My sister returned to her routines with precautions she actually knew about and agreed to.
The investigation continued.
The man who had followed her faced consequences that no amount of quiet intimidation could erase once the evidence existed in more than one place.
And Dante kept his distance.
Until several weeks after my last day.
I was sitting in a coffee shop when he walked in.
No office.
No locked door.
No company between us.
He stopped beside my table.
“Is this seat taken?”
I looked at the empty chair.
Then at him.
“Are you ordering me to sit with you, Mr.
Moretti?”
His mouth curved slightly.
“I don’t have that authority anymore.”
“Good.”
I pushed the chair out with my foot.
“Then sit down, Dante.”
For three years, I had believed leaving him was the only way to save myself.
I had been wrong about that.
Leaving was how I discovered whether what existed between us could survive without power attached to it.
The black sedan disappeared.
The surveillance file was eventually closed.
My sister got her ordinary afternoons back.
And I finally understood the difference between being trapped by someone and choosing, with every door open, to stay.
