No messages.

Her heart sank. It was entirely possible that Gabe would still respond to her, or that he really was in a meeting/with his daughter/at the gym/dead. But she had needed to hear from him now. If they really had a connection, wouldn’t he somehow know that? Wouldn’t the universe offer her the sign that she needed to take away all this doubt?

There was a knock at the front door. Normally, Nat would have left it for Mara to answer. This was her place after all, and the roommates were more likely to have visitors than was Nat. But something—a desire for distraction, perhaps?—sent her to the front of the apartment to answer the heavy, almost pounding knock.

Opening the door a crack revealed a man’s face: battered, bruised, disfigured. Ava’s pretty visage had been damaged by violence, but this was on a whole other level. Both eyes were swollen shut, but one was open just enough to reveal a bloodred eyeball. The nose was flattened, the lips swollen and scabbed. Purple and yellow bruising colored the man’s skin. His arm was in a cast to the elbow, a beige fabric sling holding it stationary across his chest. He wore a ball cap, a pair of jeans, and running shoes. It was the legs, the athletic, slightly bowlegged stance, that sparked recognition.

Cole Doberinsky.

She was about to slam the door, to turn and run for the gun in her dresser, until Cole spoke.

“I wanted you to see what you did,” he said, his voice muffled through his damaged mouth.

Nat opened the door wider. “What I did?”

“Your guy found me and beat the shit out of me. He told me to get out of New York. He told me to go home and keep my fucking mouth shut. He said if I ever spoke your name again, he’d kill me.”

Oh god. . . .

“I just wanted to talk to you, Nat.” Cole’s voice shook with emotion. “I just wanted to understand why you threw away everything we had. And now I know.” A tear leaked from his closed eye. Nat wasn’t sure if he was crying or if it was a result of the damage. “You’re a cruel, heartless bitch,” he spat. “You’re superficial and materialistic and ruthless.”

“Cole, I didn’t—”

But he cut her off.

“You’ll get what you deserve,” he growled, and she wasn’t sure if he was talking about retribution or karmic payback.

“What’s going on here?” Mara had materialized behind Nat, her pallor almost ghostly from the sight of the mangled face right at their front door.

“Ask her,” Cole said, indicating Nat with his chin. “Ask her what kind of person she is. Ask her what she’s capable of.” He turned then and hurried down the stairs. He was terrified; she could see it in his gait, in the way he glanced around himself, as he hustled down the street.

“Who the hell was that?” Mara snapped, closing the door and turning all the locks.