Lexus.
My fists crash into the punching bag again and again, the dull thuds echoing in the empty room like some cruel heartbeat. It's all I hear. All I deserve to hear. My knuckles are torn up, wrists bleeding—but I don't stop. I can't. The pain's the only thing that makes sense anymore.
I killed Luca.
I avenged my father.
I survived.
So why the hell do I feel like the one who died?
I grab my phone. Again.
Still nothing. No texts. No missed calls. Just a blank screen and the weight of silence.
She blocked me.
I know it now—what she must've felt. Sitting by her phone, hoping to hear from me. Waiting. Hurting. I used to tear the world apart for anyone who made her cry.
Now I'm the reason she's in pieces.
The phone slips from my hand and crashes against the wall, landing face down like it's ashamed of me too. I brace my hands on the punching bag, forehead pressed against it. My breath comes ragged. My chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself.
