She needed to close him up. Shut the shutters over those eyes and contain that look.
She needed to do something fast.
Suddenly remembering what Amara had been telling her earlier, Morana broke the silence.
"When did the Alliance end?"
And it worked. His eyes flared momentarily, with something that was such an intense mix of hatred and pain she couldn't differentiate between them.
And then his eyes blanked. Completely. Just blue orbs looking at her with quiet consideration. No emotion.
She wasn't sure she liked it any better.
"Twenty years ago," he spoke quietly, watching her.
Silence.
"Oh," she said dumbly, then zipped her lips shut, not knowing what more to say.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned back in his chair, folding his muscular arms across his chest, the fabric of his shirt stretching over his biceps, the hint of a dark tattoo visible under the white material.
The silence stretched. Morana, already shaken over the events of the past twenty-four hours, finally gathered the strength to push away from the table and clear the dishes, carrying them to the kitchen, aware of his eyes on her back. She rinsed them hastily and stacked the plates in the chrome dishwasher, drying her hands on the towel and turning to find him still observing her.
She had so many things she needed to know, so many things to ask. But the past day had played havoc on her, and for some reason, she didn't think she could take another confrontation right now. Not until she replenished her reserve.
"Thank you for the meal, Mr. Caine," she spoke and turned to the guest bedroom, not giving him the chance to respond.
He didn't utter a word. Just tilted his head to the right.
Unnerved, Morana ran off into the room, not even caring about being obvious, and leaned against it, her heart battering her chest, her blood running hot. Why was she running now, when she never had before? Why was she letting him get to her now when she hadn't before, not to this extent at least?
Before she could think, she quietly locked the door and went to the bed, sitting down and staring at the wooden floor.
Dante was right. She couldn't stay there anymore. Damn the codes. Damn her father. Damn everything.
She was done.
She had been done for a long time. And she needed to get out.
Because the more she stayed, the more she realized her plan had backfired. He wasn't out of her system. She could feel him sinking his clutches deeper and deeper into her.
And that was scarier than an impending mob war.
Morana sat silently on the bed, her eyes on the locked door, her hands gripping her phone, waiting.
Waiting to be certain he was asleep before making her move. Staying here – in this apartment, in this city, in this country – was foolish. She didn't know what her father thought anymore, whether he believed she was with the Outfit or not despite tracking her car there, but she certainly didn't care anymore. Not for him or whatever he was hiding. Not for the hopeful girl she had been. Not for the codes that may or may not be discovered sometime. She knew it was incredibly selfish of her in a way, but she just couldn't do it anymore.
She'd already used her hidden bank account to buy herself a one-way ticket to the other side of the globe, where she would be completely anonymous. She needed to go there, away from this world, away from her father, from this mob, from him. She had to go so she could give herself a chance for something better, for happiness. Maybe find someone who made her heart race and her blood heat. Someone who understood her in her silence and protected her because he wished to. Someone who challenged her on every level and treated her as an equal.
Morana groaned at her thoughts. She shook her head, trying not to think of the man sleeping upstairs. And she was certain he was sleeping. It was 2 in the morning and there hadn't been a single noise in the house for over an hour.
It was time to move.
Slowly standing up, she moved towards the door as silently as she could and took a deep breath. Opening the latch quietly, she stepped out into the darkened space, her eyes going to the beautiful twinkling view of the city from those gorgeous windows.
Morana felt a pang shoot through her heart. It felt odd leaving this place with the knowledge she would truly never return. Especially odd considering she'd just been here only for two nights. She'd not felt this when leaving the house that had been her home for more than two decades. There was a memory here, a glimpse of a man she loathed and didn't. A memory of not being alone.
Shaking off the feeling, her chest tight and heart constricting, she moved towards the elevators on quick, slow steps, the ache in her muscles just a lingering presence, keeping her ears open for any noise. It was only her own breaths and the ambient sound of air conditioning.
Typing in the code in the keypad, Morana waited for the doors to open, her throat taut with an emotion she had never felt in her life. She was going to leave everything known behind – this place, this world, even her car. God, how she'd miss that car. It had been a loyal friend to her for so, so long. And when she'd needed it the most, it had brought her here, to safety.
The doors swished open and Morana stared at the mirrored panel staring back at her, her stomach in knots as she realized that despite everything, Tristan Caine had made her safe for both nights that she'd been in his territory, both times when she'd been at her most vulnerable. He could have taken advantage. He could have turned her over to her father. He could have simply refused to take her in. But he hadn't. He'd sat down with her in silence and watched the rain that first time. He'd run her a bath and given her clothes and fed her this second time. He'd gotten her car repaired and refused his own summons to Tenebrae. And he'd punched her father in the face.
She didn't even know who he was anymore.
She didn't know who she was with him.
But it didn't matter because she was leaving. Yet, she couldn't, not without clearing her conscience.
She knew she couldn't see him face to face or he'd never let her leave, nor would she want to. Which was why she unlocked her phone and opened the messages, taking a moment to read over their last conversation.
'We have unfinished business, Ms. Vitalio.'
Yes, they did. But there would be no finishing it.
She quickly typed out a message and hit send before she could stop herself.
Me: Mr. Caine. Thank you. I wish you well.
Before she could allow herself second thoughts, she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the doors to close. The panels slid shut. Her reflection stared back at her. Messy hair pulled back in a ponytail, an over-sized white t-shirt and a pair of black leggings that Amara had brought to her along with soft ballet flats. She held nothing but her phone and her wallet in her possession. Although she didn't have a plan on how she'd get to the airport if her car wasn't in the parking lot, she wasn't stressed. She'd planned on hot-wiring it. Maybe she could just walk far enough over the bridge to get a cab, but she didn't think her legs would cooperate much there.
Ignoring the tempestuous jolts in her stomach and her sweaty palms, she waited with bated breath as the doors finally opened and she exited into the empty parking lot, rows of cars standing eerily as two overhead lights lit the huge area.