Staring at Vincenzo, I realized the worst thing possible.
The gun.
He had a gun in his hand.
A real gun.
And somehow I hadn’t noticed it before.
My entire body froze.
The pain in my shoulder suddenly didn’t matter.
The healing didn’t matter.
The aura didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered.
Because all I could see was him.
Sitting there.
Holding the weapon.
The same weapon that had just fired.
My stomach dropped.
“No…”
The word barely left my mouth.
He had shot me.
The realization hit harder than the bullet ever could.
And suddenly his warning made sense.
Every last word of it.
Say it one more time and you will hate me.
He wasn’t wrong.
Not even a little.
Because I did.
I hated him.
I hated the yacht.
I hated Chicago.
I hated this mansion.
I hated every lie he had told
