The hours spent here are long and exhausting.

I’m waking up to an empty side of the bed.

Cold. Vacant. I’m not used to it. Being without him terrifies me now.

Breakfast isn’t served at a table, it’s brought to me by Emilio, who hardly says anything, only asks me if I need something or to call for him if I do. Patanza has been around, using most of her time sitting in the one spot that gives view of the city.

On my second night here, I walk past and see her sitting in a lounge chair with her head hung low. At first, I can barely recognize her. She’s wearing black lounge clothes, her hair long, shiny and damp. It’s dark, and other than the lights sparkling from the pool, you can’t make out much but the city lights beyond the patio where she sits.

I see her sitting there with her back facing the closed door, her hair like a curtain around her face, and I swear I see her shoulders shaking. If I’m not mistaken, she’s crying. My feet move, the urge to go out and talk to her high and demanding.

But when she reaches up and swipes hard at her face, then stands and stalks away into the darkness, I stop before I can reach the door, realizing she only wants to be left alone.

By the third day, I am a mess. I can hardly eat. Hardly sleep. I can’t get that image of Thiago out of my head to save my life. The way he had my back and protected me when we were in that tunnel—how he would have done anything to protect me because he knew how much I meant to Draco…it was too much. Too real.

He gave his own life for me. For his cousin.

“You need her more than me anyway.” His words haunt me, the tears lining my eyes, hot like fire. I roll over and somehow, after letting go of a river’s worth of tears, I fall asleep.

* * *

The next morning, I walk out of the bedroom after taking a quick shower, and Emilio is in the living room, his back to me, talking quietly on his phone.

“Si, Jefe. Ella esta bien.” She is okay.

“Is that Draco?” I ask in Spanish, rushing in his direction.

Emilio spins around, eyes stretched wide as he stares at me. I don’t even bother asking for the phone. Instead, I take it away, pressing the receiver to my ear.

“Draco?” I call. “Draco!” There is no response.

I lower the phone and look at the screen. The call has ended. He hung up.

I glare up at Emilio. “Where is he? Is he on the way?”

Emilio presses his lips with a slight shrug.

“What did he want?”

“He was just checking on you, Patrona.”

“Why doesn’t he just come and check on me himself?” I snap, and I know I shouldn’t be angry with Emilio, the only man showing me respect right now, but I can’t help it. I feel like I’m on the brink of a mental breakdown.

“He will talk to you when he feels like it,” Patanza says from behind me in her native language. I turn and look at her. Her face is pale, eyes dark and empty. She seems almost . . . lifeless. “Stop pressuring Emilio, when you know he can’t give you solid answers. Haven’t you caused enough fucking trouble?”

“Patanza,” Emilio warns.

But I don’t stick around long enough to hear what else she has to say. I return the phone to Emilio and walk back to my bedroom.

I’m on edge for the rest of that day. By nightfall, I’m calling Emilio for a bottle of wine to help take the edge off. I down three glasses of red wine, eyes wet, heart pounding.

I don’t know when I finally fall sleep, but when I wake up, it’s still dark, and the heavy smell of marijuana rolls past my nose. The door to the terrace is cracked open. I gasp, shooting up straight, staring through the glass.

Dropping one foot on the marble floor, I tiptoe to the door, cautious, heart racing. I pause for a second when I hear a throat clear, deep and heavy. I look around for something to defend myself with, but there isn’t much here. Just the half empty bottle of wine and the silver tray. On top of the tray is a knife I used to cut my apples earlier.

I grab it, pulling the door open and peeking around the corner.

When I see the broad shoulders and chiseled jaw, my racing hearts works overtime. I immediately lower my guard, something I normally wouldn’t do around him, placing the knife down on the chair behind me.

I can’t help but lower what’s left of my defensive walls.

Draco is standing on the terrace with a joint pinched between his lips, overlooking the city of Cabos. The moonlight makes his skin look clear and smooth, highlighting the dark stubble on his jawline and around his mouth. He’s wearing an unbuttoned dress shirt, his hair a disheveled mess.

I almost don’t go out. He looks calm, if only for now. Maybe I shouldn’t bother him. Give him his space until morning.

I start to step away, but I bump into the side of the house, causing a thump.

He looks over when he hears it and immediately reaches for his gun, drawing and pointing it at me. I hold my hands in the air, and when he realizes it’s only me, he lowers it right away, sighing heavily as he tucks it back into the holster.

“Sorry to scare you,” I whisper.

“Nothing scares me,” he grumbles, pulling the joint from his lips. “It’s called watching your back.”

I look him over. His eyes are hard, but deep in them I can see the pain. I see his agony, and I want to cry for him. I know he hasn’t dared shed a tear. He’s kept himself busy and distant for a reason.

“Draco,” I call, stepping closer to him, cutting right to the chase. “I am so, so sorry. I swear, I didn’t—”

“Just shut up, Gia,” he mutters, looking away. “There is nothing you can say that will help the situation we’re in. It happened, and it’s done. Time to move forward now.”

“I just want to apologize,” I tell him, still cautious, but still moving closer to him.

“Apologies are worthless. They don’t help or motivate me. They only piss me the fuck off.”

My mouth clamps shut. I stop only a footstep away from him. He puts out the joint and bends over, placing it on the ground.

“What took you so long to get here?” I ask.

“Had work to do. Shit to handle.”

“You killed someone?”

“I’ve killed a lot of people.”

I look down. He’s so cold, intentionally driving a wedge between us. It hurts knowing he doesn’t want to speak to me; that he probably doesn’t even want to be around me.

“You told them I was safe here. How am I safer here?”

“Because she doesn’t know where you are. It allows me to do what I need to do until I can get to her again.”

“You haven’t seen her since—” My sentence cuts short. I’m afraid to say it around him. Saying it will make it real.

He takes note of my hesitance, cocking a brow, fixing his gaze on me. “Since what? Since she killed my cousin?” His tone is harsh and unforgiving.

I nod pathetically.

“No, and she better be fucking glad I haven’t seen her, otherwise I’d gouge her fucking eyes out and then bury her alive.”

The menacing chill in his voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “What will you do to get to her?” I ask, voice low. “I want to help, Draco. This is my fault. I need to do something too, not just hide out here.”

His head shakes from side to side, his face seeming much paler now. “I blame myself for ever sending him out there. I knew something was wrong—I could feel it deep in my gut when he didn’t answer the damn phone. He always answers for big deals. Always, but I ignored that churn in my gut and automatically assumed he was going against me.” His eyes flash up to meet mine. “But I bet that’s what you want, right? For me to blame myself. For me to put everything on my shoulders? Well, fuck that.” He points a stern finger at me. “You are to blame too, Gianna. You. If that no-armed fucker hadn’t been set free, they never would have found Thiago in the first place! He knew everything! He listened and watched for months, and you just let him go, like he was a fucking saint!” Nostrils flared, he takes a step back, going to the door. “I’m really starting to think I should have just killed you the same day I killed Trigger Toni. If I had, none of this shit would have ever happened.”

His words are a solid punch in the gut—or maybe to the face. Either way, it knocks the breath right out of my lungs.

He walks right past me before I can even stop him.