“No!” I breathe.
“It gets worse,” he says with a sigh.
The way he even tells me makes me realize just how dramatically our lives have diverged since he left.
My life has always ever been hideous. Pathetic. Depressing.
And on really good days… mundane.
But he’s been living a real-life thriller.
“Budimir tried to kill Artem, too. He tried to kill me. He very nearly succeeded on both counts,” he admits. “He left me lying in the muck and dirt. I was this close to death.”
“What saved you?” I ask, my heart in my throat.
“A little Mexican girl and her father,” Cillian explains. “They were my heroes that day. And every day since. They nursed me back to health. It took the better part of a year, but they did it.”
I can see the affection and the gratitude in his eyes when he talks about them.
“I spent a year of my life with them,” he tells me. “Leaving was harder than it should have been.”
“They made quite an impression.”
“Diego… He understood why I had to go,” Cillian says. “But Carlita… she took it hard.”
Another image floats to mind. This one more terrifying than the last.
A beautiful girl with caramel skin and the kind of smile that lights up a room. Sitting beside Cillian’s bedside, nursing him back to health.
Those bonds can be powerful, born out of mutual vulnerability.
“I’m assuming she’s Diego’s daughter?”
“She is,” he confirms. “I’ve thought about calling. But I don’t know what to say right now.”
“Tell her the truth,” I say. “Explain to her why you needed to leave.”
“She’s too young to understand.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Too… young?”
“Ten is a little early to wrap your head around duty and family and shit like that.”
Oh. Ten.
He chuckles under his breath and my eyes snap to him.
“What?”
“Nervous about something?” he asks innocently.
I glare at him. “What would I have to be nervous about?”
“Just got the feeling that you wanted me all to yourself.”
His tone is mildly teasing, but I can hear the seriousness behind the question.
Is he trying to figure out just how deep my feelings for him go?