"It's past ten. If I drink it now, I won't be able to sleep," I said, and my voice came out flat. Emptied of everything I used to pour into it when I spoke to him.
A pause. The kind of pause that, in the old days, would have sent me scrambling to soften whatever I'd said, to smooth the crease forming between his brows.
Then, cold: "I'm going to the bathroom. We'll go home together after."
He set his phone on the edge of my desk as he left. Barely thirty seconds passed before the screen lit up.
I didn't reach for it. I didn't have to. The message was right there, bright against the dark surface of my desk.
Penelope Vitale: You silly! Who sends dozens of milkshakes all at once? You're not trying to turn me into a little piggy, are you?
Dozens.
He'd sent her dozens.
And he'd brought me one. One milkshake, three years too late, flavor unknown because he'd had to ask.
I pressed my thumb against the inside of my ring finger, held it there until the pressure became a point of focus, and then I shifted my eyes back to the computer screen. My expression didn't change. I organized the files on my desk with steady hands and waited for him to come back so we could leave.
We got home a little after eleven. The soldiers at the townhouse door stepped aside without a word. As soon as I was inside, I walked straight into the bedroom and started packing my things. Quietly. Methodically. The way you dismantle a life when you've already grieved it.
When Dominic walked in from the shower, towel around his neck, he paused near the vanity. His eyes moved across the surface. Emptier than usual. The small things missing. He frowned but didn't seem to mind it, or didn't want to examine what it meant.
"I've got business in Paris next month. Meeting with the Corsican outfit." He said it casually, the way he said everything that wasn't about Penelope. "If you want anything, make a list. I'll bring it back."
I didn't hesitate. "No. I don't want anything. Thanks anyway."
After all, I would be gone in a few days. What was the point of a gift from a city I'd never see with him?
Something shifted. He threw the towel onto the bed with a sharp flick of his wrist, and when I looked up, his eyes were cold. The Don's eyes. The ones that made soldiers lower their gaze and associates reconsider their words.
"So, what? You're upset because I bought you the wrong breakfast? Is that what this is about?"