Enne had no way of indicating to him that he was right, not when the omerta, once again, stretched her lips into a reassuring smile.
He met her smile with a hopeless look in his eyes, and she could almost see the weight of the entire night on his shoulders. Of the cleverness of his plan and fearing it would fail. Of saving her. Of the destiny and throne he’d sacrificed everything to claim.
Now that Levi had found her, Vianca’s cruel assignment would inevitably be fulfilled, and she braced herself for the omerta’s orders. Enne didn’t know what the omerta would conceive. She could spew hateful words about how he was selfish and inconsiderate and egotistical. She could turn and run back to the whiteboots and betray everything they’d ever worked for.
The omerta gave her no direction.
But Enne wasn’t foolish enough to believe they were safe. This only meant something worse was still to come.
“Then there’s only one option, since I don’t know the truth, and you can’t tell me,” Levi said lowly. He tucked her mask into his jacket and clasped her hand. “I won’t let you out of my sight.”
Enne wanted to tell him that it was useless and that none of his clever plans could save them, but she remained forcibly silent except for a single sob. The omerta let her cry. Maybe it liked her like this, playing the damsel to Levi’s knight.
Levi wiped away a tear on her cheek, and she flinched as he touched her. She both craved it and hated it.
“Tock will be finished soon. We need to man our stations.” Levi took her hand and pulled her into the ballroom. The mirrored wall behind them bore two banners: a blue one, to represent Harrison and the First Party, and purple, for Prescott and the monarchists.
A member of the St. Morse staff handed out balloons, jewelry, and various accessories to guests. As she passed them, she slipped a strand of beads around Enne’s neck and placed a silver plastic crown on Levi’s head.
A few feet from them, Worner Prescott danced with Poppy. It was a sweet image of a father-daughter dance, one the media present at the party was certainly capturing. Enne looked away from the flashes of cameras. In the newspapers tomorrow, if the reader looked closely enough, they might glimpse two notorious street lords in the corner. Perhaps they’d chalk it up to a blur in the photography. Or perhaps that would be part of the legend.
“Dance with me,” Levi said. It didn’t sound like a request. It sounded like a plea. “We only have moments left until the lights go out. Vianca doesn’t know about our plan, does she?”
“She doesn’t,” Enne answered softly. That truth she could share.
“Then we haven’t lost yet.” He pulled her toward him, held her in the same way he’d held her before. But as much as Enne wanted his forgiveness, she’d never wanted it like this. Vianca had taken the broken pieces of their relationship and crafted them into blades, and every time Levi touched her, it felt like a cut.
“I can’t believe you,” Levi murmured, and the edge to his voice filled her with equal hope and equal dismay. He didn’t forgive her.
Repair what you’ve broken.
“I’m sorry. You know I’m—”
“Is sacrificing yourself really the best plan you have?” Levi snapped, startling her. He no longer sounded broken. He sounded furious. “That stunt with your mask wasn’t for Vianca, or you would have been relieved that I stopped you. I won’t let you be a martyr for me.”
Tears spilled from Enne’s eyes, but she couldn’t tell if they were her own doing or the omerta’s coercion.
Levi’s face softened. “I’m asking you to trust me, Enne. Whatever is coming that you’re so afraid of, I can take it. You saved me before, and I could do nothing but watch.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m begging you—this time, let me play. This time, trust inme. Let me be the one to saveyou.”
Enne’s heart crumbled at his words. If sheknewthe answer to Vianca’s twisted, cryptic demand, then it would be easier to trust he could outsmart it.
Did she trust him more than she feared Vianca?
It didn’t matter. The omerta still forced the wrong words from her lips, still intertwined her fingers with his when all she wanted to do was run.
“You haven’t said it yet,” she whispered.
He shivered at her breath on his lips. “I haven’t said what?”
“That you’ve forgiven me.”
“I...” He swallowed. “I’ve made the most desperate wager of my life tonight, but I’d still throw it all away. What’s the point of saving the city if I can’t save you?”
Enne fought against the omerta. She was breathless and gasping as its power pressed her lips to his. It was Vianca’s work. It was wrong. But that didn’t stop Enne’s heart from swelling. It didn’t make the words either of them had spoken any less true.
She wanted this, even if it spelled ruin for both of them.
Enne kissed him like it was the last chance she’d ever have, breathed in his sigh like it was the last breath she’d ever take. The music around them was ending, playing its final chord, and even though Enne was the one with a heart full of tragedy, it was Levi who lifted her higher, who shuddered as her tongue ran across his lips, who clung to her like at any moment she would disappear beneath him. Maybe, somehow, he also knew what this was.
