Page 88 of Vendetta

“Don’t,” I cut him off. “Don’t do this. Please, come with me. Don’t do this to me, don’t make me do this alone. Please,” I begged, my eyes growing watery.

“I have to stay and see this through. I’m really sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. Please understand,” he asked me, pain laced in his tone.

I let the first tear fall, my heart ripping to shreds inside of my chest.

“Landry, I love you. You need to know that. I need you to know that.”

“No, you don’t. Not like I love you. Because I would never choose something as petty as revenge over you.”

He physically winced as if my words had cut him.

“If you loved me, you would come with me. You would choose me,” I forced myself to appear strong even though I was breaking inside. I didn’t let the crack in my voice stop me as I continued.

“Emory is dead. And I am so, so sorry about that. But at some point, you’re going to have to find a way to make peace with that. This isn’t healthy, and you know it. You’re going to get yourself killed if you don’t stop. Do you really think that’s what she would have wanted?”

He only stared at his hands where they were planted on the steering wheel, lost in thought.

“There are more important things in life than revenge, Cash. I’m just sorry that I wasn’t enough to make you see that.”

I opened my door and got out of the car before he could see me break down completely. I had Pete go back to grab my bags, not looking back as I stepped onto the plane.

CHAPTER 45

LANDRY

Everything had been a whirlwind since landing in Paris. Thankfully, Pete had helped me book a suite at the Hôtel Plaza Athénée for the night until I could find something more permanent. I had managed to find a real estate agent through some of his connections, and had begun brushing up on my high-school level French.

I had cried pretty much the entire flight, up until the last hour when I hadn’t had any tears left and had basically just gone numb. I’d started crying again once I got settled into my room, all of the events of the day catching up to me. I had killed somebody. I didn’t allow myself to feel too bad, considering that he had tried to kill me first, but it still weighed heavy on my soul.

Cashton had made his decision, and I couldn’t fault him for it. He wouldn’t be at peace until he got the vengeance and answers that he wanted. It stung, but I would just have to acceptit and move on. I had been so close to everything that I had wanted for so long, and in the span of a day, it had all been ripped away from me.

I couldn’t keep dwelling on it. I was in Paris, after all. I should enjoy this. By my second day, Marguerite had already lined up a few fully-furnished long-term luxury rentals for me to view.

We had viewed the first two that morning, and were now on our way to see the third after a quick bite for lunch. I had to admit, the boulangeries were to die for. I could remain in Paris solely for the fresh baked goods.

The third apartment that we toured took up the entire top floor of an adorable Haussmann-style building on the right bank of Paris, opening up to a large private terrace that offered stunning views of the Eiffel Tower, complete with an above-ground hot tub and small garden. I couldn’t help but think about how the grassy area would have been perfect for Tomahawk, considering how tough it could be to find a decent place for a large dog in such a big city.

The interior had been recently remodeled, the modern appliances and clean furniture giving the place a modern but cozy feel. I could see myself in a place like this. I just hadn’t imagined I would be living here alone.

It felt… lonely.

But it was my reality, and there were worse things than living in a beautiful apartment in one of the best cities in the world.

“So, what do you think?” Marguerite asked as our tour came to an end, her English good though her accent was thick.

“I love it,” I admitted, nodding my head as I took another look around. “I’ll take it.”

“Wonderful! I will assemble the paperwork right now,” she exclaimed, pulling her laptop out onto the kitchen island.

I walked back out to the terrace, the large floor-to-ceiling French doors giving the space a bright and airy feel. It really was beautiful.

The paperwork took a few hours, only because she had to translate all of the documents into English so I could understand what I was signing. Thankfully, the contract was less complicated than a direct buy since I was only renting for the time being.

Once everything was signed and the keys were handed over, I had made my way downstairs and down the street to a small convenience store, grabbing a quick pre-packaged dinner and a bottle of champagne, which I currently drank in the hot tub on the terrace. The Eiffel Tower at night was stunning, the warm orange glow of the lights seen all the way from here.

I hadn’t bothered unpacking, leaving my suitcases strewn haphazardly in the bedroom and only pulling out a bikini. The champagne had gone straight to my head, which I wasn’t mad about. Besides, I was celebrating. That, and trying to forget that I had almost been killed, had stabbed someone, had found out that a good friend had known about my mom’s death, lost what could have potentially been the love of my life, and then moved to a completely different country completely by myself, all in the last forty-eight hours. I took another swig, thinking of Bexley and Olvia.

A small creaking noise came from inside the apartment, where I had left the French doors open to the terrace. I tuned outthe noise from the bustle of the city below, trying to see if I could hear it again.

---