“Amato is the only new development in Boston that I’m aware of, but as I said, it doesn’t make sense for him to be involved with this. You’re sure the man who was stalking Ashlyn didn’t say anything else about why they are targeting you?”
They’re targeting us because they’re bigots and they don’t understand our lifestyle. I wasn’t about to bring up that sore subject. The discovery of my relationship with Marco and Ashlyn had been my ticket to freedom. For my dad, it was the reason I’d been ripped away from him and Mom. It was a miracle that he still wanted to talk to me at all. If I hadn’t almost died right in front of him, we might not be having this conversation. I didn’t want him to stop taking my calls, so I avoided the subject altogether.
“No,” I lied. “The stalker just said that they wanted me dead, and they know I’m with Ashlyn. They threatened her because they know that will hurt me.” I omitted Marco’s name entirely.
“Listen, Joseph…” My father hesitated. “If you’re not safe in Boston, maybe I can help. I could send a few guys to ask around. There are some more…progressive men who might be willing to watch your back.”
“No.” My refusal was immediate and fierce. If my father got involved, Marco and I would get pulled right back into his world. We wouldn’t be free anymore.
I took a quick breath and softened my tone. “Thanks, Dad, but no. It’s safer for all of us if people think we hate each other. No one’s been giving you any trouble about me since I left, right? I don’t want that to change.” That was true. No matter what my father was, I still loved him. I didn’t want him to get killed because he decided to come to my rescue.
“You’re right. I don’t like it, but you’re right.” He heaved a sigh. “You’ll call me if anything else happens.” It wasn’t a question. “I won’t lose you, son. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.” My voice hitched a little, and I blinked against the sting at the corners of my eyes. His love for me was overwhelming, and the fact that he still wanted to be part of my life—that he would risk his reputation to save me—meant more to me than I could ever put into words.
We ended the call, my father’s voice a bit thick on his farewell. I wasn’t the only one affected by our enduring relationship.
I took a few deep breaths to collect myself before I texted Marco. Ashlyn was still in class, and he was waiting for her outside her lecture hall, keeping watch. I’d chosen to stay at home for this phone call, so I could have complete privacy. Ashlyn wouldn’t know a thing about the threat to our lives. I wouldn’t allow her to worry or be scared for even a moment.
As Marco and I discussed what I’d learned from my father, the memory of Ashlyn’s nightmare played through my mind. My stomach turned at the image of her pale face, drawn with terror. She’d cried out my name and felt my scar, as though reassuring herself that I wasn’t bleeding out.
I had my suspicions about the content of her nightmare, but Marco thought he was the one who’d haunted her dreams. That shit had to stop. We needed each other more than ever, and I couldn’t allow him to isolate himself.
I sent another text: We’re playing with Ashlyn as soon as you get home.
It wasn’t a request. I wouldn’t allow Marco to evade intimacy out of some misguided attempt to protect Ashlyn from his more savage needs.
Three gray dots bounced on my screen, popping up and disappearing multiple times as Marco wrote and rewrote his text. Finally, he settled on a thumbs-up emoji. That was good enough for me. I’d interrogate both of them if I had to. By the time I was finished with them, all of this tension would be resolved.
Chapter Six
Ashlyn
“I failed,” I groaned. “I totally failed. That Classical Art test was brutal.” Marco opened our front door for me, and I trudged inside. My brain felt like a wrung-out sponge; I’d spent weeks cramming as much knowledge as I could into my head, and then in a matter of hours, I’d written down every ounce of what I’d learned into my essays.
“You didn’t fail.” Marco’s voice was deep and stern, the firm tone that made me shiver. I leaned into his strength, welcoming his support and unyielding belief in me. “You’re brilliant, Ashlyn. We can talk through your test if that’s helpful. Do you want to tell me about your essays?”
“Oh my gosh, I was so stressed! For the question about Roman domestic art in the early Imperial Period, I almost forgot to mention Pompeiian frescoes in my analysis. Pompeiian frescoes, Marco.” I emphasized how close I’d come to making an idiotic omission.