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Damiano has already moved through the archway into the large sitting room overlooking a wide terrace, which opens onto a luscious backyard that would be more at home in California than the desert. Wordlessly, I move to the bar. Pour two fingers of bourbon. On second thought, I add another. Fuck it. Make it four.

I grab a second glass, pour that too, and turn. Damiano hasn't moved much. But he's not the same man who stepped out of the Escalade. Not even close.

I hold out the glass. He takes it. Doesn't thank me. Just stares at it for a second before knocking it back in one go. I do the same. Let it burn. Let it settle. Then I lean back against the wall, arms crossed. "Explain."

He exhales. Trying to piece himself back together.

"I didn't know." His voice is rough. Stripped down.

My patience snaps immediately. "Didn't know what?"

His jaw tightens. A muscle ticks.

"I didn't know," he repeats, quieter now. "I swear to God, Gabe. I didn't know."

I push off the wall. Take a step closer.

"This"—I gesture vaguely toward the other room, toward everything that just happened—"this is not you." My eyes narrow. "You don'tlose control. Not like that."

He lets out a humorless breath.

"Yeah," he mutters. "Well. Looks like I do."

He stares at me for a long time, and I allow it. Wait with more patience than I thought myself capable of. I don't do emotions.Wedon't do emotions. But it seems there is a first for everything, and Damiano just took a jab that, from the looks of it, has thrown him against a wall. No, scratch that, he had a wall fall on him. A massive wall.

Time stretches, and he finally makes up his mind to confide in me. "I need to tell you something." His gaze lifts. Meets mine.And there's something there I don't like. Not one fucking bit. "You're not going to like it."

I snort, tipping my empty glass slightly. "That's never stopped you before."

"This is different."

Something in my chest shifts. I'm not sure I want to hear what he has to say. Still, I nod, "Try me."

He drags a hand over his face. For a second, he looks… tired. Not physically. Emotionally drained.

"Before she disappeared," he says slowly, like each word costs him something, "Catarina and I…"

He trails off. His jaw works, like he's trying to form words but can't get them out. Just the mention of my sister's name stirs up a shitstorm in my gut. Her name has been coming up too often lately for my liking. I stare at him. Waiting.

"We had a… thing."

"A thing." I repeat flatly.

His silence is answer enough. Something cold settles in my chest. Slow. Heavy. I stare at the man I've known for ten years, been through hell with. We've bled together, fought together, drank together.

"You had athing," I echo, pushing off the wall completely now. Closing the distance. With a herculean effort, I manage to give him one more chance to explain. "Definething, Damiano."

He doesn't flinch. He looks straight into my eyes. "We were involved." He runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck, it was more than that. We were in love."

He shakes his head. There is a distant shimmer in his eyes I've never seen before. At least not on him. Massimo has been wearing it a lot lately.

That does it. A sharp, humorless laugh tears out of me. I pinch the bridge of my nose and pace the room once before turning back to him. Suddenly, I'm not here anymore. I'mback there. With her. My sister. My fucking twin. We shared everything. Or at least… I thought we did. The important things. The things that mattered. The things thathurt.

And this? This wasn't small. Her banging one of my friends?

Fuck.

I glare at Damiano, and he looks his defiant self. His entire posture screams,bring it on. If she was with him, if they kept it quiet, if he was that infatuated with her, that can only mean one thing: she was in love with him.