Page 102 of The Woman at the Funeral

“You might not have pulled the trigger, but you did get him killed.”

“I had nothing to do with it!”

“It was all your idea. Matthew never would have come up with that plan.” Not out of loyalty, but because his mind just didn’t work that way.

“If he’d just gone along with it…” She trailed off, sniffing again.

Did it feel wrong to poke at her with the death of her firstborn? Yes. But this was survival. I had to do what I had to do.

“Yeah, who’d have thought that Matthew would have some integrity.”

“He was a good man. The best,” Ronny snapped.

“He plotted the murder of his best friend, the man who’d always been there for him, who gave him money with no questions asked, who gave him a place to stay, who—”

“Matty deserved to—” Ronny started.

But there was a noise that had us both sucking in our breath.

Pop-pop-pop.

“Ma!” Danny yelled, sounding pained.

“No!” Ronny shrieked. “Not my baby!”

I didn’t stop.

I turned and rushed toward one of the cars, then flattened myself down and shuffled under, body tense, as more cries, yells, and gunshots rang out.

Alone, trapped under a car, I tried to focus on breathing, on slowing it down, on not making myself pass out from hyperventilation.

Then, out of nowhere, light flicked on, illuminating the whole parking garage.

“Blair?” a familiar voice called out.

But this time, a welcome one.

The only one I wanted to hear.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Nico

Objectively, it was way too soon to confess the things I had to Blair.

That said, ours wasn’t a normal “new” relationship. I had years of knowing her from afar, of collecting the little pieces of her and keeping them on a shelf, dusting and caring for them, despite knowing I would never get to have her myself.

We had some time in, even if it wasn’t traditional.

And once we started getting intimate, yeah, there was no denying what was between us.

It was something real and rare and worth confessing, even if it was new.

So, yeah, I was fucking floating the whole way to pick up Goya from Brio.

He’d taken the dog to Central Park to blow off some extra energy along with a few of his own dogs.

“Sorry I’m so late,” I said as I walked up.

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