19. Gilly
Gilly
I’ve spent years telling myself I made the right choice.
That I ran to save myself.To save Rafa.To escape a monster.
But what if I was wrong?
The thought sinks its claws into me, refusing to let go.
I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing slow, even breaths, my body still beneath the sheets. Motionless. Silent.
But I’m not asleep.
I wasn’t asleep when Luca stepped onto the balcony last night.
And I wasn’t asleep when Renzo called him.
I heard everything.
"She never told you why she ran, did she?"
"Maybe you should ask yourself… was that photo real?"
My stomach twists at the memory, my fingers curling into the sheets. I lay there, forcing myself to keep breathing evenly, forcing myself to pretend.
Because if I move—if I let even a single tremor escape—Luca will know.
He’s watching me.
I can feel it.
There’s a shift in the air, something cold and heavy pressing down on me. He’s awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees.
I keep my breathing steady, willing him to believe I’m still lost in sleep.
But the weight of his stare burns against my skin.
Does he know?
Does he know I heard?
That I’m lying here, replaying every single word Renzo said?
The minutes stretch, thick with silence.
Then, after what feels like forever, Luca stands.
I wait. Listening.
The sound of a drawer sliding open. The faint click of metal.
I know what he’s reaching for before I hear the whisper of fabric as he slides his gun into its holster.
He’s going after Renzo.
A shiver races down my spine. I should stop him. Tell him I was awake. That I heard everything. That maybe—just maybe—Renzo was telling the truth.
But I don’t.
I stay still, breathing evenly, pretending to be oblivious.
Luca moves toward the door. He hesitates.
Then, just before he steps out, his voice cuts through the dark, soft but lethal.
"Sleep while you can, Gilly. Because when you wake up, we’re going to have a conversation."
The door clicks shut.
I suck in a ragged breath, my body finally breaking out of its frozen state.
I don’t want to know if Renzo was right.
But I have to.
I slide out of bed, my heart hammering.
Luca is gone.
Now is my chance to find out the truth.
The second the door clicks shut behind Luca, I move.
The sheets whisper against my skin as I sit up, my breath shallow, my heart pounding against my ribs.
I wasn’t planning this. I wasn’t ready for this.
But I can’t ignore it anymore.
The words from Renzo’s call won’t leave me alone.
"She never told you why she ran, did she?"
"Maybe you should ask yourself… was that photo real?"
The photo.
My fingers clench the blanket. I know what I saw.
I know.
But doubt is creeping into the cracks, whispering insidious little thoughts, poisoning everything.
I shove the covers off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Luca is gone. Out hunting. That means I have time.
I push to my feet, padding barefoot across the room. The mansion is quiet, heavy with its usual oppressive silence.
I slip into the hallway, my pulse hammering as I navigate the darkened corridors. I know where I need to go.
Luca’s office.
---
The door is locked.
Of course it is.
But Luca is predictable, even in his paranoia. I know where he keeps the spare key.
I reach up, running my fingers along the edge of the doorframe until I find it—small, cold metal pressing against my skin.
I hesitate.
If I do this… if I find something I don’t want to see… there’s no going back.
A shaky breath. Then I slide the key into the lock, turning it with a soft click.
I slip inside, closing the door behind me.
The office is immaculate.
Dark wood, deep leather, orderly stacks of documents, a perfectly arranged workspace.
Everything in its place.
But I know better than to trust what’s on the surface.
I don’t waste time.
I move to the desk, my fingers grazing the edges of the drawers before pulling them open one by one.
Contracts. Ledgers. Business records. Nothing unusual.
But then—
My breath catches.
Beneath a neat stack of legal documents, something familiar peeks out.
A worn folder.
A case number I know by heart.
I pull it free, my hands trembling as I flip it open.
And there it is.
The photo.
The one that made me run.
The one that ruined everything.
I stare down at it, my pulse thudding in my ears.
A crime scene. A body. Luca standing over it.
The image is exactly as I remember.
But something feels different.
I frown, my gaze scanning the fine details.
Then my stomach drops.
The timestamp.
My fingers tremble as I flip to another document, then another.
The numbers don’t match.
The timestamp has been altered.
I force myself to keep reading, keep flipping through the evidence.
A second copy of the same photo—untouched. Unedited.
And the truth slams into me like a freight train.
Luca wasn’t there.
He couldn’t have been.
Because the night this photo was taken, he was in Italy.
My breath shudders out of me, the weight of my mistake crashing down so hard I feel dizzy.
I was wrong.
Oh God.
I was so wrong.
Renzo didn’t just lie to me.
He set me up.
The folder slips from my hands, hitting the desk with a soft thud.
My world is spinning, unraveling, coming apart at the seams.
I ran from the wrong man.
I jumped to the wrong conclusion.
And now…
Luca knows.
The folder slips from my fingers, landing on the desk with a soft thud.
The sound echoes in the silence, but it might as well be a gunshot.
My breath comes shallow, uneven. The room tilts.
This can’t be real.
This can’t be happening.
But the evidence is right in front of me. Undeniable. Unforgiving.
I ran from the wrong man.
I trusted the wrong monster.
Renzo lied. He planted the photo. He made sure I saw only what he wanted me to see.
I left Luca for a crime he never committed.
And now—now, he knows.
Because when I lift my head, when I finally manage to tear my gaze away from the file, he’s standing in the doorway.
Watching.
Waiting.
My stomach drops.
I didn’t hear him come in. Didn’t feel the shift in the air, didn’t notice the way the temperature in the room has plummeted.
But he’s here now.
And I am so, so screwed.
---
His eyes are unreadable.
Dark. Still. Unmoving.
But beneath the surface, beneath the eerie calm, there’s something else.
Something lethal.
I can’t breathe.
He knows what I found.
Of course, he does. He’s Luca Marchesi.
He always knows.
The weight of my mistake crashes over me all at once, suffocating, choking me from the inside out.
Years.
I spent years hating him. Fearing him.
And it was all for nothing.
I lick my lips, my mouth dry as sandpaper.
I have to say something.
I have to—
"You didn’t kill him."
The words slip out, barely above a whisper.
Luca’s expression doesn’t change.
His hands remain at his sides, loose, deceptively relaxed. But I know better.
I know that stillness.
It’s the kind that comes right before the storm.
He takes a slow step forward, then another, his movements measured. Controlled.
"No, Gilly," he murmurs, his voice smooth as silk. Deadly as a blade.
"I didn’t."
The floor feels unsteady beneath me.
My breath is ragged, my pulse erratic, my heart slamming so hard against my ribs it’s a wonder I’m still standing.
"I—" My voice breaks.
I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.
An apology?
A plea?
A desperate attempt to undo the irreversible?
But there’s no undoing this.
No fixing what I did.
I ruined everything.
I stole his son.
I spent years thinking he was a murderer.
And the worst part?
I never even questioned it.
I never asked. Never dug deeper. I let Renzo manipulate me.
I ran.
"Say it," Luca murmurs.
I flinch. Not from his voice, but from what I know is coming.
"Say you were wrong."
The words hit harder than a slap.
A sharp sting right across my chest, lodging deep into my ribs.
I open my mouth—nothing comes out.
Because I was wrong.
So fucking wrong.
I swallow past the lump in my throat, my eyes burning.
"I didn’t know."
Luca tilts his head, studying me.
Then, after what feels like a lifetime—he smirks.
Not a kind one.
Not a victorious one.
A promise.
"Now you do."
He reaches past me, taking the file from the desk.
Then, as I stand there, shaking in the ruins of my own choices…
He walks away.