Three weeks later.
I threw myself into work; what else was there?
Moved into a small apartment in Chelsea, which was a one-bedroom, barely furnished, and I didn't care. Just needed a place to sleep, that's if I actually slept, which I mostly didn't.
The consulting firm kept me busy during the day. Clients who needed help transitioning from criminal enterprises to legitimate businesses. People trying to escape the life Tony's now fully embracing.
The irony isn't lost on me.
Elliot visits regularly. He's worried about me, Tony, and about everything.
"Have you heard from him?" he asked for the hundredth time.
"No." I gave him the same answer as always.
"Luca says he's... he's not doing well."
I didn't want to know, but I asked anyway. "How bad?"
"Seven targets eliminated in three weeks." Elliot won't meet my eyes. "Commission remnants, Marie's old contacts, and anyone connected to what happened. Tony's not asking questions; he's not taking prisoners. Just..."
