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"She told me she bribed someone with access to my building's master key."

"Then you need to tell the detective handling your case. That may help establish how she entered your apartment the first time."

"And what about the stabbing? Am I still going to be investigated for that?"

"Until the police finish their work, yes. But what you've learned about her planning and how she got inside is important."

I study him. "You're not going to make a phone call and have the whole thing disappear?"

"No. You deserve to have it resolved properly. If you want an attorney of your own, I'll help you find one, but you'll choose whom to hire."

I sit back, letting the silence settle.

For the first time since the night I stabbed Valentina, I'm getting answers that don't come wrapped in expensive gifts or excuses.

I don't like every answer.

But at least I know what I'm being asked to accept.

"I love you," I whisper.

His head lifts.

"Bridget..."

"I do. God help me, I love you. But loving you doesn't mean everything's fine, and it doesn't mean I trust you the way I did before."

"I understand."

"Do you? Because if we're going to try this again, there are going to be boundaries."

"Tell me."

"No more hiding important things because you think I'll be upset. No making decisions for me. No sending people to watch me without telling me. And I keep my job, my apartment, and my own damn opinions, even when you don't like them."

A faint smile touches his mouth. "Especially then."

"I'm serious, Enzo."

"So am I."

"And don't expect me to move into your penthouse just because you have a better coffee machine."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"You're lying. You've probably already made a list of reasons."

"An excellent list, actually."

I laugh despite myself, and his smile grows.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Depends. Are you about to tell me you have another wife?"

"God, no."

"Good. I'm developing a very strict policy about those."