Page 124 of The Chaos She Brings
I cry for Nico.
I cry for Kai.
I cry for myself.
The tears won’t stop. They just keep falling, spilling down my face as my chest heaves with ragged, gasping breaths. My throat tightens, squeezing like a vice, making it impossible to pull in enough air.
So much has happened since I killed Jake—if that was even his real name. I don’t think I’ve ever truly stopped to process any of it.
But now, sitting here, shattered and alone, it all crashes into me at once.
My life is so unbelievably fucked.
I’m a murderer.
My best friend and her fiancé? Serial killers.
My brother and father? The Italian Mafia.
The Russian Mafiakidnappedme.
My mother is an assassin who promised me to a monster.
Most of my belongings are either destroyed or brand new because people keep breaking into my home—or because I keep having to run.
And Kai…
I don’t even know if I still have a boyfriend.
Each thought presses down on me, heavier than the last, until I feel like I might drown beneath the weight of it all.
43
Make Me Forget
Carina to Kai: Don’t shut her out. She needs you. [delivered]
Tess
Iletmyselfcryfor a while. It’s overdue, really. This breakdown. A long time coming. Probably should’ve scheduled it weeks ago between all the murder, mafia drama, and general life fuckery.
But once the tears dry, I realise something.
Ido notwant to be here.
Alone. In this tiny flat. Surrounded by memories of my old life—one that, despite everything, I definitely don’t want back.
With newfound determination (and possibly some lingering hysteria), I march to my room, drag my suitcase from the wardrobe, and start violently shoving every item of clothing I own inside. I don’t fold. I don’t organise. I don’t even check if things are clean. If it’s fabric, it’s coming with me.
I’ll have to come back at some point… but for now? This is a start.
Grabbing the phone Enzo got me before we left America, I unlock it and immediately download the Uber app, drumming my fingers on my leg as the little loading circle spins. It’s like it’s taunting me.
Hurry up, you bastard. I’m on the verge of a dramatic life decision.
As soon as it’s ready, I order a car. I don’t even want to know what happened to all my bank cards—I should probably cancel them before someone buys a yacht in my name—but thankfully, my online shopping addiction has made me a walking, talking credit card database. My financial irresponsibility is finally paying off.
The app says the car is three minutes away, so I do a last sweep of the flat, grabbing anything essential before heading downstairs.
