you don’t need to worry about anything . I’ll handle it.”
I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened, my vision blurred, and the walls were closing in. I hadn’t killed him? I didn’t know what was worse—that I hadn’t killed William, that the cops weren’t coming because William would make sure to finish what I started himself, or that Joey knew and was willing to kill for me.
My fingers tangled in my hair as I shoved the chair back and shot to my feet. I paced the kitchen, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. My pulse pounded, my stomach twisted, and then—Joey’s arms were around me, pulling me against him.
And just like that, I felt safe .
Safe. But not for long.
Because Joey would leave. He’d go home. Back to Renee. And William wouldn’t stop until he found me. I couldn’t tell Joey the truth. He couldn’t protect me if he wasn’t here, and I had to protect Antonio if— when —William came back.
Joey’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Sweetheart, he can’t hurt you. Just give me the gun, and I’ll take care of it.”
I swallowed hard, fighting the nausea curling in my gut. “I don’t have it,” I whispered, stepping back, slipping from the warmth of his embrace. “I tossed it into the water when we got onto the ferry.”
A lie. But a good one.
Joey studied me, his eyes searching mine. And then—he nodded. He believed me. “Good,” he said. His hands came up, cupping my face, his touch gentle. He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “That was a good move.”
Tender. Safe. Just not for long.