“I don’t have much time,” I whispered, my gaze fixed on my trembling hands. Fresh blood trickled from the crescent-shaped wounds my nails had carved into my palms. Every second wasted arguing with Rocco was a second lost—I had to uncover the truth for my father, no matter the cost.
My eyes drifted to a framed photograph resting on the shelf—a relic from happier days. Oddly, I thought I’d destroyed every picture of us, yet there it was, capturing a moment when love had seemed real. In that image, Rocco’s arm was wrapped protectively around my waist, and my head leaned softly on his shoulder. I remembered how well I once knew him—how to make him smile, how to soothe his anger. Maybe…
No. The very thought churned my stomach with revulsion. I felt bile rise painfully in my throat at the idea of pretending to desire him, of playing into his twisted manipulation. Yet, what choice did I have? I needed access to secrets only Rocco held. I had to make him lower his defenses.
“I have to play his game,” I muttered bitterly, hating myself for even entertaining the idea. A sick knot twisted in my gut. “Just long enough to find what I need.”
My hand shook as I dialed his number, gripping the phone with my other hand to steady it. My heart thundered so loudly I could almost hear it in my ears. To my surprise, he answered on the third ring. His voice, though curt, lacked the usual icy edge.
“What?” he snapped, but the sharpness in his tone was muted compared to this morning’s confrontation.
“I want to apologize,” I lied, forcing my voice to sound sincere despite the poison those words carried on my tongue. “Can I bring lunch to your office? As an apology.”
After a brief pause, he agreed. “Fine. But Kira? Don’t try anything stupid.”


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