Page 172 of Fallen Rook

Butterfly: Literally crying horny tears over here.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Enzo

“And how did it make you feel?” Dr. Andrews asked as I sat on the possibly-vintage-but-probably-Anthropologie-sourced green tufted Victorian sofa in front of her. “When Timothy sacrificed his entire career for you?”

Obviously, I hadn’t given her exact details about what Tom had done, or where he worked. I hadn’t even given her his real name. I called him Timothy. But we had been talking about him. A lot.

It had been almost a month since the morning he waited outside my apartment, and I had used every single second of it working toward getting better.

“It made me feel”—I slurped my green shake, shaking the ice inside it distractedly—“unworthy.”

“Why?” She folded her legs, perching her chin on her knuckles.

Dr. Andrews was a stylish woman in her sixties. She had a sharp gray bob, eccentric jewelry, and a proud smirk whenever I had a breakthrough. I liked her.

I’d learned that psychologists weren’t much different from toddlers. Their go-to word was Why? I found it maddening. It also gave me a terrible headache. Therapy was like a workout for the mind. And my brain was grossly out of shape.

“Why do I feel unworthy of such sacrifice?” I rubbed my chin, considering the question. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it. “Because…well, because all the people in my life who love me have always loved me with strings attached. Other than my sister Lila, maybe.”

“And Timothy doesn’t?” She scribbled on her notepad.

“Nope.” I worried my lip, contemplating this. “He just loves me because…”

“Because?” She stopped scribbling, her gaze flitting to meet mine from beyond the reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose.

“Because…” I halted, trying to articulate the reason Tom was so devoted to me.

“Yes?”

“Because…I’m…worth it.” The words were spoken quietly but felt loud inside my head.

She did that smirk thingy. Her silent ka-ching.

My chest felt tight and warm. This was a monumental discovery. The realization that I was worth it. Worthy of love. Of sacrifice. Of grand gestures and life-altering decisions.

My phone vibrated in my pocket again. I swallowed hard and mumbled, “Sorry. Please continue.”

She flipped a page on her pad. “I want to go back to that night you came to visit Timothy—”

My burner beeped in my back pocket. I froze. This was code red. Meaning the world was fucking ending. Apocalyptic-shit bad. Dystopian-level emergency.

Dr. Andrews pursed her lips. “Do you need to take that?”

“Uh…yeah.” I smiled awkwardly, fishing the burner out. Luca’s number showed on the screen. I pressed the phone to my ear, hard. “Ah…hello?”

“Enzo.” My name ripped from my brother’s throat. I’d never heard him so panicked, so out of breath. I sat up straight.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

“It’s…it’s Sofia—” He strangled out the word, unable to continue.

“What about her?” I was already up on my feet and heading toward the door without sparing Dr. Andrews a second glance.

No answer from the other end of the line. I wanted to break something while tearing through the narrow, well-kept hallway of the old redbrick that hosted the psychologist’s clinic. “Luca!” I roared. “Focus. Tell me what’s happening.”

“They took her.” His voice broke. “Jeremie. He kidnapped my wife. My son.”