22

Rage.

It rushes out of me like a volcano, all because of what I’m witnessing outside the apartment building across the street from where I parked, waiting for Caterina.

It’s enough to suck the air from inside the car and tighten my chest until my heart’s about to burst from the strain. Sweat beads along my temple, and my skin becomes tight. I’m going to explode.

They’ll find me here, dead of a heart attack or stroke, sitting behind the wheel across the street from where Caterina—my Caterina, nobody else’s—ducks away from her ex-boyfriend’s attempt at mauling her.

He owes her his life for that. I’m not stupid. I know he wouldn’t have stopped at a simple kiss, and then I would have had no choice but to end his miserable life. All that keeps me from firing off a bullet into the bastard’s skull is the way she rejects him. I have the grim pleasure of watching her shove him away with both hands. The windows of my car are rolled up, so there’s no telling what she says, but her facial express