“Stay inside,” I told her, climbing out to punch in the code. I watched the gates slide open. The single change I’d made to the property after buying it was to have all the locks changed and a keyless entry system put in.

Once the gates opened, I drove the SUV through, then stopped again to watch them close behind us. I’d change the code tomorrow. Roman also knew it. I hadn’t thought twice about him having it, not back then.

Gia sat awestruck at what she saw as we drove the long drive toward the front door.

“What is this?”

“My house,” I said, realizing it was. I’d taken over Salvatore’s home, kept some of his furniture. And he didn’t even know it.

I didn’t bother trying to figure out my own twisted motivation.

“Your house?”

“Mercenary life pays.”

“Can’t pay this much.”

I parked the car. Gia climbed out. I walked ahead to the front door and punched in the code. The number combination registered, and a click signaled the unlocking of the door. I pushed it open, memory of that last night flooding all of my senses as I stood on the threshold, gripping the doorknob to remain upright as the wave crashed over me, then, slowly, way too slowly, passed. I swallowed hard and reached a shaky hand to switch on the lights. The hallway illuminated immediately, and I moved aside to allow Gia to enter.

“Wow.”

It was all she said while she turned around in a circle, her gaze up on the vaulted, frescoed ceiling. Salvatore had tacky taste if you asked me, but watching her take it in, to see her in awe, made me strangely, stupidly proud.

I cleared my throat and pushed the door closed, hearing the lock engage when I did. I moved swiftly through the house, turning on lights as I went, seeing the layers of dust covering the sheets protecting the remaining furniture.

“It’ll need to be cleaned,” I said, trying to avoid looking at the closed door that led into the dining room. Trying not to think of that night. Of what I’d find there. That was the one room I hadn’t allowed to be cleaned. I wondered now how it would look—glasses left on the table now filled with dust, the whiskey having long since evaporated. Would the blood have seeped into the obnoxious marble floors? Splattered and stained the walls with permanent reminders? Would it take me back in time to that night, that terrible night, when I’d learned the truth and lost everything in the process?

“This room is off-limits,” I told Gia, gesturing to the closed dining-room door.