The journal entry chronicling the death and burial of Z nearly brought me to my knees. I couldn’t imagine the sorrow and guilt those three men had felt after the horror that unfolded that night.

My uncle had been attacked and nearly raped. Gio had killed a man in cold blood—a man he’d once loved and still felt responsible for. The emotions coursing through me were staggering, as if I had experienced that loss myself.

How did you move past something like that? I doubted anyone come through such a tragedy unscathed. I imagined the guilt they must have all carried with them as they moved on with life and left Z behind, and felt the ghost of a hole in my own heart.

I flipped to the back of the journal and out pulled three photos that had yellowed and faded with age. I stared for a long time, shocked to finally be able to put faces to the names I had read about.

The first photo was of three men. My uncle at the age of eighteen, smiling brightly and looking so similar to me it took my breath away. Gio posed beside him in the fedora Peter had given him, looking gorgeous and intimidating with his dark hair and piercing blue eyes. A hint of a smile graced his full lips as he held Peter close, tucked in under his arm like the precious possession he was. Theo stood aloof on the other side of Peter, his flowing mane of hair looking the same as it did today.

It was strange to see my uncle and Theo so fresh-faced and unlined, especially after all I knew they had been through. I wondered if the photo had been taken before or after Z’s death.

The second photo was of Peter and Gio in their bedroom, hugging and smiling sweetly at the camera. They looked so damn happy and in love. I wondered if Theo had been on the other side of the camera taking the picture.

The third photo was an even older one that featured a younger Gio and a black-haired man whom I assumed could only be Z. It appeared to have been taken in a nightclub. A crowd of blurry-faced people partied behind them as they posed for the picture, both grinning broadly as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

Tears fell from my eyes, and I moved the photos quickly out of the way before the teardrops could land on them. It was unsettling how much I had come to feel for the people in these photos. I’d never actually met two of them, and the other two were people I despised. And yet I felt a part of them now.

I thought of Z, alone in the middle of the desert somewhere, and the tears fell harder. Jesus, what was wrong with me? How could their story affect me so deeply?

I flipped back to the photo of Gio, Peter, and Theo, brushing my finger lightly over Gio’s face. Something about the man as described through my uncle’s eyes had me mesmerized. I wondered if he was still around. I wondered if I could meet him.

My finger caressed over his hat—the one Peter had given him as a gift—and the gold chain that now encircled my own throat. Was it strange that I loved the feeling of having a piece of Gio so close to me?

God, I was getting weird. Fixated on the past and its distorted version of these four men.

And then I had a thought—a memory, really—and I rushed to my uncle’s abandoned apartment and slipped inside.

The place was so quiet and still, it reminded me of a tomb. I suppose it was, in a way. It was a tomb for the memories of past lives, and of the joy and loss that had been experienced within its pristine walls. I thought of Gio and Peter and Theo and Z moving through the space, all vibrant and alive, and it made me so very sad.

I had come to the apartment for a reason, though. There was something in the bedroom I remembered noticing on the few times I’d been in there. I’d always thought of Santori’s apartment, and especially his bedroom, as feeling like a museum or a shrine. Until now I hadn’t known exactly why, but now I understood. It’s because it was a shrine. A memorial to the life he and Gio had shared here.

I turned on the lights, feeling like it was a little sacrilegious to do so, and crept into the bedroom. I turned the light on there, too, and noticed that the furniture was much the same as it had been in the photo tucked away in the journal. It was hard to imagine that my uncle had been such a sentimental bastard, but I was standing right smack dab in the middle of undeniable proof that he was.

I moved hesitantly toward the master bathroom and looked inside. My heart lurched when I caught sight of the garden tub where Z’s body had lain as he drew his last breath, blood spurting from the gash in his throat. I imagined Gio crumpled to his knees on the floor beside him, running his fingers through his dark hair as he died, and my heart hurt almost as if I’d been there myself.

A chill washed over me, and I spun around, suddenly terrified that someone or something was behind me. I was overcome by the irrational fear that I would find Z’s ghost standing there with his throat slit and his eyes full of pain. But I was alone in the room.

As I tried to calm my racing heart, my gaze snagged on the very thing I’d been looking for: Gio’s hat. I’d never paid it much attention before, but now I realized it had always been there. As if it was just waiting patiently for Gio to come home and put it on his head. I didn’t want to think of how Santori had ended up with it, and the serpentine chain I now wore.

No, I wouldn’t think of that. The possibilities disturbed me far too much.

I crossed the room and picked up the hat in slightly trembling fingers. A thin layer of dust had settled on the fur felt surface, and I tapped the hat against my arm, watching the dust swirl in the dim light of the room. Then I placed it on my head.

I now wore his hat and his chain, and I touched a hand to the holster at my waist. The one that held his 38 Special. When I went out, I always carried the gun Aaron had given me, but when I was home, I wanted Gio’s gun at my hip.

I was overcome by the strangest sensation of channeling Gio. Of becoming more like him the closer I got to his things. It was a delicious feeling, as if I was rebelling against the universe and doing something that was never supposed to be done. I couldn’t explain any of it—the reason I felt this way, the reason I wanted his things. But the feelings were there and just as strong as any I had ever felt.

I wasn’t going to fight it.

I left the apartment with the hat on my head, and when I was back at my place, I stood in front of the mirror and admired myself.

Gangster Gio.

Gangster Kage.

I shook my head and laughed at myself, but it didn’t stop me from wanting this.

I imagined myself working alongside Theo, dressed like Gio Rivera as I spied for the government in an effort to take Theo and all of his associates down. The thought sent a thrill through me. Because as much as I’d felt drawn in by Peter and Gio and Z, I’d somehow never gotten that feeling about Theo.

It was puzzling, really. Maybe it was because I knew him in the present, and because I hated him.

He was the reason Jamie was gone, and I was left to face all of this alone.

I thought of Gio and Peter, and how Gio had said he didn’t want to be a monster. How he’d confessed that Peter was the only thing keeping him from becoming one.

Compassion and love.

It had been a revelation, because that is how I’d felt about Jamie from the beginning. He’d always been the one thing that kept me grounded and made me want to be a better person.

God, I couldn’t lose him.

Even with all of the espionage and danger, Jamie was still my biggest concern. My only concern, really. Without him, it would all be for nothing. Didn’t he understand that everything I did was for him? To keep him safe? To earn the happily ever after we deserved together? It was so frustrating to have to watch him drift away from me, all the while knowing that he was the only reason I was doing any of this. That the things I was doing to keep him safe and by my side were the very things that were pushing him away.

I studied my reflection in the mirror—my modern-day rendition of Gio Rivera—and grinned, looking evil and so unlike myself. An image flashed behind my eyes of Gio slitting the throat of the man he had once loved. He’d done what he had to do to keep Peter safe, even though it broke his own heart to do it.

Jamie’s face swam in my vision, looking up at me with wide brown eyes that held all of the innocence and beauty the world had to offer. Suddenly the confusion and fear I’d felt over the past months were gone, and I knew with surprising clarity what I had to do.

Jamie was my compassion.

My love.

My reason for existing.

I had to keep him safe and ensure that we had the chance to love each other for the rest of our lives.

I slipped my 38 Special from the holster and aimed it at the mirror, imagining my enemies lined up in front of me just waiting to take a bullet in the name of love. Like Gio, I didn’t want to be a monster. But by God, I would become the worst monster the world had ever seen if that’s what it took to get my Jamie back.