Page 137 of Bene

Vanna’s head snapped up, the revolving doors she’d just stepped out of still spinning behind her. Gone was the large, poufy dress he’d watch her be arrested in only to be replaced with gray sweatpants, a similarly colored hoodie, and running shoes. It wasn’t her typical look, but he wasn’t at all shocked that she still managed to pull it off.

Everything looked good on her.

Fuck him for noticing, too.

He might have enjoyed the sight of her surprise on another day, but today, he wasn’t entirely sure what to feel. Except for maybe the fact he shouldn’t be here at all. Not standing on these steps. Not waiting for her release from the police interviews.

None of it.

And yet, there he stood.

“Bene?”

Her hesitant call of his name had him standing a little straighter on the steps of the police station. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, he stared at the woman who had changed his entire life in far more ways than she could possibly know. He wished that so much of this between them had been different, but as this was what they were given, then he would tryto do something with it.

Try being the keyword.

“Did you come to tell me you hate me again?” she asked. “To call me a liar, and leave before you let me explain? Do you want to taunt me because you have what you want, and now I have nothing?”

He didn’t miss how she kept a good distance between them. She took a few steps away from the door, likely wanting to get far away from the cops in that building, but she didn’t begin to climb down the stairs to come closer to him.

“Don’t you think I would be owed that?” he asked back.

Vanna swallowed hard. “That doesn’t mean I want to hear it.”

“That’s the thing about love and forgiveness, isn’t it?”

Her brow dipped. “Pardon?”

Bene took one step higher, asking, “How about I ask you a question?”

“Well—”

“It’s a good one, I promise.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Why me?”

“Honestly?”

Bene nodded, taking one more step on the stairs.

Vanna blew out a hard breath, her arms full with a large brown paper bag. Likely the items she had gone into the station with, or what they gathered of hers from the church when the raid happened. “You were the logical choice—all your other brothers weren’t single, or around.”

“Marcus—”

“Not my type.”

For some reason, that made him grin.

And chuckle.

A little.

“And why did you change your mind?” he asked. “About coming after my family, I mean. What made you—”

“Because a part of me knew I was chasing someone else’s wrongs—a part of me thought it was the only way to keep my dad alive when I worried, I was forgetting him. Because I blamed your father for the way my life went. Because I love you.”