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Bruno is right. I know he's right. Standing here with nothing to do makes me feel useless, and useless is a dangerous thing for me to be.

She needs clothes.

The clothes are at the bottom of a bag. A gray hoodie. A pair of black shorts I train in.

I carry them back down the hall and set them on the floor outside the bathroom, neatly folded, where she'll see them the second she opens the door. Then I step back so she won't hear me lingering.

For a moment, I can't tell if she's moving around in there or standing perfectly still. I hope she's resting. I hope she's letting the warm water do some of the work, because that's one thing I can't do for her, no matter how badly I want to.

I go to find Elio.

He's on the couch in the living room with the lamp off, elbows on his knees, staring at the dark window like it might blink first. He hears me come in. He's trained, when he bothers to use it.

He turns his head. "How long," he says, "you and Amanda?"

The question lands like a spark on dry tinder.

I've been holding myself together since last night. Since I opened that door and found her hurt, terrified, and surrounded by men who thought it was funny. Every hour since then has been an exercise in restraint.

I've kept my temper buried because she needed calm more than she needed vengeance.

I've been careful.

I've been a saint.

Elio just volunteered to be the outlet for all of it.

I cross the room before he finishes blinking. I grab him in the front of his shirt and haul him off the couch like he weighs nothing. His face is six inches from mine, and I can smell the cigarette he must have snuck on the back step.

"You don't say her name," I tell him, my voice low enough to scrape. "Not again. Not in this house. Not to me. You lost the right to ask about her the second you started treating this like gossip instead of a situation that could've gotten her killed."

His hands come up. Not to fight. To hold my wrist. He's not stupid.

"You don't ask me questions," I keep going. "Not about her. Not about what I am. You answer when I speak. You watch the road. You keep your mouth shut. The only reason you're still breathing is because I need a second pair of hands until Bruno moves us. You're useful for another week. Don't make me reconsider."

I watch him and wait to see which choice he's stupid enough to make.

He doesn't drop his eyes. I'll give him that much.

"If you're going to kill me, kill me," Elio says. His voice is steady, which surprises me. Which I almost respect. "But don't pretend this is about me asking the wrong question."

His fingers tighten on my wrist.

"You know what I'm asking. How long has she mattered to you?”

Amanda

Valentino has Elio by the collar before I've fully turned the corner, his other hand pulled back.

"Cazzo," he snarls, low and ugly, the word scraping out of him.

"Stop."

My voice cracks on the single syllable, but his fist freezes an inch from Elio's face.

"What is happening?" I ask.

Neither of them answers. Of course. God forbid anyone in this house say an actual sentence to me that contains information.