With a nauseating mixture of fear and hope I went to my window and opened the curtains. There was Marek outside waiting for me to answer his knock.
I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face; but he looked tired and older than his actual age of 20, and also maybe as apprehensive as I was, underneath his perpetual mafioso cool.
I let him in. I’d thought a lot about what I would do should . . .