It’s the wrong girl.

Gears click and grind in my head. This isn’t Alessia Ricci. This is Sia Andrews, and she’s drunk.

I scared the living shit out of her. Her whole body tensed, but she still swayed on her feet. The scent of her is heady with perfume and alcohol, her blonde hair shining even in the dim light of her bedroom. She wears a little black dress covered in sequins, every curve hugged by pinpricks of light.

How did my father get the wrong girl?

“Sia?”

A faraway expression flits across her face, as if she’s remembering something, and she laughs again. “Gio, what are you doing here?” I move my hand away from the gun at my waist. “If you missed me, you could have sent a text. My number is still the same.” She smiles at me, wrinkling her nose, and my heart twists. This is the smile of an unguarded Sia. She’d never do this in front of a crowd, but underneath the bleachers, the sun warm on her back, she looked exactly this way. How many more times could I have seen her like this if my father hadn’t transferred me to the same private school as my brothers? “I know. Can you believe it? All this time, the same phone number, and I’ve gone through six or seven phones.”

It comes back, a tidal wave running up my shins, up to my knees, up to my chest. I had an unbelievable crush on Sia Andrews, and I never said a word about it. Why the fuck would I? She wanted to spend time with me, and she had no reason to care. I was gangly and serious, and she was beautiful, and every second we spent swimming in that friendship was a gift from the fucking gods.

I have to say something.

This plan that I had—that I’d grab her the moment she stepped in—is so far off the rails that there’s no saving it. No—what the fuck? It’s the wrong girl. I could have killed the wrong girl, and then where would I be? Where would any of the Morettos be?

Her big, blue eyes are colorless in the shadows of her bedroom, but she doesn’t look away from me. She’s waiting for an answer. After all these years, and I show up in her bedroom. I reach for an explanation. A joke? I could joke my way out of this, I’m sure of it. We understood each other back then. We understood each other so well that one look between us was enough to send the other into silent fits of laughter.

She was my best friend, even if she never knew it. Right up until the day I left that school.

I open my mouth to joke with her, but my father’s face swims up into my consciousness. Fuck. I can’t let him down. I can’t leave here empty-handed. At the very least, I’ll leave with information.

Namely, what the hell she’s doing in Alessia Ricci’s bedroom.

“Are you staying the night here?” It’s not the smooth segue I wanted, but it’s something.

“What?” Sia steps closer, searching my face, still wearing that smile. “Of course I am. I live here.” She points a wavering finger at me. “You, on the other hand—you’re in my bedroom and you shouldn’t be.” Her voice curls around the alcohol, sensuous and slow. “You’re different, too.” Sia considers me, her head cocked to the side. “You’re...taller. And hotter.” She claps her hands to her cheeks. “Forget I said that.”

“You live here,” I repeat slowly.

“Yeah.” She nods overenthusiastically. “I do.”

“With Alessia Ricci? Or are you a friend of hers?”

The smile vanishes.

Her face, already white in the filtered glow of the streetlight, turns ashen. Her hands drop back to her side.

Shit.

“I live here.” Her eyes flick to the carpet. “This is my bedroom.”

Oh, shit.

Understanding dawns, a hard, unrelenting sunrise, the puzzle pieces fitting together in a violent snap. Her expression told me everything I needed to know. Of course my father didn’t get it wrong. He’s never been wrong in his life. It makes perfect sense that a hunted girl would use a false name. Sia? Jesus, could she have chosen something more obvious? Shame on me for not seeing it in middle school. I could have told Marco Moretto that I had her then.

But even now, even in this strange wash of pride and surprise, I know—I couldn’t have done it.

I liked her too much.

I might have even loved her.

I could have loved her even now, if it wasn’t for her last name. Any other last name.

“I think you should go.” Her voice is steely, but it has a wobble in the center, not quite able to bear the load she’s putting on it. “Right now.”

My thoughts tumble and whirl, a million words an hour. New plans. I have to come up with a new plan. Or maybe...I need to go back to the old one. I’ve gathered new information. The old plan is feasible again.

Or at least it would be, if my heart didn’t squeeze at the sight of her. “I can’t do that.”

Understanding shades her face, her eyes going wide, and her chest expands with one breath.

A midnight stillness hangs over the house.

She lunges for the door.

But Alessia Ricci is drunk, and I’m faster.

I catch her in my arms, the warm weight of her pinned against me, and inhale the clean river scent of her shampoo. One movement, and I have my hand over her mouth, my other arm locked around her neck. Something we’ve practiced a million times in all the self-defense trainings my father sent us to. I don’t even break a sweat. Alessia gasps against my hand, mumbles something I can’t make out.

“I can’t leave without you,” I whisper into her ear. “You know that, right?”