When the police burst into the basement apartment, Victor was still clinging to my leg. Cold handcuffs snapped around his wrists, and he didn't struggle. Lily, by contrast, was screaming and shrinking into a corner.
"It wasn't me! Victor made me do all of it! He moved the money, he told me to fake the illness. I don't know anything!"
Victor finally lifted his head to look at her, and that look was like watching a shrine he'd knelt at for ten years dissolve into filth. Then, a second later, he turned back to me. His eyes were terrifying red, his voice as soft as sleep talk.
"Stella, I was wrong. Let me pay for it with my life, all right?"
I looked down at him. Once, if he'd so much as furrowed his brow from a stomachache, my chest would tighten. Now he was being dragged into a squad car
