Chương 13 - THE NIGHT WE STOPPED RUNNING
For once, I refused to hide.
Not because I suddenly became fearless.
I was tired of men rearranging my life around threats they created.
The FBI moved us to a secure location.
I agreed because federal protection was not the same as Nico locking me inside a penthouse.
Important distinction.
Nico understood.
That surprised both of us.
We spent three nights in adjoining rooms.
Not together.
He never asked.
On the fourth night, I found him in the kitchen at 2:00 a.m.
He was drinking coffee.
“You'll never sleep again.”
“Probably.”
I sat across from him.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I'm sorry.”
Not dramatic.
No diamonds.
No speeches.
I waited.
“For what?”
“All of it.”
“Too broad.”
He nodded.
“For deciding what you could handle. For lying about Valentina. For using money whenever I didn't know how to say something. For letting you spend three years proving you cared while I treated needing you like a weakness.”
That one reached me.
I looked away.
“And the study?”
His jaw tightened.
“I needed Salvatore to believe you meant nothing.”
“You could've said I was inconvenient. Difficult. Temporary. You chose cruel.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked directly at me.
“Because I knew exactly what sentence would sound believable.”
“Meaning?”
“Because I had spent three years acting like someone who might say it.”
That was the first apology I trusted.
Not because it fixed anything.
Because he understood the damage wasn't one sentence.
It was the life surrounding it.
“I don't know if I can come back.”
“I know.”
“You may never get me back.”
“I know.”
“No threats?”
“Against who? You?”
“Your usual solution to problems.”
His mouth curved sadly.
“No.”
Progress.
Arthur entered carrying a laptop.
“Sorry to destroy whatever emotionally healthy thing this is.”
He had found Marco.
Not physically.
Financially.
A payment from a shell company to a charter company.
Departure scheduled for 5:30 a.m.
Private airfield in Connecticut.
Destination: Argentina.
Federal agents moved.
Marco never reached the plane.
They arrested him inside a hangar.
No shootout.
No heroic death.
Just a middle-aged man in an expensive coat being handcuffed beside three suitcases.
I liked that ending better.
Salvatore survived surgery.
He accepted a cooperation agreement that would still leave him imprisoned for the rest of his life.
His testimony connected Marco to Thomas's murder.
Dennis confirmed it.
Wexler provided documents.
Case closed.
Almost.
Then federal investigators found one more file on Marco's computer.
A life-insurance policy.
Nico Bellandi.
$25 million.
Beneficiary wasn't Marco.
It was me.
My signature appeared on the application.
Forged.
The policy had been created eighteen months earlier.
If Nico died, I would look like the woman who profited.
Marco hadn't only planned Nico's murder.
He planned to frame me for it.
And one person had verified my forged signature.
A witness.
Arthur Russo.
I looked at him.
May you like
His face went white.
“I never signed that.”
