Chapter 25
Luciano
What’s that saying? Time flies when you’re having fun.
Well, it flies even faster when you’re in love.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been on cloud fucking nine.
And that’s all because of her.
Because of my Frankie.
Damn.
If I’d known that getting punched in the face would lead me to my soulmate, I would’ve baited her to swing at me a long time ago.
But like Mom always says—timing is everything.
And right now? It’s make-your-girlfriend-come o’clock.
“Lucky, where are we going?” Frankie giggles as I tug her out of the school hallway.
“You’ll see.” I grin, slipping an arm around her waist and yanking her close before she can escape.
“Whatever you’re planning, stop.” She slaps my hands away, laughing. “We’re supposed to be decorating the school for Christmas. Not fooling around.”
Yep. Frankie somehow talked me and most of my siblings—Marcello and Stella included—into helping decorate the school since Christmas is right around the corner. What she didn’t know is that I had my own reasons for saying yes, and they weren’t exactly selfless.
“Did you seriously think I came to school on a Saturday to hang tinsel with the decorating committee?” I raise a brow. “Babe, I came because I needed some alone time with my girl.”
Her face instantly lights up, and my heart does a goddamn backflip. I’m addicted to that glow she gets whenever I call her mine. Took me a while to break through that beautiful, stubborn shell of hers, but she’s starting to see what I already know.
We’re not just some high school fling that fizzles out after graduation.
We’re it.
We’re the real fucking deal.
And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to her if I have to.
“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But make it quick.”
“Quick?” I smirk. “Baby, I don’t do quick.”
She laughs again and, Jesus Christ, that sound is pure melody.
Once we’re outside, we break into a run, racing across the schoolyard toward the chapel. No one will be in there today, too busy hanging fairy lights, snowflakes, garlands, and a few questionable inflatable Santas.
“You really are a bad influence on me,” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
We slip into the chapel, and I immediately pull her into the confessional, closing the curtain behind us. I sit down on the small bench and bring her onto my lap, my hands already craving to touch her every curve. I then tilt her chin so I can lose myself in the endless ocean of her blue eyes.
“Hi,” she whispers, smiling.
“Hi, yourself. I fucking missed you.”
She wraps her arms around my shoulders and melts into me.
“You missed me? We’ve been joined at the hip for weeks. When could you have possibly missed me?”
“I still have to drop you off at night at the orphanage, right? Those hours apart? Pure fucking torture,” I pout.
She chuckles, brushing her lips over mine. “God, you’re cute. Even if you’re a bit dramatic.”
“I can live with cute. Now kiss me already.”
And she does.
Soft. Sweet.
Then not-so-soft. And not-so-fucking-sweet.
That’s all it takes.
One kiss and we’re ravenous for each other. Her hands thread through my hair, tugging, while mine slide beneath her cardigan and up her back. I can’t stop touching her. I’m obsessed with how soft she feels, how perfectly her curves fit against me. As if every inch of her was made to satiate the hunger inside me.
“Lucky…” she moans against my mouth, her breath hot and needy.
Fuck, I love that sound.
I’d burn down the world just to hear her moan like that on repeat.
“Tell me what you need,” I grunt, already popping open the buttons of her shirt and cardigan, just enough to bury my face in the valley of her breasts. I lick along her warm skin, nip her gently, drawing another gasp from her lips. “Shh, baby,” I whisper against her flesh. “Don’t want to wake the saints up, do we?”
She giggles, then gasps as I suck on her nipple through her bra, my tongue and teeth teasing the bud until she’s squirming on my lap.
But Frankie’s never been one to just take what’s given—no, she gives back as good as she gets.
She grabs my tie and yanks me up to her face. “Stop playing around, Lucky.”
“But I love our little games.” I grin innocently.
However, it looks like my girl is done playing.
She rises from my lap, unzips my pants with no shame or hesitation, and frees my aching cock, grabbing its base with her delicate hand. I let out a loud groan when she straddles me in one bold and utterly fucking glorious move. My breath hitches as she guides me to her slick, ready entrance and lowers herself onto me in one, slow, devastating motion.
“Fuck.”
My vision blurs. My mind blanks.
“Jesus, Frankie…”
“I warned you,” she whispers, her eyes locked with mine, full of heat and intent.
She rolls her hips, her inner walls gripping me like a velvet vise, and I swear I see stars.
“I forgot you play dirty,” I growl, my hands gripping her ass as she starts riding me.
“I learned from the best.”
That she did.
Long gone are the days when my Frankie would shyly kiss me, too unsure to even lay a hand on me. Now she knows exactly which buttons to push to drive me insane with want—and fuck, if I’m not completely here for it.
I let her find her rhythm, slow, grinding strokes at first, milking me inch by inch. I match her pace, my hands guiding her up and down while my mouth finds her nipples again, sucking them through the cotton of her bra until they pebble into stiff little gems.
The smell of her. The sounds she makes. The way her pussy clenches tighter around me with every stroke it’s fucking everything.
“Lucky,” she gasps, tossing her head back as I thrust up into her, sharp and deep.
“Fuck, I love you, Frankie,” I whisper against her skin, frantic with need. “Can’t get enough of you.”
“I love you,” she breathes, nails digging into my shoulders as she rides me harder.
I slip one hand between us and circle her clit with my fingers, fast and smooth, just how she likes it. It doesn’t take long for her body to lock up, her thighs trembling.
“Oh God…oh God!” she cries, shuddering as she comes apart around me. Her pussy pulses wildly, squeezing me into sweet oblivion. And I let go, eagerly following while holding her tight, burying my face in her neck as I come inside her, groaning her name like it’s the only prayer I’ve ever known.
We then collapse into each other, breathless and trembling.
She’s still panting, flushed and glowing, and fucking perfect as I press my forehead to hers.
“I love you,” she repeats lovingly, looking absolutely breathtaking in her afterglow.
“I fucking love you more,” I rasp, still inside her, still high from her body and that look in her eyes.
She rests her head on my shoulder, fingers tracing over my lips, my jaw, like she’s unable to stop herself from touching me.
“What am I going to do with you?” she asks with a sleepy, satiated smile.
“Anything you want. I’m yours, remember?”
“Mine,” she repeats, letting the word roll on her tongue like it tastes as sweet as it feels.
I kiss her again, slow, deep, full of everything I wish I could shout from every rooftop in all of Chicago.
Yeah, I’m head over heels for this girl.
Who would’ve thought that I – Luciano Romano – would have fallen so hard so fucking fast for a would-be nun? Didn’t have that on my bingo card, I can tell you that much.
“We should go back before Sister Margaretta notices we’re gone,” she says, still trying to catch her breath.
I brush her damp hair away from her face, my knuckles trailing gently down her cheek. Her skin’s still flushed, glowing from what we just did.
Mine. All mine.
“Speaking of the Wicked Witch of the East, have you talked to her yet?” I ask softly.
She shakes her head, and my smile fades.
“Babe—”
“I know. I know.” She sighs. “And I will. It’s just that… she’s done so much for me. Saved me, more than once. I don’t want to disappoint her.”
“Why would she be disappointed?” I tilt her chin so she meets my eyes. “You’re going to the best culinary school in all of Chicago. That’s something to be proud of.”
“I’m not sure she’ll see it that way,” Frankie murmurs, her brow furrowing.
“Want me to talk to her?” I offer, to which she shoots me a look.
“You’re the last person she’d want to talk to. She’d probably blame you for me deciding not to follow in her footsteps and become a nun.”
She wouldn’t be wrong.
After all, I’m the one who had my father, Gio, pull every string he could to get Frankie a full-ride to one of the most elite culinary schools in the country—scholarship, room, board, the whole package. And it’s right here in the city, close to Darius like she wanted. And of course, me.
Total win-win.
Not that her beloved Mother Superior would ever see it that way.
“Sooner or later, you’re going to have to tell her, babe,” I say, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. “If she really cares about you the way you think she does, she’ll be happy for you.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Even if I’m not,” I grin, “I’ll be happy for you.”
She giggles, that sweet sound echoing off the confessional walls as she lightly smacks my chest.
“You’re just happy because you’ll have easy access to me.”
“Damn right.” I smirk. “One of the many perks of you going to that fancy-ass school is that it shares the same campus with mine.”
“Did you tell your parents yet? That you’re going to Chicago University?” she asks, reminding me that I have my own secret to share.
After I got Frankie into culinary school, I started thinking about what our lives would look like—her in college, me freshly sworn into the Outfit having taken the omertà . It didn’t take long to realize it wouldn’t work. Not just because I haven’t told Frankie about the family business, but because it would pull my focus away from her and push me into a life I’m not ready for. I need a little more time to enjoy being a normal with her just a little while longer.
So, I guess that makes two secrets I haven’t shared yet.
But hey, life’s good right now.
Why ruin it with something as ridiculous as me being a Mafia prince?
“Not yet,” I admit. “But my mom’s gonna be over the moon.”
“And your dad?”
I shrug. “As long as Mom’s happy, he’s happy.”
“Happy wife, happy life, huh?” she teases.
“Yeah…” I look into her eyes—those ocean blues I’ve drowned in a thousand times before.
I get it now. That phrase? It’s not just about marriage.
It’s about this. Us. Her.
As long as Frankie’s happy, the rest of my world also stays in balance.
I lean in and kiss her again, soft this time. Reverent.
“We should really go,” she murmurs against my lips.
“Just one more second…” I whisper, not ready to let go of her just yet.
“You think I don’t know what ‘just one more second’ means?” She laughs, feeling my cock already hardening inside her again.
“Round two?” I arch a mischievous brow.
“You’re incorrigible,” she grins, even as her hips subtly shift, teasing me, like her body’s considering it.
But before I can properly seduce her again, voices echo through the chapel.
Shit.
Frankie quickly scrambles off me, tugging her panties back in place and fixing her clothes in a quiet frenzy. I do the same, tucking myself away, trying to get my breathing under control.
“Someone’s here,” she whispers, pressing her eye to the slit of the confessional curtain.
I lean beside her, shoulder to shoulder, peering through the small gash to see which unlucky soul decided to interrupt us. Whoever it is just made their way onto the top of my shitlist.
But just as I’m plotting all the ways to make whoever interrupted us suffer, a familiar voice grabs my attention.
“We shouldn’t be here. Someone might walk in,” Father Alejandro says.
“Everyone’s too busy hanging Christmas lights to come here,” my brother Enzo retorts as he shoves the priest onto the first pew, kneeling in front of him.
“Close your eyes, babe. We don’t need to watch my brother give head,” I groan, trying to cover my girl’s eyes.
Frankie turns her head over her shoulder with an amused grin. “This is the second time we’ve caught one of your siblings in the act. Do all the Romanos have sex on the brain?” she giggles, then covers her mouth, eyes wide, hoping the couple outside didn’t hear her.
“I don’t know about them, but I sure fucking do,” I grumble, pressing my already-hard cock against her ass.
“Stop.” She turns to slap my chest. “And think of a way for us to get out of here before your brother and—wait…” She peeks through the curtain again. “Is that Father Torres?” she hisses a bit too loudly, forcing me to clamp a hand over her mouth.
“Shh, babe,” I whisper in her ear, pulling the curtain fully closed to give my twin a little privacy. “I’ll explain everything after they’re gone.”
She relaxes enough for me to let go, but the unmistakable grunts and moans coming from the other side of the curtain have her cheeks turning pink.
“That turning you on, Frankie?” I whisper again.
She mouths “no,” but the way her face flushes says otherwise.
“I’ve opened Pandora’s box, huh?” I tease. “My little perv.”
She scrunches her nose and covers her ears, trying to block out the increasingly loud wails of Alejandro coming undone.
Once it’s over, I pull her hands down and place a kiss on her cheek.
“They’re done.”
“Are you sure?” she asks breathlessly.
“Mmhmm,” I hum, sliding my hand between her thighs. “They’re done—but we might have to stick around. Don’t want you to start fantasizing about my twin instead of me now, do we?”
She rolls her eyes at me but then gasps when my fingers slip under her panties, checking to see how wet she is.
“Don’t. You. Dare,” she mouths, but her breath hitches as I begin circling her clit, her eyes heavy with lust again.
That’s more like it.
If my girl’s gonna get turned on by something, it’s going to be me.
But just as I’m about to make her knees weak, a loud crash and shouts from outside rip the moment away.
I was so distracted by Frankie, I didn’t even notice that Enzo and Alejandro aren’t alone anymore.
“Heathens! Savages!” comes a bellow from none other than Father McDonagh. “You dare defile this house of worship with your sinful ways?!”
I pull my hand from Frankie and shove her behind me, cracking the curtain open to see what the fuck is happening out there.
Father Donagh is storming toward Enzo and Alejandro, his face twisted with rage.
“Devils! Sodomites!” he screams, grabbing a tall, heavy, bronze candleholder, the kind used for ceremonies and worship, and swinging it hard across Alejandro’s face. Blood splatters across the floor as the young priest crumples to the ground, groaning in pain.
“Alejandro!” Enzo shouts, dropping to his knees just as Father Donagh swings again, this time hitting Enzo across the cheek. My brother falls back, stunned and bleeding, while Father Donagh keeps kicking Alejandro in the ribs, using the end of the candle holder to bash into the rest of his body.
“He’s going to kill him,” I mutter, eyes wide. I turn to Frankie and say, “Stay here. Don’t move. I have to stop that fucking madman before he kills Alejandro.”
Frankie nods, visibly shaken.
But the second I step outside, I come face to face with two things.
One, Alejandro isn’t moving anymore. And the other, Father Donagh now has his sights on Enzo.
“You dare defy God in his house?! Soil this place of worship with your sinful perverted ways? You devil! You demon! God will punish you for your lust and evil ways! I will expel the demon that dwells inside you before you can tempt another good man off his righteous path!”
“You’re insane!” Enzo cries, tears streaming down his face as he tries to wake Alejandro.
“No! What I am is a man of God! I should’ve known the devil lived in more than one Romano. But I’ll rid your kind from this earth, even if it’s the last thing I do.”
Enzo is too focused on Alejandro to see Father Donagh lift the candleholder again, ready to strike him down.
“Enzo!” I shout.
But just as Enzo turns to look at the danger in front of him, we both see another figure emerging like a shadow from the darkness.
Father Donagh turns too, but too late.
“The only devil here is you,” Marcello says coldly, before snatching the candleholder from the priest’s grip and swinging it so hard against his skull that it splits open.
Father Donagh collapses to the ground. Face first. Blood and brain matter pooling beneath him.
“Fuck! What did you do?” I yell, running toward the now horrific crime scene.
When I reach them, the first thing I notice is Marcello’s eyes—no longer blue but pitch black. His usually golden features are also twisted into something monstrous. He’s still gripping the candleholder, blood dripping from it and staining his arm crimson.
“Mar,” Enzo says softly. “He’s dead. You can let that go now.”
My heart pounds as I watch my eldest brother battle whatever’s taken hold of him.
“Marcello,” I say, stepping forward. “Give it to me.”
His stare is vacant and detached, almost like he doesn’t even see Enzo and I at all.
“Marcello! Drop the fucking candlestick!” I shout.
That seems to snap him out of it. The weapon clatters to the ground with a chilling thud, but my brother remains frozen to the spot.
I don’t have time to dwell on his wellbeing. Not with the likelihood that someone heard all the screaming and shouting.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
“I don’t think he’s breathing,” Enzo sobs, still cradling Alejandro’s head in his lap.
Before I can move, Marcello is already on his knees, checking Alejandro’s pulse.
“He’s alive. You need to get him to a hospital,” Marcello says, sounding like he’s back in control of his senses again.
“Oh, is that what we have to do, asshole? What about this dipshit right here?” I shout, kicking the dead priest in the shins. “What do we do with his body?”
“Call Dad,” Marcello replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Which one, stronzo? The scary one? The really scary one? Or the really fucking terrifying one who’s going to have all our asses for this?!”
“Keep your voice down,” he says, his tone flat and emotionless.
“How the fuck am I supposed to do that when, at any minute, someone could walk in and see this shit?!”
Marcello doesn’t answer. Instead, he walks over to the altar and yanks off the altar cloth.
“Clean the blood while I wrap him up.”
I just stare as he lays the priest on the cloth and rolls him up—burrito style.
This fucker’s done this before.
Maybe not killed a priest, per se, but he’s definitely cleaned up a body or two. Comes with the job description when you’re the Outfit’s enforcer, I guess.
Still, this is my first rodeo dealing with a dead body, so excuse me if I lose my shit a little.
“Lucky,” he growls, eyeing the pool of blood and brain matter on the floor.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard you.” I grab whatever I can to soak up the blood and bits off the floor while Marcello hauls the priest over his shoulder like he’s taking out the trash.
“I’ll call our father. You two take care of him,” he orders, nodding at Alejandro, who’s still unconscious.
But just as Marcello turns to leave, I watch him freeze again.
I turn around to see what he’s staring at only to find Frankie standing at the back of the chapel. Shaking. Eyes wide. Pale as a ghost.
Fuck.
“Frankie, baby—”
“You… you… killed him,” she utters softly, obviously in shock.
Marcello looks at her, then at the body slung over his shoulder.
“He came for mine… so I came for him.”
And with that, he walks out, leaving me to clean up his fucking mess.
Two hours later, Frankie’s sitting in my father’s home office, surrounded by me, my fathers and my mother.
This is not how I saw my day ending. But here we are.
“Frances, do you understand everything we’ve just discussed?” my father asks her.
Her face is still pale, her eyes vacant. I doubt she’s heard a word of it.
“Give her some time, Vincent. This is a lot for anyone to process,” my mother says, gently rubbing her back.
“I understand that, tesouro, but we’re dealing with our children’s future here,” my father replies, jaw tight.
“Let me handle this,” my other father, Gio, says, crouching in front of Frankie.
“Frances,” he says softly, watching her closely. “What happened back at Sacred Heart must have been terrifying. I get that. We all do. But Marcello acted in self-defense. He protected his brother. If he hadn’t shown up when he did, who knows what Father Donagh could have done.”
“He…he…would’ve killed Enzo,” Frankie stammers, her eyes still on the floor.
“That’s right.” Gio exhales, relieved that he’s getting through to her. “Marcello was protecting his family.”
Frankie wipes a tear off her cheek and nods.
“Now,” Gio continues, voice gentle but firm, “if the police ask you what you saw, what are you going to tell them?”
“The truth,” she says so quietly, we almost miss it.
“And that truth is?”
“That Father Donagh lost his mind and attacked Father Torres. He was going to hurt Enzo too, but Marcello stopped him.”
“Yes, bella. Yes, he did.” Gio nods, throwing a knowing look toward my father, Vincent. A look that says she’ll say what needs to be said and nothing else.
Not looking satisfied yet, my father Vincent rises from behind his desk and walks over to Frankie. He gently lifts her chin so she’s looking him directly in the eye.
“My son made it very clear to us that you’re important to him. Which means you’re important to me, and to this family. We protect our own. Always. Do you understand that, Frances?”
A single tear rolls down her cheek as she nods. “Yes, sir.”
Vincent relaxes a bit and lets go of her chin.
“Good. I’m glad we had this talk.” He nods before looking at his enforcer who’s been quiet the whole time we’ve been in my father’s office. “Dominic, a word,” my father says before both men leave the room.
No doubt they’re headed off to help Marcello with what’s left of the dead priest’s body.
Good fucking riddance, fucker. I hope you’re burning in hell, you homophobic fuck.
But I can’t think about that now. Frankie is my only concern.
My fathers put on quite a show for Frankie’s benefit, to see where her loyalties lie if push comes to shove, but we all know the cops aren’t getting wind of anything that happened today. As far as the world’s concerned, Father Donagh just… disappeared, never to return.
My father wouldn’t risk Marcello, Enzo, or me—not even for someone I say I care about.
“Can I get you anything?” my mother asks gently. “Some tea, maybe?”
Frankie wipes at her eyes again. “Can I… talk to Lucky? Alone, please?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” my mother replies, squeezing her hand.
Gio helps Mom off the couch, placing a hand on the small of her back.
“If you need anything, just ask, Frances. You’re family now.” He offers her a kind smile followed by a sympathetic one my way before ushering my mother out the door.
I follow them out and close the door behind them, giving Frankie and me the moment of privacy she asked for.
But when she doesn’t say anything and just stares at the floor, my nerves start to fray.
“You know,” I start, trying to lighten the mood, “when I was a kid, I used to be terrified of being called into this room. It always meant I fucked up somehow. Never imagined you’d be here with me one day.”
“You lied to me,” she whispers, her voice shaking.
“Frankie—” I frown.
“Don’t ‘Frankie’ me, Luciano. You lied.” She lifts her head and stares at me, no warmth in her eyes at all, just disappointment and grief.
“Luciano, huh? I must really be in deep shit if you’re calling me that.”
“Stop,” she says, standing now. “Stop with the jokes. Stop with the games. Stop with the lies. Just… stop.”
“I never lied to you,” I say as evenly as I can.
“Lying by omission is still lying,” she deadpans, and it hurts more than I want to admit.
She takes two steps toward me. Close enough that I can see how much pain she’s in, but far enough that I can’t touch her.
“I heard rumors,” she says, voice low. “Back at school. That you and your siblings were part of some warped Italian mafia family. I thought it was a joke—just another prank. A myth you made up to look larger than life.” Her voice cracks. “But it wasn’t a rumor, was it? It wasn’t some bullshit story. It’s real. Isn’t it?”
I open my mouth and step toward her, only to have her step back away from me.
“What happened to those two boys that tried to assault Annamaria?” she asks, taking the wind out of my sails.
“They had a car accident.”
“Don’t lie to me, Lucky. Not now.”
I swallow dryly before giving her a curt nod. “Yeah, okay…Marcello…dealt with them, too.”
“So, it’s true…Your family really does belong to the Italian mafia?”
“It’s called the Outfit, actually. Italian mafia is more Cosa Nostra—
“Oh my God,” she interrupts, placing her hands over her face. “How could I have been so stupid?”
“Frankie—” I reach out, only for her to slap my hand away.
“No! Don’t try to make this okay with another lie. You said you loved me,” she croaks, tears falling freely now. “And like an idiot, I believed you. I even started making plans for the future with you at the very center.”
“I do love you!” I shout, feeling like my heart is being ripped in half.
“How can you love me and hide such a big part of your life? How does that even work?”
“I wasn’t thinking about that—”
“No, you were only thinking with your dick,” she snaps.
“That’s not fair or even remotely true,” I grimace.
“Isn’t it?” she frowns. “How were we ever supposed to have a life together when I don’t even know who you are?”
I reach out and pull her by the wrist until her chest is flush with mine.
“You do know me. You know who I am, Frankie.”
“No, I don’t,” she shakes her head, voice cracking. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Frankie—” I choke out, tears starting to burn behind my eyes. “You do know me. You’re the only one who ever really has. I love you. Please don’t let something—”
“Something what?” she shouts, shoving her hands against my chest, pushing me back. “Something silly like your brother killing a priest and your parents covering it up?”
“Marcello did what he had to do. He was protecting his family,” I defend.
“Family,” she says the word like it’s suddenly a curse. “There’s that word again. I always wanted a family—one that would do anything to protect me, to keep me safe. But this… this?” She shakes her head. “Being a part of your family… scares me.”
“Frankie,” I say quickly, afraid of what she’ll say next—afraid she’ll say something she won’t be able to take back.
“No. Don’t say anything. I need to think. I need to think, Lucky. Please, just… let me think.”
“What is there to think about?”
“Everything!” she yells. “And if you don’t see that, then we’re worse off than I thought.”
Just by the way she’s looking at me feels like someone just punched a hole straight through my heart.
“I love you, Frankie. I can’t lose you,” I say once her breathing has calmed. “How do I make this right?”
She looks at me yet again, so fucking heartbroken it feels like I’m dying.
“Just… give me some time. Just give me time to wrap my head around this.”
I’m about to tell her I’ll do anything to make it right, even give her all the time that she needs but a soft knock interrupts me before I can get a word out.
Stella peeks her head inside. “Hey,” she says cautiously. “Just wanted to check if you two needed anything.” But her worried gaze is only fixed on Frankie.
“Actually, I do need something,” Frankie says, wiping her tears. “Can you drive me home?”
“I can drive you,” I interject quickly.
But Frankie doesn’t even look at me. “Please, Stella. Can you take me home?”
“Of course, Frankie. Anything you need.”
As she tries to pass me, I reach for her wrist, gripping it tightly, not letting her take another step.
“Frankie… I can’t do life without you,” I say, voice broken.
“And I don’t know if I can do life with you,” she replies, hammering the last nail into my chest. “Not like this.” She then lowers her gaze and takes a deep breath. “Tell your father I’ll keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t have to worry about me. Even if I told the cops the truth, who would believe me? I’m nobody in the grand scheme of things. And I’m certainly not important enough for him to worry about me opening my mouth.”
“That’s not true,” I croak. “You’re everything. ”
She stares at me as if those words bring her pain, and fuck if that doesn’t hurt me even more.
“Let me go, Lucky. Please… just… let me go.”
And I do.
I let her go, praying that, in doing so… isn’t the end of us.