Skullduggery {sapphic thriller}

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rafael tossed the photos at me. Memories with Artemisia slapped against my chest and floated to the ground. The thick ridge of his hardened brow shadowed his eyes beneath the waning sun. His jaw clenched and squared off. I'd never noticed how much he looked like his father. I'd never seen him so angry.

"Raf, I—"

"You were with her the whole fucking time? All of last year, yes?"

"Most of it, but—"

"Why?" he snapped. "Why wouldn't you just tell me?"

"She wouldn't let me. She wouldn't let me reach out to anyone, Raf." Hot tears welled up along my eyes. I tried to rub their burn away, but they slipped past my fingers to streak my cheeks. "At first, I didn't care. I was free and I was with her and she was happy. I'd never seen her so happy. But she got worse each time she'd have to fly back home."

"Why?" His voice splintered, demanding a better answer, one I still didn't have the courage to tell him.

"She was off her meds. You know how bad she could get."

"Why?"

A sob rattled in the back of my throat. "I didn't want to get blamed for her death."

His anger twisted his lips into a cruel smile. "So fucking selfish. Just like her. Did you tell my father the truth?"

"I told him what he needed to know."

"Vigliacchetta."

I deserved his digs, but I had to push past them. So much still wasn't making sense. "Where were you last night?" I managed to choke out.

He laughed. "You, asking me where I was? After you've been lying to me about where you've been this past year? No. You don't get to ask me that."

"I don't expect you to forgive me. And you can blame me all you want, I certainly deserve it. But something's going on, Raf. I have a bad feeling." I wiped at my tears again and pushed down the sobs to steady my voice. "I need you to come with me. To see Miles."

"Oh, of course you do. You always need something, Kirby. What, did you fuck them over too? They found out about your cop girlfriend?"

"You know about Desirae?" As quickly as suspicion flooded me, it left just the same. He was angry with me now, yes, but he wasn't sick enough to mess around with dead bodies. Or so I kept telling myself.

"You made this mess and you can deal with it. I am done helping you. Rot in prison with your 'bad feelings' and your guilt or run and hide like you're best at. Take the truck, take Pitruzza even, I don't care. But you need to leave. I do not want you here, on my dock, in my town." He began walking away along the cement barrels towards the dockhouse, but then turned. "By the way, the painting of you with Artemisia? It's not Sunday Morning. It's mourning. Lutto. Sunday Mourning. She knew from the beginning you'd be the death of her."

I couldn't stand to look at him any longer. My eyes fell to my feet, finding Artie's blues in the photograph. Rafael's shoes cracked against the sand and gravel, same gait as his father.

I should've told him the truth from the beginning. Or literally anytime between the last year. My fingers balled into a fist as my wrist bounced hard against my side. I never wanted him to find out like this.

And he still didn't know the worst part of it.

I had been selfish. I had been a coward. I let myself become that person because of her. And I still was. Her toxic waves ate away at me, eroding the dignity I always struggled to maintain. I kicked at the lustful eyes staring up at me, scraping her smile with the bottom of my heel. The photos scattered along the barrels.