“What that means is I intend to keep you safe.” He turns to the men. “Eric, there’s a bag of dog food in the trunk. I need you to get that. I’ll meet you in the study in a few minutes.”

“Wait,” I start, but the two simply do as they’re told and Sergio turns to me, and all of a sudden, he looks different. Bigger. Scarier.

“Nat.” He takes my arm again.

“I told you I don’t like being called that.” But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what he calls me right now.

“Come on,” he says, tipping his head to the side, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite make it. “Let’s get you a drink.”

“I don’t want a drink,” I snap, freeing my arm again. Or I try to, at least.

“Natalie.”

“What’s happening?” I hear how I sound, feel panic bubbling inside me, making goose bumps rise all along my body.

“Calm down. You’re safe.”

“Why would I not be safe?”

He studies me, wraps his arm around me, pulls me toward him. I plant my hands on his chest.

“Sergio, why—”

I stop because his fingers move up along my spine and his hand closes around the back of my neck. His eyes search my face. “You’re with me now. Things are different. You knew that.”

I glance away, shake my head. “I don’t—”

“A drink, Natalie. Even if you don’t want one, I need one.” Without waiting for a reply, he walks me into the kitchen. He spins a stool at the counter and gestures for me to sit. I do.

From a cabinet, he gets a bottle of whiskey and two tall glasses. He brings them over to the counter and turns the stool beside mine toward me and sits. I watch as he sets the bottle and glasses down, then pours about three fingers full into each glass. He closes his hand around one, pushes the other toward me with the knuckles of the same hand. His eyes never leave mine and when I raise my hand to the glass, it’s trembling. Sergio sees it too.

“The flowers,” I say, looking at the liquid, knowing it will burn when it goes down. “Were they a sign?” I pick up the whiskey, bring it to my lips, force a swallow. I hate this stuff but I take another sip because I need it right now. When I look up at him, he’s still watching me. “You said they’re funeral flowers.” I’m processing my own words as I say them. But I’ve known this all along, haven’t I? That knowing him, being with him, it puts me in danger.

He doesn’t answer for a long time, just watches me like he’s reading my thoughts, reading me.

Pepper lets out a bark from nearby and we both turn to her.