Hey everyone. Thank you to those readers who have supported this story. You inspire me to write more! I'm in the process of wrapping up But Too Well. Maybe another 5 or 10 chapters. How do you think it should end? What are your ideas? PM me or leave me a review to let me know!

Special shout-out to @Rima_xoxo4ever for your endless support, since the beginning.

To all my fellow Raptors fans out there... This update is to celebrate. Enjoy. (I mean, it's a pretty heavy chapter, not very celebratory, but it's the thought that counts! ;) )

XOXO Ami

***

I try to collect as much information as possible from my family and the internet without making anyone suspicious.

Wednesday after work, Natalia and I dissect the events of Monday night, coming to a few conclusions.

"So, Marco and Luca and Gabriel and Angelo think that they can strike a deal to pin it on the Santirellis, so everyone walks off free?" My voice sounds as confused as my jumbled thoughts.

Natalia shrugs, falling backwards onto my carpet. "I can't believe my idiot cousins became traitors." She tries to sound indifferent, but I can hear an edge of hurt behind her voice. "Marco?" She mutters an Italian obscenity under her breath.

"Why would they agree to something like that?" I take another sip of hot coffee, leaning against the legs of my couch.

She huffs. "Because he has dirt on everybody. He created the perfect plan for himself. He and his buddies make a deal with Nero. They won't rat him out if he doesn't rat them out. And then they don't have to kill him, and he doesn't have to kill them."

"And he gets the satisfaction of knowing they've sold their souls to the devil."

"And the Santirellis get their asses handed to them. Everyone else can go their separate ways."

We fall into a heavy, tired silence.

A thought nags at the edge of my mind. "Do you think he'll consider it?"

She studies me for a moment, trying to read my intentions. We know each other impossibly well by now. "Do you think he should?"

More silence. Eventually, I breathe, "Yeah. I think he should."

Natalia narrows her eyes. "Rosalyn. He's just starting to climb out of this hole of shit and blood and you want him to crawl back in? Marco is a monster. His men are heartless, cruel sociopaths with absolutely no honor. They can't be trusted."

I don't want to upset her, because I know how sure she is about this. I'm still walking on thin ice around her.

But at the same time, she's practically family, and if I've learned anything over the last couple of years, you should tell your family the truth.

"To be honest, I just want this to all be over. Hasn't this crap been going on long enough?"

She gives me a wry smile. Raising an eyebrow she shakes her head a little. "It has. But, Rosalyn, you just jumped head first into it again. What did you think would happen?"

Ouch. But she's not being unkind, just pragmatic and brutally honest, like always.

"I don't think I was thinking with my head," I mumble, regretting the words as they leave my mouth.

A sly, knowing look fills her perfect face. "No, I don't think you were."

I try getting back to the issue at hand. "But don't you think Marco is as suspicious of Nero as Nero is of him? Surely the mutual destruction is enough motivation for him to leave Nero alone at the end of all this."

Natalia doesn't say anything, so I continue. "Nero says he doesn't want to do it anymore. So if Marco decides to take over the city, or whatever the hell he wants to do, he'll do it without any opposition. No contest."

I catch her gaze, where there I can see a flicker of doubt. Uncertainty. Hope.

"If Marco ran the city, Rosalyn, you wouldn't be able to sleep at night."

I snort, though a part of me feels sad at the thought. "That's nothing new, Natalia."

A resigned sigh. "I guess not."

I scoop a handful of popcorn from the neglected bowl lying beside us. Change the subject. "What did Daniel say?"

Today should win a prize for a record number of long, heavy silences.

"He didn't really say anything. He just shrugged. Brushed it off." She sounds confused, wary. "But he either didn't hear everything I told him, or he didn't process it." She purses her lips. "Because, there is no way he could let it go so easily. It wasn't an easy thing to hear."

I don't know what to make of this. Daniel's always been one of those people to have a quick temper—quick to heat up and quick to cool down. Calm acceptance is not him.

"What are you thinking?" she asks tentatively.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "I have no idea." I give her a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure he'll face it eventually. Maybe he's not ready to confront it."

"That's what I'm worried about." She sounds genuinely concerned.

I throw a piece of popcorn at her. "Don't worry. He's in love with you, and you'll get past this." She looks unsure, but I continue. "He's met your mom. He loves your mom. Surely he can understand that the reason you've cut everyone else from your life is because you aren't a part of that world. You kept it from him to protect him from it."

We both spend a long time thinking, and wallowing. Eventually, I can't help but add, "Do you think they would ever forgive me, if they knew?"

Natalia turns her head to me and looks at me, really looks. Her eyes pierce into mine, and the sympathy I see there is crushing. "You can never tell them, Ros. Not unless you want to lose them."

I feel a sting of tears behind my eyes. "Sometimes I wish you weren't so honest and pessimistic."

"Realistic."

"Cynical."

She sits up, studies my face. "How are you not, after everything?"

That's a good question.

Before I can dwell on it, my phone buzzes. I stretch my arm onto the couch to grab it. It's a text, from Nero.

Are you and Nat deciding my fate without me?

Despite the heaviness that fills the room, I can't help but smile.

Yes.

My phone shows the bubbles that indicate he's typing.

Anything good?

I bite my lip. Natalia lets out a groan. "He is not making you smile right now. What is wrong with you?"

Come over and find out.

I don't feel like dying today.

Prison it is, then. Or would you prefer

if Marco ate you alive?

Tough one.

Other options?

Nothing you want to hear.

Try me.

My heart beats a little faster in my chest. I try to clench any hope that tries to rise up. But there's still a flutter of what if brushing lightly through my stomach.

Get over here.

There's no reply. But a couple moment later, there's a soft knock on the front door.

Natalia lets out a laborious sigh. "I'm too tired for this."

I ignore her, unlocking the door. When it opens to reveal his tall, dark form, running a hand through his messy hair, my chest contracts, butterflies erupt. It's painful, how much I feel for this man. Blissfully obscene.

Before I can admire the shadow of his muscles beneath that black t-shirt, he tugs me towards him, planting a kiss to the top of my head. "Hey," he mumbles, and I breathe in the smell of him, masculinity and salt and expensive, heady cologne. I feel the sudden need to press myself closer, but I'm too aware of Natalia's presence behind us. Her dark mood is a cloud hanging over my living room.

"Hey, Nat," he greets quietly.

"Hey, cuz." She is so done.

Natalia pushes herself off the carpet and stands up. I give Nero's hand a squeeze and leave the two of them together while I pour coffee into a fresh mug.

They converse softly in Italian. For some reason, I don't feel odd, or left out. I like that they can share this. It brings them together, which is something they need more than anything.

When I eventually return, pressing the cup into his rough palm, Natalia has her shoes and jacket on, umbrella in hand. Her lips tilt up a little, an attempt at a smile. "I'll text you, Ros, if he says anything that actually matters."

Nero looks confused. "Daniel," I explain. "He will. Give it time." I try to sound optimistic, but I think her worldview has seeped into my subconscious.

When the door closes after her, Nero doesn't say anything. Neither do I. But once our eyes meet, he slides the cup onto the cabinet smoothly and pulls my hips towards him and presses me gently but firmly against the door. He looks down at me for a long second, something soft and hungry in his gaze, then captures my mouth.

Even though we have so much we need to talk about, our bodies tell each other everything. Every touch is brutally honest. His lips and tongue pressed rough and wet against mine are sincere and whole and truthful. As my fingers tangle into his thick hair, I let the worries slip away.

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