“No.”

“Why not?”

Because I killed them.

“Your grandparents still in your life, Sasha?”

“No, they’re dead.”

I let her words fill the silence.

She swallowed. “I hear you’ve put a request in to transfer to Seattle. That’s quite the move.”

I could only hope an entire country would be enough.

“In fact, I received an email this morning from our director, who has already approved the transfer on the understanding that I’ve cleared you, of course.”

How passive aggressive.

The Bureau needed me more than I’d ever needed it. Not many could stomach their kill lists and preferred forms of interrogating—not to mention, cleaning up after some sadistic politicians. I could have any job in any outfit I wanted, but the FBI had the structure and front I’d always needed. And to think I could have lost it because of a fucking woman . . .

“I think we both know you are cleared for work. To be honest, I’m not sure why they made you go through this charade.”

“Are you disappointed?”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, something light and breathless in her eyes. “No. I’ve wanted to get into your head for a long time.”

My laugh held a dark note. “You’re lucky I let you out.”

Getting to my feet, I straightened my cuffs and began to leave.

“They have a word for what you’ve described, Christian.”

I paused, my hand on the doorknob.

“Obsession.”

A corner of my lips lifted as I stepped out of the room and shut the door behind me.

Present Day

“I JUST—WELL, WHAT I’M trying to say is, will you marry me?”

I blinked at the man on one knee beside me. Board shorts, no shirt. Holding a massive diamond ring in a black velvet box. If I put it on and fell overboard, I would sink straight to the ocean floor.

Lying on a lounge chair, the yacht gently rocking in the waves, I shielded my eyes from the sun. “Vincent, I thought it was illegal to be married to two men at once? Are you telling me I’ve been living a lie all this time?”

Vincent sighed. “Everyone knows your marriage is a sham. There’s no relationship between you and Richard. You don’t even wear a ring.”

The diamond he held sparkled in the sun, blinding me. I sat up and wondered why things like this always happened to me. “Even if I could marry you, Vincent . . . I wouldn’t because I’d drive you crazy within a week.”

“Crazy,” Valentina agreed from the chaise beside me, and sipped her mojito through a straw.

“I’m terribly messy,” I continued. “Even my housekeeper is messy. That’s how messy my life is.”

“Gianna, I don’t care about any of that. It’s just . . . I’m in love with you.”

Valentina choked. Then coughed and smacked her chest.

Ironic, how, in our life, a man proposing marriage was less bizarre than an admission of love.

I fingered the gold body chain crisscrossing my bare midsection as my gaze swept the yacht. Everyone’s eyes were glued to us. Sympathy filled my chest. Love sucked. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Well, except Hitler. And definitely Lord Voldemort.

I stood. “Come get a drink with me, will you, Vincent?”

He sighed, lifted his head to the sky. He knew I was going to turn him down gently, but eventually, he closed the ring box with a sad little click and got to his sandaled feet. I padded below deck and headed toward the small bar with every intention of making a really strong drink.

“Why do you love me?” I asked, pouring Patrón into a glass.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re . . . so . . . gorgeous, Gianna. Whenever I see another woman, I can’t stop myself from comparing her to you.”

Was that all it took to love someone?

I reached for the orange juice, but at the last minute, changed course and instead added more tequila to the glass.

“I want to take care of you, Gianna . . . to get to know you better than anyone else.”

Now, that was kind of sweet.

Nevertheless, this man would run for the hills the moment he became aware of my daddy issues. Vincent loved the me he saw: the bubbly, fresh, and social me. He wouldn’t know what to do with the mess underneath, the one I tried to hide one panic attack at a time.

“Vincent, you know I can’t marry you.” I turned around, and that’s when he kissed me. My full glass of tequila sloshed over the rim and onto my hand. He grabbed my face between his warm, soft hands and pressed his lips against mine. Gently. Passively. Like if he wasn’t careful, I’d break.

Bite me. Pull my hair. Push my back against the wall.

Still, the press of his lips was soft and sweet and uninspiring. A sigh of disappointment played in my mind. He pulled back, breaths heavy, like he’d had an entirely different experience than me.

That was the first kiss I’d had since an unmentionable dirty fed. And while a part of me was dying for more, from anyone who could sate the need inside me, the other couldn’t be more impassioned.

“That was . . . wow,” he breathed.

I tossed back the rest of the liquor. It burned away the taste of his cherry ChapStick.

“Wow, right?” he questioned.

“What?” I mumbled. “Oh, yes . . . wow.”

He grabbed my sticky, tequila-doused hand. “Give us a chance, Gianna. I’ll take you places—show you the world. There is nothing I wouldn’t give you.”

I could imagine most women would be over the moon to be in my position right now. But me? It only made me angry. Heat pricked beneath my skin.

“You don’t get it, Vincent, do you? I can’t just divorce my husband and run away with you.” I ripped my hand away and realized I had said that in rapid-fire Italian. Heaviness settled on my shoulders. I took a deep breath and tried again in English. “A divorce isn’t possible for me, Vincent.”

He swallowed, rubbed his brow in thought. “Okay. We don’t need the title then. Just . . . be with me.”

God, I wished I was less of a Tin Man. I wished all the possible love I could give hadn’t been stolen from me the first twenty-odd years of my life. I wished I was normal. Because here stood this perfect man professing his love for me, and my heart didn’t even twitch.

“My life isn’t as liberating as you must imagine, Vincent. I can’t cuckold my husband. I couldn’t promise your safety if it was found out.” I sighed sadly. “Mine either, honestly.” I was pretty sure Ace was on his final straw with me.

Vincent looked disgusted. “Your own family would hurt you?”

A light laugh escaped me, and I was surprised it wasn’t bitter. I guessed I had a better grasp on my demons than I thought. “Maybe not physically, but they could make things very unpleasant for me.” Like sending me home to Chicago . . .

He ran a hand into my hair, lightly grasping the back of my head. The physical contact had become so foreign over the years goosebumps rose on my skin.

“We can keep us a secret.”

“This isn’t Romeo and Juliet,” I said quietly, pulling his hand from my hair. “But if you push this, Vincent, we might end up like them.”