The word hung in the air like gunsmoke after a shot.
Like a transaction awaiting its final signature. Like territory being divided on a map.
"Can you look at me when I'm speaking to you?" Impatience sharpened his tone now, the veneer cracking.
"There's no need," I replied.
That struck something in him. He moved closer, and his shadow fell across the bed like a sentence being pronounced. "What exactly are you trying to say, Elena?"
I let the question hang.
His gaze traveled down my arm, stopping on the pale lattice of old scars that marked the skin above my wrist. Something shifted in his expression—recognition, perhaps, or the ghost of a memory he had chosen to bury. "How did these happen?"
"You're asking now." My voice came out flat as a blade laid on velvet. "Don't you think it's too late?"
His brow furrowed. "The Family had much to contend with back then. You know this. The war with the Valentino syndicate, the federal investigations—"
"I know," I said. "You were with her."
That single sentence emptied the room of air.