His Halo is a Lie
“And if I don’t?”
The question is bait, but I don’t flinch. I lower my voice so only he hears. “Then you’ll find out just how much of Venice I brought back with me.”
For a fraction of a second, his smirk falters. It’s quick, almost invisible, but I see it. Venice is a name that still tastes like blood, a wound neither of us healed from. He hides it quickly, leaning back in his chair, but I’ve already marked the crack.
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