Page 66 of Shadow Man

“So, you’re sticking around? Is Eve okay with it?”

“Do I have a choice? Fuck, I hate this house.” He looks around with a sneer on his face. “It makes me want to put a bullet in my past, all over again.”

“That’s because it pricks at your non-existent conscienceagain.”

He grunts, but doesn’t comment, sliding his hand through his black hair in irritation. “Gabriela’s still here. Tending to her flock of broken whores.”

“Now you’re the one acting like a cunt. You did good giving this place to her. Has Anna guessed she’s Manuel’s mother yet?”

“Why would she care?” he says, looking unimpressed. “They fucked once, right? A long fucking time ago… A dead man is not a rival.”

“Maybe she won't see it like that,” I say, gritting my teeth again.

“You think too much.”

“One of us has to.” My head sinks down into the pillowcase, but I force myself to stay awake. Now isn't the time for rest. Not when all the newly healed cracks in Anna have fractured again. “Listen, Dante—”

“What?” He’s distracted. He’s sensing blood.

“I need two things from you before you go and commit your fucking version of familicide.” I shift position again, feeling my chain slither across my bare chest.Did she see them? Does she remember?“I need you to take that morphine drip and turn it up to the max. Afterward, when the good stuff is kicking in, you’re going to help me out of this bed.”

“What are you, a machine?” He lifts his eyebrows in disapproval.

“That’s why you hired me in the first place, right?” I shoot him a weak grin. “Just do it, Dante… I’ve got a lot of shit I need to put right today.”

* * *

Some places stamptheir blueprints into your brain. I haven't set foot in this house for years, but I can still remember where every hallway and staircase leads. Gabriela hasn't changed the décor since Dante bequeathed her the house. It’s still as pretentious as you’d expect from a former cartel kingpin with too much money to burn. Emilio Santiago’s obsession with gold means you still need a pair of fucking sunglasses to walk around.

Emilio was insane. No one disputed it, least of all Dante. The guy’s madness spilled out into every aspect of his life, from his interior design choices to his business decisions, but it was his pathological jealousy toward his brother that proved his undoing. He should have remembered that Dante inherited the higher IQ in the family, even if they shared the same vicious disposition. These days, Eve tempers the worst of her husband, but she’ll never tame the beast completely.

Where are you, Luna?

By a quick process of elimination, I exit the house via the back patio doors and make my way across a courtyard that’s sheltered by a dripping green pergola toward the outdoor swimming pool area. It’s still the same palm tree oasis I remembered, encircling an Olympic-sized pool that’s lined with the finest Sicilian gray marble.

I find her sitting cross-legged by the edge of the water, chewing on her nails and staring up at a melting pot of color that’s sinking slow and steady into the rainforest in the distance. She looks like a child who lost an argument with a bottle of red sauce. Her white T-shirt and denim skirt are stained dark and ugly with my blood, and her wild golden hair has been dulled with dirt and tangles.

She still burns brighter than any sunset.

But it’s the moon she really outshines.

She looks over when she hears me approach and scrambles to her feet. Her delicate face is a mask of shock. Her river-deep blue eyes are unsure and fearful.

“How are you even walking?” she whispers. “Ten hours ago you were dying in my arms.”

“It’s called morphine and a good doctor, sweetheart.” I come to an awkward stop in front of her, breathing shallowly to keep the peaks of pain to a foothill, not a mountain.

“Do they amputate hurtful revelations as well?”

She looks away, but I still see the glass in her eyes.

“Hey.” When she doesn't respond, I catch her chin between my fingers and jerk her back to me. “Do I still make you feel?” I demand, ignoring the pull across my freshly stitched wound; needing the hurt of her confirmation more. “Like that time in the motel room. Tell me,Luna.”

“I’m nothing but a guilt fuck to you.”

“You haveneverbeen a guilt fuck to me.” Letting go of her chin, I get right up in her face. She seems so small and fragile with my great shadow overwhelming her light. “Answer my goddamn question. Do I still make you feel?”

“Yes, you still make me feel,” she admits reluctantly, refusing to break eye contact because that’s how fucking brave she is. “But it’s the worst kind now. It’s hurt and betrayal; it’s lies and confusion.”

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