He Can Only Hold Her
GIOVANNI
Five hours past nightfall, on the fifth day.
And I still felt her on me.
The midnight air in New York felt heavy, thick. The bad weather had followed from Washington, and huge droplets of rain fell heavily from the heavens, warm and wet—much like the tears that had been in Sienna’s eyes the last night I spent with her.
The night we made love.
I downed the rest of my whiskey, tapping my fingers against the glass as I looked behind my back, taking in the rest of Tino’s bar with weary eyes. It was secluded, empty for a Thursday, but the solitude was welcomed. I hadn’t slept in days.
I stalked the streets of Manhattan that night, and even when Grimm urged me to leave, flee the country for the last few days, there had always been some excuse, some loose end
