I swerve my Range Rover to the side of the quiet neighborhood street and park under a tree. My car stands out in a neighborhood like this. Every house on this street is essentially the same cookie cutter design, all stucco with red tile roofs and painted tan. I pull my Glock from the center console and tuck it into the back waistband of my slacks, out of sight. I scan the street in front of me and behind me through the rearview mirror before quickly exiting my vehicle and striding down the street to one of my stash houses.

This house is being used to hold close to a million dollars’ worth of marijuana. I rarely make an appearance at the houses. This is usually left up to my father and his crew, but alas, here I am. Fuck. I wipe a bead of sweat that is trickling down my temple. Pulling the phone from my pocket, I press the number for one of the guard’s burners to alert him of my arrival.

I knock quietly, and Salvatore answers. “Hola.” He flicks the lock on the steel security door, and I step inside. The putrid smell of the bundled marijuana instantly hits my senses and I inwardly cringe. Some like the smell—me, I hate it.

“Kush?” I ask as I circle bundle after bundle of premium marijuana. I know the answer to this, but I need to verify. We import only the best—always have. Which makes our product highly sought after, compared to our competitors’ shit.

“Si.” Salvatore nods, the scar on his forehead deepening with his scowl.

I set my hands on my hips. “I don’t like all of this in one location. Have Roberto move half to the house on Sunset tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” He hesitates, then adds, “And, while you’re here, I wanted to let you know we have a little problem with one of our guys…”

“Who?” I bark at Salvatore. My patience in dealing with personnel issues is wearing thin.

“Manuel.”

“What about him?”

“He’s, ahh…dipping into the goods at the house on Wheeler.”

“Shit.” I rake my hands over my face. Of all the fucking days. “Do we have anyone we can replace him with?” My mind races to count the men I have that aren’t incarcerated.

“No. Everyone’s still locked up.”

“Shit. Okay, I’ll handle Manuel. Get half of this moved tonight. Any other updates? Nosy neighbors? Anything else I need to be aware of?” I’m ready to get the fuck out of here. My Glock is digging a hole in my back.

“Nah, everything’s been quiet. So far, so good.” Sal shoves his hands into his front pockets.

“Good. We don’t have any room for fuck-ups, Sal. I mean it.”

He nods respectfully. “Yes, sir.”

I clap my hand onto Salvatore’s shoulder as a goodbye gesture. At the door, I peek through the peephole to make sure no one is outside before I slip back into the arid night. Two little girls ride past me on their bikes and smile, and I feel a hint of guilt knowing that I’ve brought my shit to their neighborhood, a neighborhood where they should feel safe, but at any minute could erupt into a goddamn warzone with one of our competitors or the feds. I swallow back my self-anger for bringing this into their world.

I slip out of the neighborhood and onto the freeway, heading over to the drop house on the west side. I hate these houses. I hate what we do in these houses. From the age of twelve, my dad was grooming me to run his business. He showed me everything—taught me that drugs, guns, and smuggling people into the States was the way to fast money. I despise this business. Gripping the steering wheel, I crawl along the freeway in rush-hour traffic, distracted by an incoming text from Emilia. As traffic stops, I glance at my phone.

I got the job!

I can actually see her excitement in the message and envision her giant smile. That sweet fucking smile I could stare at all day long. I respond quickly before tossing my phone into the cup holder.

Congrats. Celebrate tonight? Dinner?

I don’t wait for her to respond. I’m not giving her a choice.

A few minutes later, I pull into an older neighborhood with rundown houses; a more appropriate place for the shit we do. Cars are parked on the streets, in driveways, and all over front lawns. This neighborhood already looks like a war zone because it is. It’s also easy to keep a drop house in a neighborhood like this because no one gives a shit about who’s coming and going.

I dial Manuel’s phone and tell him to expect me in a matter of minutes, then, just as my dad taught me, I park down the street and keep my head down as I approach the house. Loud music blares from a house two doors down, and sheets and blankets are makeshift curtains for the house next door. While my house is old, I make sure to keep it looking decent with ample window coverings and a manicured landscape. The less attention I draw to these houses the better, another lesson from my dad.

I knock twice and the door flies open. Manuel inhales sharply on a cigarette and steps aside to let me through.

“Boss,” he exhales along with a puff of smoke.

I scowl at him. “Put that out. No smoking in the house.”

He flicks the cigarette out the front door, then closes it behind him.

“How many are here?”

“Thirty, maybe forty.”

“Jesus Christ, Manuel. I said no more than twenty per house.”

“Eh, we picked up some extras. The extra cash is nice.” He laughs and shrugs.

I grab him by the collar and slam him against the wall, speaking in a scarily quiet voice. “The more we have, the more likely we’re going to get noticed. Move some,” I bark at him.

His eyes flash with fear. “The other houses are full, boss.”

“Get rid of them,” I order. “Drop them off at the bus station or a park; just get rid of them. I want no more than twenty. Do you understand?” I let go of his shirt and step away.

He smells of sweat and cigarettes, and everything about him disgusts me. I hate dealing with these assholes.

“Yes, sir.” Manuel takes a deep calming breath.

“And women. How many are women?” I told the men not to smuggle women. There’s too much risk and liability. I don’t want women or children harmed as we transport them across the country.

“Three, maybe.” Manuel shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

My eyes narrow on him. “And how many have you been fucking?”

He stands quietly. God-fucking-dammit.

“You’ve been told before.” I have to clench my fists to keep from caving in his face. “You do not touch the women. Why is that so hard for you?”

“Hey, they’re willing. It’s not like I’m forcing myself on ‘em.”

I lower my voice. “Don’t. Touch. The women. Comprende?”

He nods frantically. “Yes, sir.”

“And clean this place up. It’s a fucking mess.” I can hear pots and pans being shuffled in the kitchen, and I glance at Manuel.

“Pablo,” he promises. “He’s getting food ready.”

I back slightly away, but keep my eyes narrowed. “You make sure they’re well cared for. No one goes hungry or gets hurt in one of my houses.”

“Your father was never this demanding,” Manuel mutters sulkily.

I grit my teeth. Well, if my father were here, then I wouldn’t have to be. “I’m not my father. I’m running this show right now. You answer to me. If you have a problem with that, let me know. I’ll take care of it right now.” I reach into my waistband and pull the gun out.

Manuel’s eyes get big and he holds up both hands in defeat. “No problem, Alejandro. No problem.”

“Good.” I put the Glock back in its place. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I want this place cleaned up. No more than twenty and no women. Understood?”

“Si.”

Back in my car, I lock the doors and rest my head back, closing my eyes for just a moment…until I remember that I’m a fucking target sitting here in the dark with my eyes closed. I hate every single part of this business—I hate being a criminal. Pushing the ignition button on my car, I throw the gear in drive and speed out of this shitty neighborhood.

* * *

The door slams unusually hard behind me, and I find Rosa in the kitchen, chopping fruit and humming to herself.

“Mijo,” she says when she looks up and sees me. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a really long day.” I rub my temples and realize how exhausted I am.

She slices strawberries at expert speed and tosses them into a ceramic bowl. “Emilia told me you were celebrating tonight, so I didn’t make dinner. I just wanted you to have something for breakfast. I’ll be late tomorrow morning. I’m stopping at the grocery store on my way over. Is there anything you need me to pick up?”

What would I do without Rosa? “Not that I can think of. If I think of anything, I’ll call you. Thanks, Rosa.”

“Have fun tonight. Oh, and mijo.” She leans in conspiratorially. “I really like Emilia. We got to spend some time together today. She’s a good girl.”

That makes me smile. The first one since I walked in the door. “I know. I like her too. A lot.”

Rosa sets the knife on the cutting board and looks at me seriously. “Be good to her.”

I nod. “I intend to.”

I find Emilia asleep, curled up in the fetal position on her bed with a pillow pressed to her stomach. Her long hair is splayed on the pillow beneath her, her shoulders rising and falling ever so slightly with each quiet breath. She looks so peaceful when she sleeps. I lean over her and press a light kiss to her forehead.

She hums and rolls slowly to her back. “You’re home,” she says without opening her eyes.

“How did you know it was me?”

She rubs her eyes and smiles. “Your cologne. I love the smell of it.”

I take a seat on the edge of the bed. “Think about what you want for dinner. I have to shower, then we can head out.”

“What do you want?” she asks. Of course she wouldn’t think of herself. If I’ve learned anything about her these last few days, it’s that she’s the most unselfish creature I’ve ever known.

Her fingers trace circles on my forearm, and I get goose bumps from her touch. “You. That’s all I want.” I wink at her. The stress from earlier washes away with each circle her soft finger traces on my arm. Being around her breathes life into me.

She laughs, placing her hand across her belly. Her laugh is contagious. “You can have me for dessert. But what do you want for dinner?”

“This is your dinner,” I tell her, combing through her hair, which is still splayed behind her. “You get to choose.”

She frowns. “Honestly, I don’t know. We never really ate out.”

And there it is again, that guilt. I have everything and more, and she’s gotten by with next to nothing. “How about steak? I know a great steakhouse.”

She smiles the most sincere smile at me. “Then dessert back here, okay?”

I couldn’t agree more. “Deal.”

* * *

At a small table in a dimly lit corner of the steakhouse, a candle flickers in the center of the linen-clad table, and Emilia rubs her arms with her hands.

“It’s cold in here,” she says with a shiver.

I pull off my sport coat and hand it to her, but she holds up a hand. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. You’re cold. I want you to enjoy dinner, not freeze to death.”

She smiles and slides the jacket over her shoulders. “Why are you always so nice to me?”

Should I not be? I don’t know why, but that statement makes me sad, but I simply tell her, “You make it easy.”

The waiter interrupts us and takes our drink and dinner orders. So far, the conversation has been minimal, the evening quiet. Emilia runs her finger around the rim of her water glass, her gaze far away.

“Penny for your thoughts.” I reach out and rest my hand on hers.

She looks up from her water glass and sadness flashes through her eyes. “My mom used to say that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

“You didn’t.” She smiles softly. “Even though she was horribly depressed, she could always read me. She knew when I had something on my mind and always tried her best to listen.”

“What’s bothering you?” I give her hand a gentle squeeze. I want her to trust me—talk to me.

It takes her a moment, but finally, she sighs. “Alex, something happened today—with Saul.”

My body immediately goes rigid. “What? Tell me.” I’ve always trusted Saul because my father has—but the look of fear in Em’s eyes has me second-guessing Saul’s intentions.

“I was in your office.” She hesitates, looking upset. “I sat down at your desk…”

My heart begins racing as I mentally scroll through what I might have left on the desk. I’m always meticulous and discreet with messages and information, but I’ve been so exhausted lately, so I fear I’ve become sloppy. “What did you see?” I ask as calmly as possible, keeping my face neutral.

“Huh?” She blinks at me. “Nothing. I was checking my email. That’s all. But Saul came in and yelled at me. He told me that knowing too much will get me killed.” Her hand started shaking and she pulled it into her lap.

I inhale sharply. Motherfucker. “I’ll talk to him.”

“I promise I wasn’t doing anything other than sending an email. I assumed you’d rather me use your computer than go to the library.”

“You’re fine, Emilia.” I’m not entirely comfortable with her in my office, but she didn’t do anything wrong.

“What did he mean, though?” she asks, curious and wary at the same time.

I cringe internally. Saul has always been loyal to my father, to his business, but he’s had a chip on his shoulder ever since I started changing things.

“Nothing.” I force a smile. “Saul is dramatic. He understands my business, and he’s just looking out for me. I apologize for him. No one will ever hurt you.” And yet another lie falls from my tongue. Because, while I can promise that I won’t hurt her directly, I can’t promise that no one else will. That I’m not putting her in danger as we speak.

Setting those thoughts aside, I bump my foot against hers again under the table and find her gaze.

The waiter arrives and pours a small sample of wine. I approve and he pours two glasses before disappearing. In an effort to change the subject, I raise my glass to toast Emilia’s new job.

“Congratulations, Em.” I love calling her that; it makes me feel like she’ll be more permanent in my life, which both terrifies and excites me. “May this be the first of many celebrations.”

Her smile is sweet and soft. “Thank you.”

* * *

“I’m stuffed.” Emilia rubs her stomach and exhales loudly. “This place was amazing.”

“It’s one of my favorite restaurants. I don’t come here that often.”

“Well, thank you for bringing me here—but I hope you saved room for dessert.” Her voice is suggestive, but she giggles, and a blush crawls across her cheeks.

“What’s on the menu?”

“A little of this, a little of that.” She smirks. Fuck, she’s adorable.

I open my wallet and throw five hundred dollars cash on the table. It’s more than enough to cover our bill twice over, but I don’t care. I stand up and reach for Emilia’s hand. “Let’s go.” Her eyes bulge at the wad of cash on the table. “Let’s go, Emilia.” It’s an order.

The car ride home is quiet. My cock throbs inside my pants in anticipation of all the things I want to do to Emilia for “dessert.” She keeps her attention out the window, taking in the sights of downtown Phoenix as we weave through the streets back to my condo. I reach across the console and rest my hand on her knees. She bobs it slowly as we head toward home.

In the garage, I see Andres waiting near the elevators. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” I squeeze our joined hands.

She sees Andres and her eyes widen in concern. I can understand why. Andres is huge; six-foot-three and easily two seventy-five of solid muscle. There’s no one else I’d trust more to protect Emilia.

“Em, this is Andres. Andres, this is Emilia.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says quietly, reaching out to shake her hand. She doesn’t reciprocate. Instead, she stares down at her feet. I clear my throat and nod at Andres. I filled him in this morning on the phone about Emilia’s concerns and her hesitancy at having someone with her.

“Emilia, Andres is going to be your security. I promise you won’t even know he’s there. It’s more for my peace of mind than anything.”

“Then I don’t need him,” she interjects, pulling away from me. “This is about you. Not me. I’m not your girlfriend or your business partner. I know nothing about your business. I’m your roommate. This charade is silly.” She steps around Andres, pushing the button to call the elevator.

I flex my hands and grind my teeth. Her roommate; that’s all I am, according to her. Regardless, she’s not going out there without protection. “I thought we were past this, Emilia. It’s not open for negotiation.”

She sighs loudly and turns to face Andres and me. “I work at a coffee shop. I’m a twenty-one-year-old girl who’s flown under the radar my entire life. I don’t need protection.” The doors slide open, and she steps inside. “I’ll see you upstairs.” She leans against the back wall, and I watch her intently as the doors close, leaving Andres and me alone.

“She’s a stubborn one.” Andres smirks.

“She’ll come around. Until then, stay back. Keep her in view, but give her space,” I inform him, rubbing my forehead.

“Are we expecting anything, or is this strictly precaution?”

“Precaution only. There’s been some intel, though, that Mendes is looking to make a move. We’re weak right now. Half our guys are locked up or…well, you know the story, and I’m working with a skeleton crew. They’re looking to disable us even further, and I just worry she’s going to get caught in the middle.” My worst fucking nightmare. Whatever Emilia and I are to each other, she’s innocent. I couldn’t bear it if she got hurt. “Plus the ATF and Agent Cortez are watching me like a fucking hawk.”

Andres nods in understanding. “Personal question, and you don’t have to answer,” Andres says. “You’ve never kept a woman around before. Why now?”

I don’t know how to answer, or if I should. I just know I need Emilia as much as she needs me. I feel peace in her presence, a sense of good within me. “We’re done here. Goodnight, Andres.”

He nods curtly. “Night, boss.”

I find Emilia sitting on the floor outside the condo. “What’re you doing?”

“I don’t have a key.”

I’ll have to remedy that. I reach out and pull her up. “I’ve got a spare inside.”

“Alex,” she says quietly from behind me. I’ve opened the door and am standing just inside the condo while she remains in the foyer just outside. “You’re going to have to trust me, you know.”

We both stand there silently for a moment. I’m not sure what to think of that. I’ve never been wholly trusting of anyone other than my mother—but everything inside me tells me Emilia might be the one to break down those walls and let me trust again.

She steps over the threshold and stops in front of me. “In a matter of days, I’ve moved into your house, I’ve slept in your bed, and now you’re paying someone to watch me. You’re going to have to trust me enough to tell me why I’m important enough to keep alive—because I’m not important.”

Does she really believe that? “You’re important to me, Emilia.”

“I’ve never been important to anyone before,” she mumbles as she leans into me and wraps her arms around my neck, burying her face in my chest. I wrap my own arms around her, and we embrace each other. The action is simple and yet complex. I feel so much just holding her, and for a few moments, everything in my world feels right.

“I have a surprise for you,” she says as she pulls away from me, moving toward the kitchen.

“I don’t like surprises,” I tease her. Pressing the switch on the wall, the kitchen comes to life under the bright lights.

“You’ll like this, I promise.” Her smile is big, and her eyes exude a certain happiness I’m not sure I’ve seen in her yet. She looks peaceful, content. She opens the refrigerator and pulls out a large metal mixing bowl.

“Here.” She sets the bowl on the island and pulls out two large metal spoons from a drawer. Inside the bowl is a ball of chocolate chip cookie dough. “I made it for you. We don’t have to bake it if you don’t want to.” She smiles at me again. “But if you get salmonella, don’t blame it on me.” She laughs. I’m speechless and my throat tightens when I think about how my mom and I would stand around our small kitchen, digging spoons into the raw cookie dough. For Emilia to remember what I told her about my mom touches me.

She hands me a metal spoon, and I scoop out a large spoonful of the dough and put it in my mouth.

“Does it taste okay?” She cringes, waiting for my reaction.

“It’s delicious.” Not a lie, for once. “You didn’t have to do this, though. Rosa could’ve made it.”

She shrugs, blushing. “I wanted to. That’s why I was in your pantry the other night.”

Ah, so that was why. “I wondered what you were doing naked in my pantry.” The image of that night makes my cock throb again, reminding me that we’re back home, in my condo.

“I wasn’t naked,” she says teasingly.

“Close enough.” I take another spoonful and, this time, feed it to Emilia. Her pink lips wrap around the spoon as she pulls the dough off and into her mouth.

“Mmm,” she hums as she savors it, causing my cock to twitch again. Just being around her arouses me, but the little noises she makes completely turn me on. I set the spoon on the counter and pull her into me, pressing my lips to hers.

“This dessert was amazing, but I’m greedy. I want more than just cookie dough,” I say to her in between kisses.

She smiles against my lips. “Oh yeah? What else did you have in mind?”

I lace her fingers through mine and walk her to my bedroom, stopping at the edge of the bed. We stand and take each other in, unspoken desires bubbling at the surface. She stands timidly, her eyes darkening with need before she turns around and pulls her hair over her shoulder so I can unzip her dress. My fingers caress the base of her neck as I slowly pull down on the metal zipper, releasing the fabric. I watch the black dress fall to the floor in a pile around her feet. She kicks off her shoes, then waits for me to make the next move.

God, she’s beautiful. Everything about her is pure—good, and for every moment I’m with her, I want to be a better man, a man she deserves. But under the desire to do good, lives a monster. I shake those thoughts from my head and unclasp her black bra. She stands with her back to me in nothing more than a pair of panties. I trail my fingers down her spine, and for the first time, really feel how frail she is. “Turn around,” I whisper, and she does. Her arms drop from her waist and settle at her sides while I take in the sight of her from head to toe.

“May I?” she asks, tilting her head as she reaches for the buttons on my dress shirt.

I nod in approval, and her long fingers press the buttons through each hole. She takes her time running her hands over each arm and down my stomach. Tugging on the undershirt, she tugs it free from my pants and pushes it up and over my head before moving to unfasten my leather belt. The belt is the next item on the floor, then my pants. Before she’s able to go any further, I stop her with one hand to her neck.

I squeeze her neck gently. “I can’t promise you more than this, Emilia.” It’s just sex. I can’t give her more, and she deserves more than the broken dreams, lies, and deceit that I can offer her. My world will hurt her, maybe even destroy her. She is good and I am evil.

Her eyes soften, and she nods.

I pinch one of her nipples and elicit a loud gasp. She steps into me. Her fingers tremble as she runs them over my chest, coming to a rest at the waistband of my boxer briefs. I guide her to the bed, stopping her just long enough to remove her panties before coaxing her to lie down.

She watches intently as I remove my remaining clothes and lie down next to her. “The lights,” she says shyly, her arm draped over her stomach.

I shake my head. “I want to see all of you, feel all of you.” I position myself on top of her and watch her shift from timid to hungry as I pull one of her breasts into my mouth. “I’m going to taste every inch of you.” I pull her other breast into my mouth, circling the stiff nipple. “I’m going to explore all of you, leaving nothing untouched.” I reach between her legs and slide my fingers over her clit.

She gasps.

“You like that, don’t you?” I brush over her again, this time slipping a finger inside her. She’s wet…and warm…and I have no self-control when it comes to her. I push her knees apart and taste her. She’s sweet and salty and perfection. She gasps and lifts her hips from the bed when my tongue circles around her sweet clit. “I need to be inside you,” I hiss as I pull back and then slip inside her. A primal growl escapes me as I settle into her. Her fingers scratch my back, and she moans.

“Jesus, Em.” I still, allowing her to adjust to me, but she lifts her hips and guides me to move.

“You feel so good,” she whispers as her nails scratch a gentle path down my back. Her long legs are wrapped around my hips, her feet pressed against my ass. She moans with each thrust, eyes glazed and skin flushed.

I slow my pace, finally stopping. Her breaths are shallow and quick as I pull out and guide her to roll over. “On your knees, chest to the bed.” I want her ass in the air. I need to feel her from behind.

I ease myself into her again, and she moans loudly. I’m deeper, and with each thrust, I can feel her walls begin to constrict. My fingers dig into the contours of her tight ass, my release building. Leaning forward, I reach around and squeeze her neck, gently pulling her back into me, harder. A few more thrusts, and I spill my release into her. Releasing her neck, I reach down and slide her throbbing clit between my fingers, bringing her to climax.

After, we lie next to each other, catching our breaths. She places her hand on my chest, a gesture of connectedness on some deeper level. It’s just the right amount of closeness for whoever we are to each other.

We lie in comfortable silence until I feel her hand fall from my chest and the bed shift as she moves to the edge.

“Where’re you going?” I ask, startling her.

“To my room.” She reaches down to pick up her dress and lingerie from the floor.

“No. You’re sleeping with me.” As much as I don’t want her getting attached to me, I need her here in bed with me.

“Alex,” she says. “I should go to my room.”

“Lie down with me. Please.” I pull the covers back on the bed, and she stands hesitantly, glancing between me and the door before dropping her clothes to the floor and sliding back into my bed. She puts distance between us, but I won’t allow it. Reaching over, I pull her to me. Skin to skin, we lie vulnerable next to each other. We’ve shared the most intimate of acts, and I feel connected to her on a level I’ve never experienced, yet I can’t bring myself to let her in. I can’t let who I am destroy her, and if she gets too close, I will.

My fingers run a trail from the hollow of her neck, my favorite place on her body, down her chest, through her breasts, and back again. It’s comforting to feel her pressed against me, the light floral scent of her shampoo filling the pillow we share.

“Tell me about your mom,” she whispers, her voice breaking the silence.

“What do you want to know?” I should’ve evaded mentioning my mother. I never talk about my mom. It’s personal. Too painful.

“Everything. What she was like. What you loved about her.”

I swallow hard, but feel words coming to me. I shouldn’t tell her and yet I do. “I loved everything about her. She was always calm, caring. She gave everything to make others happy.” I choke back the lump I feel forming in my throat. “She loved to cook and bake—her life was her family.”

“How old were you when she passed?” She draws small circles on my chest with her finger. Her touch is comforting—calming.

“Six, almost seven. It was a week before my seventh birthday. I never celebrated a birthday after that. She was what made birthdays special for me. She made everything special. Every holiday, every meal, every bedtime story. We’d pray and read stories every night. We were inseparable. My dad’s business was just taking off, and he wasn’t around a lot, but my mom made up for that. She’d walk us to school every morning and meet us in the courtyard every afternoon. On our walks home, we’d talk about our day, and she’d tell us what she’d made for dinner. I’ll never forget the day she wasn’t there to meet us. You know how they say your gut knows when something is wrong?”

“Mm-hmm.”

I exhale a heavy breath. “I just knew it was bad when she wasn’t there. I ran home as fast as I could. We lived about a half-mile from the school, but I was in a full sprint. My brother was behind me, I’m not sure how far behind because I never looked back. I ran and ran until I got home. The front door was open. I didn’t hesitate. Nothing mattered other than knowing where my mother was. I screamed for her, Em. I screamed so loud, and she never answered. I searched the kitchen, her bedroom, my bedroom. I’ll never forget how hard my heart was pounding.” I pause to collect my thoughts, my emotions.

Emilia pulls herself even closer to me, pressing her cheek to my chest, and draping her arm across me. She weaves her long, bare legs in between mine, holding onto me like a vise grip. What I’d normally consider smothering is actually comforting. Her softness draped over me is comforting like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

“I finally checked her bathroom,” I continue, only barely aware that I’m combing my fingers through her hair. “The bathroom door was closed, but she loved baths. I thought maybe she’d lost track of time and was in the bathtub. I knocked, she didn’t answer, and that’s when I opened the door.” My voice cracks. “She was lying on the floor, covered in blood. She’d been shot three or four times. There were two holes in her head. I’ll never forget her face. I’ll never get that image out of my mind.” I squeeze my arms around her.

“I’m so sorry, Alex,” Emilia whispers. “I know exactly what you’re feeling.”

“You do?” I snap. How could she possibly?

“I do,” she says sadly. “It was only ever my mom and me, and I also found her dead with a bullet hole to her head. If anyone understands what you’re feeling, it’s me.”

Fuck. I lay silent. I want so badly to argue with her, but it’s not worth it. She got the best years of her life with her mom…I didn’t.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” I apologize. “I just don’t talk about her—ever,” I admit.

“I know I’m just a stranger to you, Alex…but you can always talk to me.” She squeezes me tighter. I run my hand through her long hair again and press a kiss to her forehead.

There’s so much I’d love to tell her—but I can’t.