Nicholas stared at the dead phone in his hand, jaw clenched so tight it ached. The storm outside was a whisper compared to the storm in his chest.
Lorenzo.
The brother he’d buried.
The betrayal he’d never expected.
Behind him, Alina stepped barefoot across the hardwood floor. His shirt hung loose on her, collar stretched from the grip of his hands earlier. Her legs were still marked where his hips had held her down. But the glow in her eyes was gone. Replaced by steel.
He didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
She took the phone from him.
“I heard it too,” she said. “Your brother. Alive.”
Nicholas nodded once. Then sat. Hard.
“He died. I saw his body.”
Alina tilted her head. “You saw a coffin. Not the body.”
The realization hit him like a knife. She wasn’t wrong. It was closed-casket. A fire.
