"I don't want this," Veronica continued. "I don't want this to happen. I mean," she said, exhaling, "if you are going to die, I'd rather you got hit by a bus." Veronica lifted one shoulder helplessly. "I'm being honest. I don't want to tell my kids the story of your death someday," she said, "and say, 'Oh, and your uncle died because he almost killed your father.'" She shook her head. "It's a terrible story."
"There is nothing else to know about me," Julian said.
"I want to understand why you did what you did, before I drop to my knees and beg Luca to help you out of this mess."
Julian's eyes lifted to hers more sharply at that. The overhead light threw hard shadows across the angles of his face, hollowing his cheeks, deepening the tiredness under his eyes. He looked worn down to the bone now, stripped of all the polish and poison he usually carried so easily. Still dangerous, perhaps. Still bitter. But also cornered.
