*Olivia*
I stared at Tallon, my heart beating in my throat. I’d been wrong, so wrong when I told Gio I didn’t know whether I wanted my dad rescued, when I told him I didn’t care if he died. Of course, I cared.
How could I not care? My flesh-and-blood father lay in the other room, maybe dying or already dead, and I couldn’t think about anything other than what I’d say to him… if I ever got to say anything again.
Tallon inhaled. He was going to tell us Sal died. I knew it. I could see it in the set of his shoulders, the heavy downturn of his mouth. I had a father for a few short months. He betrayed me, and then he died because I said to leave him in Russian custody longer.
“He’s resting,” Tallon said.
The balloon of tension holding me up popped, and I slumped against Gio.
Resting.
Resting meant alive, meant okay, meant I would get to say something other than screaming profanities at him.
Gio held me up, warm and strong and safe. God, I was so lucky to have him.
