“Is this some sort of game to you?” I suspect. “We have a contract for the end of the year, you agreed to separate lives until then, and I think our Sunday afternoons have gone well enough, minus almost being turned into fish bait. So why the change, why bring me here, and what was the point of this entire evening?”

His eyes slowly narrow. “I told you before, I want to be—”

“Everything I want, yeah I heard, but you could have worked to achieve that later. Why am I here, Anthony? My mom breaks contracts for no one.”

The smile he wore along with the kindness of his gaze is gone, and he faces me fully. He reaches into the drawer on the small side table beside him and tosses a small piece of paper onto the ottoman before him, nodding his head for me to grab it.

I do, and as I open it up, my heart both sinks and flips.

It’s my note from Arsen, the one he left me the day Anthony showed up at my school unannounced, the note that, after the yacht went up in flames, was missing from my purse pocket.

My eyes snap up, locking with his, and he reaches in again, tossing out the keys to my new car—my mom must have given them to him.

Following that, a clip from the Daily Pilot.

The headline reads, “Misfortune at Gentry Vineyards.” An accompanying photo of charred vines following.

“Were you having me followed?”

“No, actually. That’s where things get interesting.” He cocks his head. “Did you know my father died when I was young, too, of course mine didn’t go out quite the same as yours.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “My mother, like yours, was quite the cold-hearted bitch who remarried quickly. That’s not why she’s cold-hearted, but a fact is a fact. She took her new husband’s name, I kept mine.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“What, is this not what they call pillow talk?” he mocks, but then he looks to his watch and a grin takes over. “I’m kidding. I’m telling you this, so that you understand, what happens next falls solely on your shoulders.”

A door slams downstairs, the hinges rattling and echoing with the help of the vaulted ceilings of this place.

“Ah,” Anthony drawls, slowly pushing to stand. “Perfect timing.”

Feet pound heavy against the stairs, and as they grow closer, my skin begins to prick.

Anthony’s smile is vicious, and it only keeps growing.

“I’m here, motherfucker, where you at?” comes from the first floor.

Ice fills my veins and I grow lightheaded, slowly spinning where I stand.

The first thing to come into view is a mess of hair, and then a face wound tight with anger followed by a hoodie as black as night.