It happened right before my eyes; the screech of tires and a frantic shout… and Nicolai is gone. And all I can do is stand helplessly in the street.
At the Cafë Mozart we once drank together—him with his Romanian wine, me with a glass of cider—and we'd toast the beautiful women that passed our way with long dark lashes lowered and flirting… we'd both claim that she had eyes only for us and not the other man.
Turn around, Mac, and walk away. Don't dare look back. It's the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.