I don't hold it together. I can't. The tears come all at once—sharp, uncontrollable, tearing through everything I forced down. I fold into myself, breath breaking, chest tight, the weight of it finally crashing through. I weep frantically, letting myself feel the heartbreak one last time before deciding to move on.
After that, Jason stops by every day for the next week. Bringing me the newest version of the same phone I had before the accident, along with a brand-new laptop for me to do my homework. In between catching up on a month's worth of missing assignments, I sob as I gradually try to move on from him. Then, I leave the hospital, leaving behind the last traces of him, and walk into my parents' happy embrace.
###
"She left the hospital this morning. Looks as healthy as if nothing happened six weeks ago," his left-hand man reports.
D exhales slowly, smoke dissolving into the cool night air. Downtown Los Angeles stretches beneath him—glass and steel rising one over another, each building reaching higher, as if competing for his attention. For his approval.
His right-hand man steps onto the balcony. "What did JR mean by that message? Have you figured it out?"
D doesn't answer immediately. The memory returns—sharp. Unwanted.
Six weeks ago.
----------------------
"I owe you one." — JR.
D didn't move.
His right-hand man let out a quiet scoff. "I owe you one?"
D said nothing. The words echoed once. Then again. Owe him… for what? All he had done was ask Roberto to stop. A pause. Then—it clicked. D's gaze had sharpened, locking onto the screen. No. Impossible. The thought came first. Flat. Immediate.
But the logic didn't break. It aligned. Years of rumors. Patterns that never made sense. Movements that never matched the man everyone believed Roberto to be. D had considered it before. Dismissed it. Because it was too much. Too dangerous to be true.
And now—there was nothing left to dismiss. He exhaled once. "...Fuck."
"What?" his right-hand man asked.
D didn't look at him. Because he already knew. Roberto wasn't just involved. Wasn't just connected. Wasn't just protecting someone. He wasn't one of the Nameless Fifteen.
D's jaw had tightened.
He is JR.
----------------------
The city comes back into focus. D's expression is unreadable. Controlled. He turns slightly, addressing his right-hand man. "No clue," he says evenly.
A beat. "Reach out to the network. Find out what JR pays when he owes a favor."
His gaze drifts back over the skyline. "That should be… informative."
His right-hand man nods. "I've buried the evidence linking John Bogle Jr. to the hit. The contractor is gone. Only the car remains."
A beat.
"Jason Mason had a PI trace it. They found the vehicle two weeks ago. No leads beyond that."
He continues, voice even. "Witnesses at Akira Lounge reported a Middle Eastern man on scene. Close to Mason. Relationship unclear."
A pause. "Do you want me to identify him?"
D doesn't answer. His attention shifts—past the skyline, toward a plume of smoke rising in the distance. Wildfire. That's what they'll call it. That's what they always call it. D exhales slowly. He started that fire.
The image comes back—sharp. The way that man looked at her. If Roberto had been there—he wouldn't have hesitated.
D's expression doesn't change.
"Leave it."
His right-hand man nods, already moving. The other follows without a word.
"Wait."
They stop.
D doesn't turn. "Keep eyes on her." A pause. "She's under our protection." Another beat. "As always."
Silence stretches.
D's gaze remains fixed on the city below. Because if Roberto is coming back for her—nothing touches her. Not here. Not in his city.