CLARA ROSSI

"Here are your new passports. New driver's licenses. New birth certificates." CJ handed Daniel a stack of documents.

I sat across from them in the van, a blanket I did not need on my shoulders. Outside, Charlotte and Andrei were rolling our luggages out of the townhouse. Niko was talking to Grigor and Artiom about how to keep the business running.

One of the youngest agents near me was following the live news on his phone.

"In a startling turn of events, an undercover operation unveils the dark double life of billionaire Tomasso Rossi as a sex trafficker."

"Subsequently, the FBI issues an arrest warrant for Rossi, who is believed to have fled the country after the exposure of offshore accounts."

"The high-stakes gunfight and chase that followed concluded with two deaths, one of them identified as Enzo Pesci, Clara Rossi's former boyfriend."

"Turn that shit off!" Daniel yanked the phone out of the agent's hands, gripped his collar and shoved him out of the car, throwing the phone at him.

"Easy!" CJ yelled in disbelief.

Daniel rushed next to me and curled lower, seeking my gaze. I could feel it from the corner of my eye, his desperate but silent question. Look at me.

I didn't. Couldn't.

I didn't care that CJ drove us to a mysterious airstrip on the outskirts of town. I didn't care that we boarded a private jet. I didn't care that I didn't say bye to Nana. I didn't care what Charlotte had packed from my belongings. I didn't care the small beach town we reached in the middle of the night. The white picket fence cottage we entered on the edge of the ocean. I just didn't care.

Everything felt wrong. Inside this new house where we were supposed to live. To hide. Too cozy and innocent for the dark weight and filth that sat in my chest. The cream walls and oak floors. The gray couch stretching before a fireplace and flat screen TV. The intimate kitchen. The under-cabinet lights and spice shelves and island with woven bar stools and black hanging pendants. The walnut dining table with six chairs. The guitar in the corner and board games.

While Daniel triple-checked the security around and drilled CJ with questions, I climbed upstairs to disappear in one of the bedrooms. Not the master suite with a reading nook and a round tub and a walk-in-closet. But the last one, which I hated just as much, but at least it was far.

"There you are," Charlotte said behind me. Her cheerful tone felt like salt on an open wound. When I reluctantly turned, she gave me a very, very careful smile. "Whatchu up to?"

"Just...picking my room."

"You're sleeping here?"

I hated that she was making me talk. Every word took an effort I did not have to give. "So?"

"Nothing." She looked away. "I guess it's fine. I thought you and Daniel might take the bigger room."

Because we were 'married'? (Not like we had to pretend anymore). Or because CJ could only find us a house with three bedrooms?

"I can sleep on the couch, if you want this room," I said.

"No, no!" She scoffed. "Take it. That's not why..." I nodded and shifted to go in the bathroom. She said, "Do you mind if I sleep here though?"

"Together?" I frowned.

"I just...I don't think you should be alone now."

Why? Because I had killed another human being? Right. Because that's what I needed. To be reassured.

"I want to be alone." I opened the bathroom door, giving her one last look over my shoulder. Her eyes were big and pleading. "I'm fine. Just in shock. I'll be okay."

She didn't push and I felt a sliver of relief. With an apologetic nod, I closed the bathroom door and hoped no one else would try to talk to me.

When I looked at my reflection in the mirror, there was nothing left. Nothing.

You did it! You exposed your dad. Are you happy?

No.

I stripped out of my clothes and showered. Then realized midway that there were no products here. So I scrubbed my makeup off with water. But every time I closed my eyes, I remembered.

I remembered being in the back of Enzo's car. How he crept after Daniel with a gun. How he aimed at him-

"Clara?" Daniel knocked.

His voice alone ripped away my numbness.

I was back there again, pulling the trigger. Oh, God. I killed for him. I killed. Agony twisted like a knife in my gut, sinking me to my knees. You saved him-No! I should've done better.

"Clara? Hey, can you hear me? You okay?"

No. No. No. No. No.

Daniel knocked harder.

"I'm fine!" I yelled.

"I'm coming in-"

"No, don't! I'm naked!"

"I don't care-" He rattled the handle, then slammed his body against the door.

"Stop!" I stood to get out of the tub. He burst the door wide and rushed in. "Oh my God, what are you doing?!" I dropped down again to cover myself.

He stood behind the steam and fogged glass. I could hardly make out the blurry outline of his black jeans and shirt. But the breath of relief was crystal clear.

"I thought you hurt yourself."

"Please, get out."

"Sorry." He turned, then stopped. "Oh, wait. There are no towels here. I'll be back."

Seriously? In any other situation, I'd laugh.

He returned with a white bulky robe. "Are you done?"

"Daniel. Get. Out."

"Fine, just put this on. I'll put your clothes on the bed, so you can change af-Hold on, did you shower without a body wash?"

"I swear to fucking God, if you don't get-"

"Okay, okay! My bad. "

He closed the door behind him. Jesus...Of course, he'd stop my meltdown.

After tying the fuzzy robe around my waist, I found my luggage waiting in the bedroom and a steaming cup of black tea.

I flipped the lights off after changing into loose pajamas and slipped under the sheets. The assault of chronic adrenaline drained me.

Someone knocked.

Daniel again. "Clara?"

When he cracked the door opened, I could feel his gaze on my back. Maybe if I stayed quiet, he'd think I had passed out already.

He came around the bed and kneeled before me. I felt the warmth of his presence and the unbearable affection in his whisper.

"I know you're pretending to sleep." He brushed his knuckles across my cheek, featherlight.

I inched away, afraid to break again. "I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine." It was a tender observation.

"I don't want to be comforted. Please leave me alone."

"I can't do that."

How could my tired heart beat faster? "Try."

He stood up and I thought he was leaving, but he lifted the sheets and laid down next to me.

I raised my voice. "What are you-"

He ignored my protests and wrapped both arms around me, pulling me against his chest. I felt small, something broken to protect. It made me push him away.

"I'm fine-"

He squeezed me until we were molded. Until his scent mixed with mine. I felt cared for and it ached. The brittle shards where used to be my heart were being held and he was filling the gaps with warmth, with strength, with hope.

"You're not fine." He kissed the top of my head when my tears soaked his shirt. "You won't be fine for a long time. You'll spend days and nights criticizing what you could've done better. You'll wonder if you deserve to be happy, if you deserve to move on. You're not a killer, Clara. You're kind and loving and compassionate and selfless. I know you didn't want to kill. I'm sorry."

I shook my head against him. "Don't..."

"Thank you for saving my life." His whisper came out choked. He hugged me tighter. I sobbed. This time loud and hard. It was impossible to stop and he took it all. "Thank you for everything."

A/N
Now on the road to recovery <3
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