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“I told you he’s dangerous, and he’s…” Connor’s teeth grind against each other. “He’s paying for what he did and wanted to do.”

“How did you even arrange for Chris to be moved here?” It’s a question that’s been burning inside me since we left, one I’m not sure I want the answer to.

“It’s complicated,” he says. “But let’s just say I have my ways. Connections.”

The drive passes in silence. I stare out the window at the rolling hills and crumbling villas. Maybe I could enjoy this view if this would be a vacation and not… this.

What will I say to Chris? What will he say to me? Will we be like before? Him calling me love? I don’t want that.

After what seems an eternity, Connor slows the car, turning off the main road. A massive stone structure looms up ahead, guard towers visible atop the outer wall.

The prison.

Chapter 42

Mary

My heart leaps into my throat as we approach the gates. The time has come to face the man who deceived me, who broke my heart into a thousand pieces.

The man I once thought I loved.

The gates creak open, and we drive through. Connor parks outside the squat concrete building and turns off the engine.

We sit for a moment, neither ready to break the stillness that’s settled within the confines of the vehicle.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” His voice is gentle, his hand a warm weight on my knee.

“A bit late to back out now, don’t you think?”

Connor’s thumb brushes over my knee, a soothing gesture at odds with the turbulence inside me. “We can leave if you’ve changed your mind.”

I wiggle my leg, his hand retreating. “No, I need to do this.” The words feel hollow, but a part of me still yearns for the closure I’ve been denied.

His lips are pressed into a grim line. “I’ll be right there with you.” There’s a weight to his promise that extends far beyond this moment.

We go inside, the soles of my boots echoing on the tiled floor. A guard sits behind a desk, regarding us as we enter. He and Connor exchange a few words in Italian before he buzzes us through a metal door.

We enter a sterile visitation room filled with rows of booths, each separated by a pane of bulletproof glass. Inmates in faded jumpsuits sit behind the thick glass, speaking to visitors through phones. Connor’s hand rests lightly on my hip, a protective and reassuring gesture.

Chris appears on the other side of the glass. I would recognize him everywhere because I spent hours zooming in on the photos he sent me.

His hair is longer, a scraggly beard obscuring the lower half of his face, but those eyes are unmistakable, blue as the sky, and flick to mine. Shock. Longing. Remorse. Tainted by the knowledge of what he planned to do to me.

I falter in my steps, torn between moving forward and turning to flee. But I didn’t come all this way to run. I came for answers. For closure.

I take one step after another and sit down at the booth. For a long moment, we simply stare at each other.

Then Chris picks up the phone, his lips curving into a smile, both predatory and apologetic. Months ago, I would have smiled back.

“Could you give us a minute?” I ask Connor.

At first, he doesn’t move, scowling at Chris, but then, with a reluctant nod, he steps back and leans against the wall on the other side, remaining within sight.

I pick up the phone as well, the cool plastic unfamiliar against my ear. “Hello, Chris.”

He tilts his head to the side, studying me. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

“Thanks.”

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