Prologue
Vinnie
Eight Months Ago
“What’s this?” I ask as August drops a manila file on the table in front of me, and I eye it skeptically.
I thought sneaking up to my parents’ rooftop terrace after brunch, despite knowing I’d be out in the bitter cold, would grant me some alone time.
I should have known better.
Before reaching for the file, I pull my coat tighter around me. The air feels like snow is imminent, despite it being a little too early in the winter. But with the way the sky looks, I wouldn’t be shocked to see little flurries come with the rain.
My eyes meet August’s as my fingertips graze the folder. I shouldn’t give him the satisfaction of even engaging in this conversation, but he somehow knows what buttons of mine to push.
His cocky smirk infuriates me, and I glare at him before returning to the file.
It’s ordinary—the exact type he brought to my apartment when he turned my life upside down. My heart rate accelerates as I hesitate to see what’s inside.
Finally, I flip the cover back. My breath hitches when I’m met with photos of Sly.
Forget the snow—a flurry spins in my stomach. Icy little butterflies come back to life as I look at his face, scattering the pictures to see them all, then pick up the one on top to study it closer.
Sly is crossing the street in a city I don’t recognize, with a cigarette dangling from between his fingers. It’s strange to see—smoking is not a habit I knew him to have.
Maybe it’s new.
Setting the picture down, I pick up another while fighting back tears.
Sly’s walking out of a building, but it's hard to distinguish where he may be from the way the photographer obviously zoomed in on his target. In the window to his left, a neon sign that reads‘too’is visible.
My brows scrunch as my eyes trace over every inch of his body—searching for any sign, any clue. They catch on something wrapped around his upper arm, sticking out from his t-shirt.
Is that…plastic wrap?
Placing the picture down, I continue looking through the pile, sliding them around so they’re all visible.
Looking up at August, I hold his gaze, hoping to distract him long enough to carry out a crazy, impulsive thought.
“Where is he?” I seethe, my voice surprisingly steady as I continue rifling through the photos, though this time it’s for show.
When his gaze is locked on mine, his overly confident smile pinned on his face, I act.
As inconspicuously as possible, I push one of the pictures into the sleeve of my jacket. The air in my lungs constricts under August’s heavy gaze and the fear of getting caught, but his eyes never dip to the movement of my fingertips.
When I’m sure the picture is safely tucked away, pushed deep into my sleeve, I drop my focus back to the table.
For a moment, I consider that August is lying. That these pictures are somehow fake, or old.
But my gut says they’re recent.
August knows where he is.
It’s been two weeks since Sly left.
Two weeks since I lost a piece of myself and signed my life over to the devil.
It’s to keep him safe,I remind myself.Everything is worth it as long as he’s safe.
