I had never been so terrified of nothing in all my life.

I was sitting across from Delfino in the living room, he on one couch and me on another, nothing but the coffee table between us. In a rare, and utterly odd, gesture he had made us both cups of tea. Mine sat untouched, the string still attached to the bag wound tight around the handle of my mug. He hadn’t put down a coaster, and I was sure the heat was leaving a ring on the wood.

That was also disturbingly unlike him. Delfino was all about rules. Regulations. Patterns. In many ways, he was predictable. So often, that predictability was all that kept me holding it together.

Maybe I had no idea what he was capable of, but the thought that there were some behaviors I could anticipate—and therefore avoid or control—was a comforting one. Seeing him cast off these constants I’d come to rely upon as though he was a reptile just shedding its summer skin… it disquieted me. Unnerved me. Made me want to scream, cry, and run far, far away from him.

It served as a confirmation of what I’d been dreading to one day learn: that I really didn’t have the first clue about what kind of man he was or what he might do, to me or in any other situation. Certainly, I’d no idea what he’d do in this one.

And that scared the crap out of me.

Everything I’d thought I knew about Delfino was proving to be just another act. One by one, he had stripped the layers of his façade, showing me without saying a word that he was beyond my comprehension. It made me shamefaced, made me feel like a fool to know that all these years, he’d conned me just as well as he had everyone else. That even in the privacy of our own home, Delfino had never given up anything of himself.

It was hard to quantify why, exactly, that felt like a betrayal. Delfino and I were not friends. There was nothing about our relationship that would suggest any kind of intimacy was exchanged, least of all on his end. But we had shared living arrangements. He’d seen me sick and sweating. He’d seen me shaking after a nightmare. He’d seen me aching with loneliness and he’d seen me cry. Without meaning to, without any intention of doing so—in a way, without my consent—I had let him glimpse very private aspects of myself, let him into my life in a way few others could claim. In return, he’d given me nothing but lies.

“Delfino,” I murmured, the first word I’d spoken since he’d shown up at the church. “Dominic Delfino.” He answered with the barest incline of his head, raising his storm-gray eyes to meet mine. I swallowed. “Is that even your real name?”

He held my gaze a moment. Then he reached down, picked up his mug, and blew across the steaming surface of its contents. It was the only answer he gave.

I leaned back against the couch cushions, holding myself. I knew it wasn’t particularly cold in the house, but I felt chilled all the same. Obviously, I had been alone with Delfino before—and on many occasions—but this felt different. This felt far more dangerous, and it was killing me that I didn’t know why.

But it was clear Delfino wasn’t going to tell me, just like he wasn’t going to let on where he’d had his men take Leo. I could only assume the worst, and it struck me that that was the point. By remaining silent, Delfino didn’t have to torture me in any other way. My imagination would do his dirty work for him just fine.

All I had were vague pieces of a puzzle. I knew Delfino planned on killing Leo. I knew that I was meant to distract Leo from interfering with that. What I didn’t know was how, or why. What was the point of all this? Why was it so damn important to him that Leo Richards must die? What had he ever done to deserve this?

These were questions I could only ask myself. Delfino wasn’t an option. And in either case, the only answer I received was silence. So I asked something else.

“What are we waiting for?”

Delfino regarded me coolly over the rim of his mug. He sipped quietly, gingerly from his tea, then rolled the flavor over in his mouth. He set his mug down and sat forward, then reached into the inner pocket of his coat. I winced, but all he pulled out was a flask. Wordlessly, he poured a splash of whiskey into his tea.

“We have to be waiting for something,” I reasoned. “You haven’t asked me any questions. You haven’t said a single word to me since the church. We’re just… sitting here, staring at each other.” I wet my lips. “So we must be waiting for something. What is it?”

At the end of my monologue, Delfino tipped his hand, adding another splash.

I grit my teeth. “You can’t tell me this surprised you. You’ve treated me like garbage for years, held me prisoner here with you! All I’ve ever wanted is to leave, and all you’ve ever done is deny me that. You’ve never needed me—sure, I’m a good cover for your life here in town. Maybe I add an element of humanity to the monster everyone can see you’re hiding…”

That provoked a small lift of Delfino’s brows. He capped the flask. Returned it to the pocket of his coat. The man was sitting in front of me wearing sky blue flannel pajama pants, a white Hanes t-shirt, and a forest green, fleece-lined hoodie with toggles. He shouldn’t have seemed as menacing as he did, but even in a state of just-woke-up, the man was intimidating—nothing but stoic and unfeeling in demeanor.

“…but you could have easily explained my absence away,” I continued, since he hadn’t stopped me. He took a sip of his tea, followed by a small nod to himself as he discarded the teabag right onto the table. Again, he afforded no thought to the state of things, to the mess he was making. I shifted, once again discomfited. “You could have let me go to nursing school. Told everyone your dear, sweet daughter was off at college. You might have even gained some sympathy for that. But no—you chose to keep me locked up here, reliving the same routine day in and day out. Driving me mad with monotony until the weeks and the months and the years all passed in a gray, empty blur.”

I shook my head, trying to clear some of the tears welling in my eyes. The last thing I wanted to do right now, knowing what I did, was let him see me cry. I didn’t want to let him get that close to me ever again. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Why, Delfino? What was the point of all this?”

Still no answer—nothing more than Delfino running the tip of one finger around the rim of his mug. He didn’t look at me, didn’t so much as spare me a fleeting glance. I hated this game, the one where he froze me out, knowing how furious it made me. Knowing that I would work myself into a state of near-hysterics so he could have a good chuckle and then dismiss me. Hot needles pricked at the inside of my chest, throat, and face as an indignant fury rose within me. It was no use. Whatever the reason was, Delfino wasn’t about to give it away. It was a secret he would probably take to his grave.

I just hoped that day came sooner rather than later.

“A phone call,” he said suddenly.

I looked up from where I’d been trying to bore holes through the table with my glare. My face twisted, wrenched by confusion. “You… you kept me here all this time… because of a phone call?”

He lifted his mug again and drank from it. Then he relaxed, one arm draped across the back of the couch. “That’s what we’re waiting for. A phone call.”

I found myself leaning forward with interest. I hated myself for it, hated that I couldn’t play the same game he did, the one where a good poker face was everything. I didn’t have that, not really. Sure, I’d learned to hide certain reactions from him, learned to smile even when I felt like screaming. But this close to answers, this hungry for the truth, I was an open book to him. I could feel him reading my thoughts and emotions as easily as he would the ink upon a page.

“What phone call?”

A slight tilt of his lips. “The one I should be receiving any moment now.”

“Why?” I pressed him. “And from who?”

Delfino shrugged and brought the tea up again. “From my employer. To tell me what happens next.”

So, my fate would be decided by a phone call. I supposed I should be grateful it wouldn’t be determined by a mere text message.

“Don Carliogne,” I whispered.

“Francis, to his friends and family.”

My stomach clenched. “Is he? Your friend, I mean. Or… or family?”

Delfino chuckled wryly. “No.”

I touched my fingers to my lips, thinking. If Delfino was in a talkative mood, far be it for me to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe he wouldn’t answer any questions about why he insisted I stay with him all these years, but he clearly didn’t feel the same way about business matters.

“Why does there have to be a ‘next’?” I asked him. “I mean… what went wrong?”

Another sip from his mug. “You, mostly.”

“Because Leo and I broke into your office and took your hard drive?” I shook my head. “We didn’t do anything with it, though. You caught us. You took it back.” He nodded. “So why does it matter?”

“It matters,” he said.

“Yes. But why?”

“Because in my line of work, discretion is everything.”

“And two twenty-somethings got the best of you.”

“That calls into question my ability to remain in my position.”

“And Don Carliogne—he can’t have that.”

Delfino smiled. “No. He can’t.”

I sat silently for a time, absorbing this information. For all the time we’d spent together, Delfino had never been this open with me. It was yet another anomaly to add to the growing list.

“But… Leo’s as good as dead.”

His expression cooled once more. “Yes.”

A lump sat heavy in my throat. I tried to speak around it, tried not to let my voice crack. I failed. Miserably. “So then it’s taken care of. You’ve handled it.”

Delfino took a long draught this time. He seemed about halfway done with his tea and whiskey. “That’s not the point.”

I shook my head uncomprehendingly. “Then what is?”

“That it happened at all. That there are still loose ends.”

I felt my face pale. “You… you mean me.”

“Yes.”

Oh, God. “So you’re waiting to find out if you have to kill me. Is that it?”

“No.”

That was it. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Then what’s the problem, Delfino?” I shouted, standing up so fast my knees struck the edge of the table. My tea sloshed, spilling over the surface, dripping onto the rug below—but I didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, I couldn’t find one single fuck to give about the mess. Delfino didn’t care, clearly. Maybe he never had. So why should I? “Explain it to me. Exactly, and in no uncertain terms, explain to me what the hell we’re waiting for!”

“To find out what happens next,” he said again. I waited, but there was nothing else he seemed willing to give me.

And then all at once, it hit me. And the wind promptly left my sails.

“…because you won’t kill me.”

He stared up at me, unblinking. “Yes.”

Breathlessly, I added, “But you could.” It needn’t be a question. I already knew the answer. “You could kill me. And then maybe this would all go away.”

Now Delfino looked away from me, preferring instead, it seemed, to inspect the contents of his mug. He swirled them for several moments, enraptured enough with the effect that I almost began to believe he’d forgotten I spoke.

Then he said, “But I won’t.”

I sat down, hard, on the couch. My legs simply wouldn’t hold me up anymore. What was I supposed to say to that? The idea that my captor, my abuser, wouldn’t give up my life to potentially save his own… that he’d put me before himself in that way… How was that supposed to make me feel? What did it mean? And did any of that, at all, matter when he’d sent Leo away to die? When for all I knew, he was already dead?

I started to say something. I wasn’t sure what it would be, but I started to. And then the phone rang.

Delfino looked at it. Twice, three times it sang, warbling like a nightingale out of tune. He put his mug down.

“Wait,” I whispered. He looked at me. “Just one more question.” He didn’t move. “Why… why did you tell me all of that? Those things you said, they were… they were private, weren’t they? You’ve never told me anything like that before.”

Delfino blew air through his nose. I wasn’t sure if it was a sigh or a laugh. Maybe it was some melancholic mixture of both. “Because it no longer matters if you know.”

My heart thundered. The room spun around me. Sweat, cold and sticking, budded on my nape. It was all I could do not to throw up.

“…because you already know what they’re going to say.”

The phone rang again, for the fifth time now.

“Yes,” he answered. “Because no matter what anyone may tell you, Lucy, I am still good at my job.”

And then he picked up the phone.