She swallows hard, looking at me with sympathy in her eyes. "Noah is dead. I'm so sorry."
No. No. No. No. This isn't real.
I didn't go through all that to save his stupid ass only for him to get himself killed. It's not possible.
"How?" I grab the phone from her, scrolling through the text.
Dad: Got news from Aiden. Killed Noah this morning. Bloody. Going to renew the arms deal with Aiden now that this mess is settled and we've got proof.
Attached is a picture of the body.
There's a bullet wound in the chest, shirt stained with blood. His eyes are open and staring at nothing, the color gone from his cheeks.
Noah Rinaldo is nothing more than a dead body on the ground.
A corpse my brother thought he should take a picture of to send to his business contacts to prove that this is finally over.
A man who isn't getting the respect he deserves in death because the mafia bullshit comes first.
It always comes first.
Everything in me goes numb as I pass the phone back to her.
I don't know if the ground slips away from beneath me or if I fall, but one moment I'm standing, and the next I'm on the ground, staring at the world around me, but I don't think I can really see anything.
Téa kneels in front of me. "Summer, come on, I'm going to need you to say something to me so I know you're still alive and breathing, okay? You need to tell me something."
"This isn't real."
She cups my face in her hands, forcing me to stare at the pity in her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I know you loved him. I'm so, so sorry."
"It's not happening. It can't be happening." I push her hands off me and get up, shaking my head and walking down the hall to my bedroom.
I slam the door shut and lock it before crossing the room, grabbing my pillow, and screaming into it until I don't have any more screams left.
After that, I fall onto the mattress and cry.
I cry until my pillow is soaked and I can't force another tear, until my body aches from exhaustion, lulling me into a sleep I know is going to be riddled with nightmares.
\\\*
When I wake up in the middle of the night, I'm not anticipating the person looming over my bed.
My throat is so hoarse I can't manage to scream. I'm exhausted, my entire body aching, and it feels like I can't move fast enough when I go for the gun I keep in my nightstand.
Before I even have the chance to rip the drawer open, I'm met with a sharp pierce to the side of my neck, and then the world gets hazy again.
\\\*
Something is covering my eyes.
I reach for it, but my hands are tied behind my back.
There's a cool breeze on my skin, and the air smells different—less like cars and garbage.
The blindfold is pulled off, and in front of me is the house of my dreams.
One that I've had pinned to the vision board hanging in the corner of my room for years. The one I never thought I'd ever be able to afford.