Zayne’s POVThe moment I heard Italian, I knew exactly what this was about. This was about the hit-and-run. And whatever they’d found in that car.I stepped away from Isla before she could grab my arm again. Her eyes were already sharp with panic, mouth parted like she was about to say my name—say don’t—say please.I didn’t let her.I approached the officer who was speaking Italian into his radio, his posture stiff, his gaze scanning the property like he already owned it.“Scusi,” I said calmly.He turned, surprised for half a second before his face smoothed out. He sized me up—plain black shirt, flip-flops, bruised arm, expensive watch still on my wrist.“Sì?” he replied.“If you’re looking for a suspect,” I said evenly, “you should arrest me.”The words landed exactly how I wanted them to.The officer’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You’re confessing?”“I’m saying,” I corrected, “that whatever you think happened that day, whatever vehicle you’re tracing, whatever mess you’re trying to
閱讀更多