Page 38 of Beautiful Evidence

She steps closer in a threatening move, but her tone is calm. Still, it leaves no room for negotiation. She’s delivering a threat, not offering a warning. "Cooperate and survive, Dr. Costa. Or go down with him."

Greco turns toward the door and opens it. With a quick glance back at me to throw one more set of fiery daggers at me, she steps out and lets the door shut behind her.

I don’t move for a full thirty seconds. My pulse is so loud it drowns out the air conditioning overhead. I stop thinking altogether. My body moves on autopilot. I walk fast, but not toward my bench. I head for the service stairwell at the end of the corridor and push the door open, stepping out.

The stairwell is completely empty, silent except for the faint echo of the door behind me. The air is cooler than the rest of the building, cutting against my skin and making it harder to breathe. I sit hard on the concrete step and bury my face in my hands, but no tears come, even though my body feels like it’s collapsing inward. All I feel is pressure building in my chest, too much to contain. I can’t find a way to release it.

I fold forward, elbows on knees, and try to breathe through it. I try to calm myself, but it isn’t working. It won’t work—not with everything closing in and no relief in sight. I don’t have time to fall apart, but I stay frozen, unable to pull myself back together or stand up again.

I can’t stay here. If I do, Bernardi will find another excuse to corner me, and I won’t have anything left to give. I push myself up and slip out through the rear exit without signing out. The hallway’s quiet, and I keep my head down and move fast.

Outside, Rory’s leaning against the side of a black car, arms crossed. He straightens as soon as he sees me.

“I need to see Enzo,” I say, pulling my suitcoat tighter around myself. “Right now.”

He watches me for a second, then mutters, "You know he won't like that," as he turns and starts walking.

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion. Besides, I've been more than patient.” I'm not backing down. This man will take me to Enzo or I'll scream until he does.

He huffs. “You think you’re the first person to blow up their entire life for that man?” He shakes his head as he pulls his phone out and starts texting someone.

“I'm not blowing my life up!” I snap. “I’m trying to stop it from burning to the ground.” My throat feels like a boa constrictor is wrapped around it.

He glances sideways at me. “Honey…” His eyes roll, and I tense but I don't back down.

I shoot him a look. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Ignoring me, he continues texting and says, “I told him you were coming. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And when he starts walking, I follow without hesitation, though I glance over my shoulder several times to make sure Greco didn't spot me and follow us too.

We round the corner to a parking garage entrance. Rory nods toward a spot tucked behind a concrete column, where a dark car sits with its lights off. He doesn’t walk me all the way there, just jerks his head and says, "He’s waiting."

Then he turns and walks away without looking back.

I approach the car slowly. Enzo’s in the driver’s seat, windows cracked, engine off. His posture is still, his eyes fixed straight ahead. When I reach the door, he doesn’t move, but I know he sees me. I pull the handle and slide into the passenger seat.

Rory disappears, leaving us alone, but I don't feel like this is private enough for what I need to say to him. Somehow, it feels too exposed, like the walls have eyes and the instant I finally say what needs to be said, they will close in and I'll be dragged off to prison.

"It's time," I tell him, and he finally looks at me.

"I'm glad you realize that, Lessi. Because we're out of time." Enzo reaches for my hand. "But I have a plan. I just have a few things to handle first."

"You can protect me?" My chest is hammering. I'm about to do something I never thought I would ever be reduced to. Breaking the law is what my father and uncle and cousins do. It's not me. I walked away from the life my father wanted for me, and even though I was free, it sucked me back in anyway.

"Only if you trust me," he says, and I lean in, feeling too much pressure in my chest to do anything but cling to him.

He pulls me hard until I'm crawling over the center console as he slides the driver's seat all the way back. I straddle his lap and cling to his neck, sobbing, and he holds me so tight I almost can't breathe.

My breath hitches against his collar, but I don’t pull away. Neither of us says anything right away. His hands rub slow circles on my back, grounding me even as everything else feels like it’s falling apart. I press my face against his neck and sniffle, too afraid to let go of the only solid thing left in my life.

When I finally shift back to look at him, his eyes are on mine—like he’s checking to see if I’ve settled or if I’m about to break again. His palm slides from the base of my spine to my hip, then rests there. The contact isn’t rushed or possessive. It’s steady, careful—just enough to tell me that he's claimed me as his.

“I shouldn’t have come,” I whisper.

“Maybe not… but I'm not sorry you did." Enzo's eyes bore through me, and I lean in and press my forehead to his. His hand moves again, to squeeze my side. His fingers inch the side of my blouse up, and I can feel the change in his breathing.

I reach down and loosen the top button of my blouse, and his eyes follow my movements. He kisses the side of my neck slowly, and I close my eyes.

I’m not thinking anymore, just feeling.

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