Page 22 of Freed
We settle at the tiny kitchen table, picking at leftovers. Teresa talks animatedly, even though I only catch pieces of what she’s saying. It doesn’t matter. The warmth of it carries me.
I’m at the sink, sleeves rolled, washing dishes, when the door opens.
I turn and freeze.
“Dante! What happened?”
He steps inside slower than usual, one hand pressed to his side. There’s a dark bruise blooming across his cheek, already turning deep purple beneath his skin. His movements are controlled, but not effortless like they usually are.
“It’s nothing,” he says, brushing it off as he slides into my vacated seat—but he winces when he does, the pain breaking through his calm for just a second.
Teresa immediately starts speaking to him, sharp and worried. He answers her quickly, reassuring, before his gaze shifts back to me.
“A new group is trying to move into my territory,” he explains. “Had to put them on notice.”
My stomach tightens.
I move without thinking, grabbing ice from the freezer, wrapping it in a towel before pressing it into his hand. “You look like you lost.”
He lets out a low laugh and then grimaces. “I didn’t. I promise. But they did get in a few good hits before I took them down.”
I hover for a second, unsure where to stand, what to do, how close I’m allowed to get.
“Should I… should I be worried?” I ask carefully.
What I mean is?—
Did someone find me?
Dante’s gaze sharpens slightly, like he hears the question I’m not asking.
He shakes his head. “Local punks,” he says firmly. “I promise.”
I study him, searching for any sign of a lie. There isn’t one. But that doesn’t stop the unease from settling low in my chest.
Dante leans back slightly, eyes flickering to me again. “You don’t need to worry about anything, Juliette.”
I nod. But my hand drifts to my stomach anyway. Because worry is the one thing I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop. Not while Lorenzo might be looking for me.
6
Lorenzo
Fran tosses in her sleep beside me, murmuring something I can’t quite make out. Her hand twitches against the sheets, breath uneven, like she’s fighting something even in her dreams.
She’s done this every night since we were married.
I glance at my phone on the nightstand, the screen lighting up the dark just enough to ground me.
One month.
It doesn’t feel that long. And at the same time, it feels like I’ve lived an entirely different life since then.
Nearly three months since I’ve seen Elizabeth. Three months of nothing. No sightings. No credible leads. No trace of her existence beyond the memory burned into my mind.
I’ve expanded the search—pushed beyond my usual territory, called in favors I’ve spent years collecting, stepped into cities where my name doesn’t carry the same weight. Still… nothing. It’s like she dissolved.
Fran shifts again beside me, her voice rising slightly,strained. I turn my head, watching her for a moment. There’s a time where I would have reached for her. Now, I just watch.
