Page 22 of The Fallen One

Hurting? My body tensed up, my stomach turning. Not hurt. Killed.

“You really think they were after you? You could be in danger, then.” Camila squeezed my shoulder a bit harder. “You need to be careful.”

“I don’t give a fuck about myself, and you know that.”

“She wouldn’t want anything happening to you.”

“Yeah, well, she’s dead, so she can’t get pissed at me for it,” I snapped out, the bitter taste of the words sitting on my tongue. “I need air. To be alone.” I removed her hand and gave her the glass.

“Get your jacket. It’s snowing,” she whispered.

I nodded and left the office, needing to get out of that room, away from its bad memories. I had no plans to find my coat or the suit jacket I’d tossed at some point.

I dodged more condolences on my mission to get to the rooftop terrace, rushing by the woman who’d helped Camila organize everything for today—Susan Mackenzie. She was talking to a former congressman now senator. It took me a second to remember why I hated Paulsen, and then it clicked. He’d been the one who’d approached Susan’s daughter the night of Rebecca’s party years ago, making Diana uncomfortable.

If I wasn’t so messed up, I’d go kick him out. But that would create a scene, and Rebecca would hate me for it. So, I kept on my path for the back stairs.

“Dominick.” The grit to that tone and the way my name was said had me stopping near the door leading up top.

I slowly turned to see Constantine Costa, clothed in all black like a shadow—a specter—standing there. My heart pumped the brakes to allow my mind to peel back shrouded layers from years ago, releasing memories involving this particular billionaire my wife had dated in college. Back when Rebecca and I had only been friends. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to pay my respects. And to offer you help in finding who did this,” Costa said, slowly approaching me.

My hands locked at my sides, turning into fists. “Why would you think I’d ever want your help? Or to see you again? You broke her heart in college.” And I picked up the pieces.

“Rebecca’s dead. If I can?—”

“You’re right,” I snapped out, my jaw ticcing. “She is. She was none of your concern while she was alive, and she’s sure as fuck not now.” I somehow managed to keep my voice low so I didn’t draw unnecessary attention.

He lifted his palms in surrender. “Fine. But she came to my sister’s funeral, and I?—”

“She what?”

“She was a good woman. I’m sorry for your loss,” was all he said instead, then he quietly turned, and I watched him leave, my world spinning yet again.

How much about my wife’s life did I not know about?

It took me a solid minute to move again. To turn and resume my previous path to escape.

Once up top, I shoved open the door, and I could finally breathe. The snow had only recently started, and it was light and melting the second it hit the ground. I walked over to the edge of the terrace, working my sleeves up—welcoming the biting sting of cold on my flesh.

Years of memories with my wife tore through my head. Conversations we’d had. Ones we should’ve had.

“I thought you might be up here. I was just checking on you, if that’s okay.” I wasn’t sure how long I’d been up there, but those soft words from behind brought me back to my awful reality.

I bowed my head for a moment, then shoved my hands into my pockets and faced the woman I’d recognized from her voice alone.

Diana Mackenzie, wrapped up in an ankle-length black coat, pushed her black-rimmed glasses higher up on her nose as she approached me. She was elegant as ever. Older now, but she’d maintained a youthful appearance. With every step closer, the kindness I’d seen in her eyes years ago seemed to grow stronger. Clearly life hadn’t taken a wrecking ball to whatever goodness she had in her the way it’d done to me.

“You may not remember me. I’m Susan Mackenzie’s daughter.”

“Of course I remember you.” How could I ever forget? “But please don’t say you’re sorry,” I added, a bit too harshly for my liking. “Or offer any condolences.” There went my voice that time, though, breaking when her eyes met mine. “I, uh, can’t handle any more.”

She stopped walking and worked her lip between her teeth, clearly unsure what to say after I’d demanded she not follow reception protocol.

I thought back to the day I met her. It felt both like an eternity ago and yesterday. “Distract me instead.”

She stared at me in silence, her brows lifting above her glasses as my only confirmation she’d heard me.

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