The door slams shut, creaking with resistance at the force of his drawback.

I hear Dixon's boots drift farther and farther away, and the panic surging within me sends me up onto my feet at an inhuman speed. My esophagus burns as I sprint for the window, waiting to see him exit the building. The moment he does, walking toward his police cruiser in confident strides, the call button on the wall ignites like an alarm.

I ignore it, my mind spinning at a million miles per hour. I try to locate the coherent thoughts, pushing past the ones that want to paralyze me, force me to actually recall and sit on what just happened. The part of me that wants to focus on how the nightmares, the distant memories that have consistently taken over my day-to-day thoughts, are actualized, once again.

Before I know it, I'm leaping through my apartment into my bedroom, snapping a hanger as I pull off a black zip-up raincoat and get it on fast. My fingers clumsily sift through hats with shaking fingers, and I place a black beret on my head, stuffing my platinum blonde locks beneath the tight material.

I zip to the table, where I snatch up sunglasses even though it's nearly midnight. With a scoop, I grab my purse and open the door, not thinking. I shut the door, not bothering to lock it. He has a key already.

By the time I get down the steps, Rog is halfway up them, his eyes wide with concern.

"He was here?"

"He was here." My voice struggles for volume. "I need the locks changed. He has a key. I need to use the back exit," I breathe, already heading for the hallway leading to it.

He stops by the desk, reaching for the phone. "I'm going to call the cops."

"No, I'm going there now. He'll just answer the call if you call it in."

"Okay. I'll ring you when I have the locks done!" he calls out as I push open the heavy door. The night is thick with humidity, preparing for a storm. I cut through an unkempt patch of weeds, so I end up on a different block. I zip up the jacket to my chin when I turn onto the vacant sidewalk, trying to push past the ultimate fear that he may be following me through the streets.

Shaded by the dark tint of the glasses, I peer around me nervously, relieved when I don't see a police cruiser in sight. There's a taxi that zooms by me, and I call out for it, waving my arm frantically, and it miraculously comes to a halt.

I throw open the door and slide inside, gulping in air. "Police station."

"Sure thing."

As soon as he pulls out from the curb, I dig into the contents of my purse, pulling out my cell phone. I'm not thinking clearly. If I were, I'd still be inside my apartment, devising a better plan. I dial Giovanni's number, chewing on my lip as I hear the rings pass with no answer.

It goes to voicemail. Fuck.

"Giovanni, please. I need you to call me when you get this. God, please don't be sleeping."

I hang up and pull off the sunglasses, now able to see how badly my body is responding to yet another blow to my existence, another complication with an attempt to destroy my world as I know it.

"Everything alright?"

My eyes flicker to the driver's, which are watching me carefully in the rearview mirror. I nod shortly, which is all I can muster up for him. By the time we reach the police station, I've called Giovanni three times.

I pay the driver and hop across the sidewalk. The sterile, cold room of the lobby is a place I remember well– a place I'd come to pick up Dixon for lunch, a place he'd tell me to come when he couldn't go the entire night shift without seeing me. The receptionist sees me, and her naturally drooped eyes widen slowly, clearly recognizing me beneath my makeshift disguise.

"Is Dixon here?"

"No, he's out on duty... I didn't know you two were in contact–"

"I want to see Tom, Lara," I demand in a sharp tone, cutting her off. She must sense my desperation because she frowns, suddenly tense.

"What's happened?"

"I need to see Tom."

"He's in his office with someone. I can get you someone else?"

"No." I storm away from the desk, heading for the back room. I hear her chair screech.

"Scarlett, wait! You can't go–"

I bend down beneath the counter, and some metal detector begins to beep loudly. A few officers stand at the noise in the busy, crowded room. Some of them I know, some I don't.

"Scarlett?"

I turn the corner hastily, picking up into a sprint when I begin to hear their boots coming after me.

"You can't just go back there! Stop!"

Frantically, I scan the names outside the offices. Tom's is the one at the very end. Through the blinds, his eyes dart from the person he's speaking with to me, shell-shocked.

"You can't just come back here!" One of the officers I've never met takes hold of my arm tightly. I pull it from him, gritting my teeth together.

"Get your hands off me."

The door opens abruptly, and Tom stands in the threshold.

"Scarlett, I'm in the middle of something. I can talk to you in a–"

"Now. You can talk to me right the fuck now," I snarl, entering his office, unable to care that another officer is seated at his desk.

"Rich... give us a second, will you?"

The man rises and quickly leaves the room, following the handsy cop. Tom shuts the door, noticeably cautious when he faces me. I walk up to him with no intention of stopping and shove him back into the door, grunting at how hard it is to push him.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" I screech, slamming my hands into his chest. He grabs them, holding me tight in his grip. "I told you what he did to me! I told you what kind of man he was! You know he's fucked up and you still took him back!"

"He's gotten help. For Christ sake, Scarlett, the guy just saved people's lives! He's doing good!"

"Good? He's not good. He's sick! He broke into my apartment tonight, he made a copy of my key. He–He–" I close my eyes. "He's a fucking monster. You let him back in and he's a fucking monster. You knew it. I told you, the night of the disturbance. I told you he was harassing me again."

"You told me he couldn't get over you. That he was following you again, that he was harassing you and your boyfriend. Martinelli lost it on him."

"Dixon beat me. He beat me. It's why I fucking divorced him!"

"Why didn't you say this then?"

I gape, trying to answer him. There are so many reasons I didn't, all that seem ridiculous now. He lets me go and I raise my hand, rubbing my forehead, frustrated.

"I wanted him to have a good life. I thought it was the alcohol, Tom. I thought–"

"Do you have any evidence? Pictures? A note? Anything?"

I shake my head. "No. No I don't have anything like that." I chew on my lip, trying to think past the throbbing in my skull. Think, Scarlett. Think.

"My doorman saw him leave," I blurt out.

"Did he see him inside your apartment? Did he see him leave your apartment?"

I sputter, holding out my hands. "No, he didn't! But there are fucking cameras so you could see him leaving from there! Goddammit, Tom! This is your fucking job!"

He breathes in, sticking his hands into his pockets. "Scarlett, why don't you have a seat, okay? Calm down. I'll get you a coffee, and we can–"

"Don't tell me to calm down," I bark. "I just came home to find my ex-husband hiding in the fucking shadows! Just like before! So, how about you put aside the fact that you're his fucking friend and serve the law like you're supposed to!"

His mouth sets disapprovingly. "Why was he there? Just to scare you?"

I nearly say it.

In my flustered rambling, I nearly tell him he threatened me with blackmail. But I stop myself, knowing I'd blow up Giovanni's life and he'd not even know it was coming.

Not even my fear can make me do that to him.

I close my eyes, feeling my phone buzzing in my purse. Fuck, I can't be doing this.

I look at the door.

"Scarlett, just wait here. He gets off his shift in a few minutes. I can talk to him then–"

"Just get the tapes to the building, alright? You'll see him enter and leave my apartment. And don't tell him I told you any of this–"

"I have to, Scarlett. I need to know what the hell is going on here."

"YOU KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON!" I shake my head, laughing through my anger. I walk to the door. "For fuck's sake!"

I swing the door open and stalk down the hall, reaching into my purse for my phone, which hasn't stopped buzzing.

"There she is–?"

I look up, and my eyes land upon Dixon's. He blinks, and in one split second, he transforms his features into a look of shock and disbelief as he approaches me, giving an Oscar-worthy performance.

"Scarlett, what's wrong? What are you doing here?"

Mother. Fucker.

I feel something inside finally implode, seizing control of my body. I discard my bag onto the floor and meet him halfway. I don't say a damn word.

I slam my hand into his cheek, and drag my nails along his skin, hearing a snarl come deep from my chest. He cries out, backing up, but, blinded by my hatred, I continue coming at him. I shove my fist into his neck, his cheek, wherever I can get before I'm being pulled off of him by someone else.

I hear Tom's voice in my ear. His arms are holding me tightly. I struggle against him, eyes searing into Dixon's face, pleased I drew blood.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

...

I lean back in the holding cell, staring out through the bars, my arms crossed over my chest. I'm alone. Earlier, there was another woman but she was bailed out over an hour ago.

I could care less that I'm in here.

In fact, being in here means I'm frozen in time for a moment. There's nothing I can do to change my circumstances from here. I stare at my feet, realizing how damn depressing that thought is.

I look up when I see Dixon entering the hallway, blowing out a large, calculated exhale and I know that he's going to be a dick about this. His cheek is marked by swollen gashes from my nails.

"You're lucky I'm not pressing charges."

I don't answer him. He leans into the bars.

"You didn't do yourself any favors tonight, Scarlett. You were smart to keep your mouth shut."

"Fuck you."

He smirks, slowly straightening. "Your friend is here to bail you out."

Tom bounds down the stairs, holding my discharge papers. He takes one look at Dixon and flicks his head towards the stairs, ordering him to leave, but Dixon makes a point to turn back to me.

"Look, I know you've had a lot going on, Scarlett. I went by to try and make amends, be there for you. I thought we'd gotten over the past. I was sick then... I've apologized." He looks at Tom. "I swear, I just went by to see her."

I begin to smile slowly, so angry I want to jump at the bars.

"Is this true?"

I stare at Tom, steely cold. "Would you believe me if I said it wasn't?"

Tom looks between us disapprovingly. "I'm going to look into this, Scarlett. If Dixon has done wrong, he will face the consequences. Either way, assault is a serious offence."

His words sound straight from a rulebook, a stupid crime show. I block out the rest of his speech defiantly. I watch them go, only standing when the cell is opened. Ed steps down off the last step, still in teal scrubs, and exhales deeply at the sight of me.

I walk into him with relief. He was the only person who I knew would be awake at the hour I was locked up. He told me at dinner he was working a night shift at the hospital.

"Well, I truly never thought I'd ever have to bail you out of jail."

"Thank you for coming," I breathe, letting him go. "I swear, I'll pay you back."

"Shit, don't even worry about that." He regards me warmly, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Come on."

When we get to the top of the stairs, he divulges, "By the way, Giovanni was getting a flight out last I heard. Rebecca called him after I called her to let her know what was happening."

"Oh." I swallow, tucking my hair behind my ear. The amount of looks we're getting are harrowing. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Dixon and Tom walking toward Tom's office. "W-When was this?"

"Hours ago."

I look at the clock. It's nearly dawn. I've been here all night.

Somehow, I'm too wired to sleep. The girl behind the desk is different now, but by the way she's eying me, she's been told what happened. We step out into a new gloomy day, the sidewalks now crawling with early risers.

"My car is right over there," he says, pointing. "Text Giovanni. Let him know you're going to be at my place."

...

Ed keeps his eyes on the scotch in his hand, which gleams as he rocks the liquid inside the glass back and forth, contemplating the long explanation for my actions tonight, minus the blackmail, a detail I refuse to trust anyone with.

Seated on the couch, I hold my own empty glass. My grip on the cup is keeping my hands from trembling.

"Where is Carol?"

"Morning shift."

I swallow, knowing my attempt for small talk is not going to lessen what I've just admitted to him. "How is that working? These hours?"

"It's not ideal, that's for sure."

He stands, walking back to the scotch bottle. Morning drinking isn't something I've ever even contemplated, but when he offers me more without so much as a word, I don't do a thing to stop him, not after the night I've had.

"Well, now I understand," he finally says, taking a seat on the couch rest.

The scotch aches as it runs down the swollen tissue surrounding my throat, but it's calmed me down, which matters much more. "Understand what?"

"Why you didn't want anyone else but him." He nods at his glass at my silence. "I didn't get it... I struggled to understand why he was so important to you when he had caused so much destruction in your life."

He looks at me expectantly, but his question takes longer than I expect to come out.

"He's the only one who knows you, isn't he?"

His words feel like a bullet to my soul. Before I can answer, there's knocking at the door, pounding with urgency. Ed's mouth curves into a small smile.

"I'm going to take a shower, give you guys some time."

I nod, blood racing as we stand at the same time.

"Thank you, Ed," I whisper as he heads for the hallway. He turns enough for me to catch a hint of a smile but doesn't stop walking.

"Anytime, Scarlett."

There's a sadness in his tone that's upsetting to hear. Possibly because I'm not completely blind. I've often caught his stares, felt his lingering touches, even after he moved in with Carol. In some way, I believe he's been waiting for me to give up on Giovanni.

And I think now he's realized how impossible that is for me to do.

As the pounding increases, I swerve around Ed's furniture and quickly undo the locks, pulling the door open. I'm instantly crushed by a set of strong arms, captured close into Giovanni's desperate embrace, and like a quick, powerful dose of medicine, his presence heals my internal wounds. His body shields out the light, and with my face pressed into his chest, I finally close my eyes, inhaling his familiar woodsy lavender smell, one of the only combinations of scents that can tame my pulse with just a whiff.

"Fucking hell," he breathes to himself, his arms tightening around me, his hands cradling the back of my skull. I feel his heart pounding wildly into my cheek. My fingers pull on the back of his t-shirt with need, no doubt wrinkling the cotton material.

He pulls back, letting me go only to clasp my face. Deep black abysses surround his pupils, which are tired but clearly wired from fear and adrenaline. They search my features, traveling down over my body in search of something. Wounds, I'm guessing.

"I should have never let you go." He strokes my hair, swallowing deeply. "Did he hurt you?"

"I'll be fine," I reply, shaking off the topic. "I'm fine."

"You hit him in the station?"

My brows furrow. "How do you know that?"

"It's all over the news."

Damn it. I close my eyes in regret. "Damn it," I say aloud to myself, turning. I hear him close the door.

"I know. It's not good–"

"No, it's not." I probably look like a lunatic to everyone. Attacking New York's heroic fucking cop. I run my hands through my hair, racking through ways I could turn this on Dixon without implicating Giovanni too.

"Baby... tell me what's going on. What the hell happened last night?"

My mouth hangs wide, trying to find a place to start. I turn to him, and he reaches out for me, emitting a deep concern as he tries to stop my pacing.

"I went to have drinks with Carlos and Ed last night. It was late, and I came home. Dixon was there."

"Inside?"

I nod. "Yes. And he had a key. He'd had one made. I don't know how he got it. I tried to tell him to leave, but he wouldn't. He began to tell me that he went to see Tony in prison–"

"Tony? My brother?"

I nod again, just trying to remember it all. "He said that Tony talked a lot, told him a lot of things. And that he went through a bunch of connections and got ahold of the Fed working Tony's case."

"How in the hell would he pull that off? He just got back onto the police force."

"I don't know. Maybe because of everything that's happened with him lately in the news? I don't know."

"Do you know he was telling the truth? He could be bluffing."

I shake my head, closing my eyes tightly when he grabs my arms, rubbing his hands over them comfortingly to get me to stand still.

"He wasn't. He knew too much." My breath hitches as my mouth trembles, a reaction to my stomach dropping in remembrance. "He knew about your father. About the money laundering... Tony told him."

Giovanni's eyes widen in disbelief. "No... What? Tony wouldn't do that."

"He did. He told him a hell of a lot." He shakes his head, blinking rapidly, clearly now feeling the suffocating weight I feel. He lets me go, rubbing his head.

"What exactly did he say?"

"He said that Tony had been a part of it with your father. That he knew this whole time what your father was doing. I think Tony helped... it's probably how he managed to steal from you too."

He scoffs, shaking his head. He turns. "What else?"

"He said he'll go to the agent, tell him. He said it'll ruin you, your family. They'll take all your assets, your company. He said it was millions your father cheated the government out of. And he wants you to go down for it, even though he knows you weren't involved."

"Fuck," he barks to the door, pressing his hands into his hips. I'm sick with guilt, loathing that someone from my life has the ability to ruin his. Hating that, because he knows me, loves me, he has to battle my demons too. He shouldn't have to.

"He said the only way he'd remain quiet..." I focus on the floor, unable to say this to the back of his head. "The only way would be if I end this, if I leave you now, for good."

He's silent long enough for me to imagine the storm raging inside him.

"Tell me you aren't even considering that option."

"Well, I'd be a complete bitch not to. Giovanni, this could destroy your life, everything you've ever worked for. You should think about what could happen!"

He turns and leaves his place, his face set into a hard mask. He cups my jaw roughly, forcing me to look straight at him. The area is still tender from Dixon's hands, causing discomfort I attempt to keep at bay.

I'm suffocated by the emotion in his gaze. His half-lidded, intensely dark pair of eyes give me the sight of a man willing to risk it all.

"Can you live without me, Scarlett? Do you want to?"

It's shocking how fast the word leaves my mouth, a knee-jerk reaction straight from my heart, seized with turmoil and resistance. "No."

"Then whatever fucked up option you had in your head for us is out."

I rest my hands against his hips, taking comfort in the secure, hard feel of him. "Giovanni, he wasn't bluffing. If we stay together–"

"He isn't the only one who has connections. You and I are well known in our industry. We can fight him on this by any means. We can."

I have no idea how he intends to fight a police officer nor how he intends to keep a crime of this magnitude out of public reach. He's not thinking clearly– neither am I, both of us consumed in what we feel for each other and in the fear of what separation would truly do to us.

"Giovanni." Instinctively, my cheek tilts into his smooth palm, and his thumbs gently graze over my flushed cheeks.

"I left you once, Scarlett. I'm not going to do it again." He leans in, pressing his lips to my forehead. They linger there, providing an overwhelming amount of warmth and security. "I'm not going to let him hurt you anymore."

My arms circle around his waist, his vows sinking deep into my marrow.

In this moment, I'm stunned by the reminder of how utterly lost I become when he's not near. The amount of sheer distortion I've experienced all night, the fear and helplessness I put myself through in my solitude compared to the reassurances, the complete reliance I have for him now.

"We'll figure this out. Whatever it takes," he whispers onto my skin softly. I nod against his lips, my arms squeezing in response. I don't think I could hold him any tighter if I tried, my relief palpable enough to nearly make me weep.

"Giovanni," I whisper again, simply to utter his name, to remind myself that he's here, that we're together still.

Offering me only sweet tenderness, he nuzzles his nose against my face, sucking in a deep breath.

"Do you trust me?"

I nod, accepting every bit of love he deems to give me. "I do... I do. I trust you."

The minute I say the words, they become true.

And I'm engulfed suddenly by newfound hope, a determination I couldn't see before, too deep in my own darkness. Only his light, the light of the love we share, has the power to stabilize my constant wavering belief in true happiness.

This has never been a mistake. Our love is meant to succeed.

No one can break us.

Not when what we have is this strong.