Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,131

did you say your name was?”

I open my mouth to respond, only to snap it closed as the bus lurches to a stop. Every eye shifts toward the front as the tour guide claps her hands together, her microphone crackling as she announces the end of the tour.

Gathering my purse and empty water bottle, I stand and nod toward Tess and Isla. “It was nice to meet you both.” Before they can offer a rebuttal, I push my way through the thickening crowd and rush toward the street, the last hour replaying in my head on a frantic loop.

After running across the parking lot and unlocking my car, I’m about to open the door when I hear footsteps behind me.

“They have no clue, do they?”

I freeze as the voice I haven’t heard in over a year slithers over my spine. The deep cadence is so familiar, I can’t believe I didn’t hear it. I suppose on some level I expected him to find me someday and demand answers. If not for anything but closure.

I square my shoulders, slipping back into an all too familiar skin. “About what?”

“That they just had a conversation with a dead woman.”

My keys dig into the palm of my hand as I stare at our reflections in the driver’s side window. The last year hasn’t been kind to either of us. Although my eyes are hidden behind huge, dark sunglasses, there’s no masking the two new lines that frame my mouth like parenthesis.

It’s almost poetic, if you think about it. Some call them laugh lines. I think God put them there as anecdotal tattoos. Permanent lip cuffs. My own Scarlet Letter ensuring everything that crosses them is nothing more than a historical footnote. A conversational “where were you” moment. Like the assassination of JFK or the Challenger Explosion or 9/11.

Where were you when Alexandra Romanov crawled out of Hell, then dragged half of Hollywood back down with her?

I tug a strand of hair from my short blonde bob away from my mouth and blink at the reflection behind me. How did I not see it before? Granted, the brim of the Dodgers baseball cap hid his head of impeccably styled gray hair and those sharp, cold eyes, but if I’d taken my own advice and looked below the surface, I would have seen then what I see now.

A familiar icy, pale blue stare.

“How did you find me?”

He tilts his chin up, and I swallow a knee-jerk reaction at seeing his steeled expression. “I followed you for fifteen years after you died the first time. What makes you think I’d stop after the second?”

“Luciano…”

He chuckles. “You mean how did I find Jade DeLuca? It’s not a hard alias for anyone who really knows you, kid. I’ve known where you were for months.”

I brace my forearm against the window, a soft curse tearing from my chest. I’m strong, but even concrete cracks, and knowing I’ve been pinging around Europe on some Vitoli GPS tracker causes another fissure. “Then why not come to Italy?”

Thankfully, Luciano still remembers the rules, and his shadow never moves. “No need. Like I said, I know you. You don’t trust anybody. I knew you’d eventually come back to verify I kept my word. This town is in your blood, kid.”

He’s right on all counts, and I hate that he knows me so well.

“That was quite a performance back there. Dominic would’ve been proud.”

That one word is like a sledgehammer to the chest. Yes, he would’ve been proud. If he were here. But he’s not and he never will be.

Shaking my head, I push away from the window and turn around. “Luciano, I—”

A firm grip on my upper arm stops me. “Don’t. Right now, I’m just a Dodgers fan hitting on a blonde facing an Audi. Don’t make it any more than that.”

He’s right, of course. He’s always right.

I stare hard at our reflections in the glass. “About what those women said…”

Luciano stiffens and lets out a low sigh before putting space between us. “I care about you, kid. But more than that, I feel responsible for you. If only—”

Breaking his hold, I spin around, blood pounding in my ears. “You promised no regrets, remember?” My words are deceptively calm, yet still laced with warning. I’ll be damned if I’ll let him shoulder this sin. Choices have been made, and graves have been dug. Regrets are useless.

Luciano grinds his teeth together, gripping the back of his neck hard before dropping his hand and holding my