Director Oliveira.
The title felt wrong, like wearing someone else's skin. But when I looked at Lorenzo and saw the way his shoulders had dropped, the way he could breathe again, the relief flooding his face, I knew I'd made the right choice.
This was what came next. Not running. Not hiding. Not a simple life on some remote island. That would never be us. But this? This felt right in a way that a peaceful, carefree life never would have.
My knees finally gave out, and Lorenzo caught me before I hit stone, his arms locking around my waist. "I've got you."
"There's a car waiting," Rhadamanthys said. "Doctor's on standby at the safe house."
Lorenzo shifted, and suddenly I was being lifted. My head fell against his shoulder, and I breathed in the scent of him.
"I can walk," I mumbled.
“Stop being stubborn,” he replied.
Orange trees passed overhead, sunlight dancing through the leaves. The iron smell of blood was still thick in my nose. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was how it felt when Adam and Eve were forced out of paradise. They must’ve been exhausted and terrified of what came next, too.
"So." His arms tightened. "You just signed up to run a criminal empire."
"I'm aware."
"You don't even like criminals."
I opened my good eye and found his face. "I like you."
His jaw clenched. "That's different."
"Is it?" Constantine's corpse was still down in that maze. Caesar's broken body beside him. I'd killed them both and felt nothing except relief. "I'm not sure I know the difference anymore."
"Good," he said quietly. "You'll need that."
We reached the car. Luka opened the door, and Lorenzo lowered me into the back seat. He slid in beside me, his arm around my shoulders keeping me upright.
Vincent climbed into the front while Luka took the wheel.
"Safe house in Trastevere," Rhadamanthys called through the window. "God watch over you."
“What about you?” I managed to lift my head to look at Rhadamanthys.
He stood up straight and looked away. “I’m going back to Montana. Hades will need someone to watch his back.”
Because Zeus was still out there. Constantine had promised that Zeus would do worse than hunt us down and kill us. He’d promised a massacre the likes of which we’d never seen.
But that was tomorrow’s problem. Maybe as Director Oliviera, Lorenzo and I stood a chance of weathering the storm we both knew was still coming.
The engine started, and we pulled away from the garden.
Lorenzo's hand came up to cradle my face, careful of the wounds. "I love you,” he said. “I couldn’t say it before, but I’m saying it now. I need you to know, Rafael.”
“I know,” I said, placing my hand over his. “I’ve always known.”
And I had. Lorenzo had been saying I love you with teeth and claws and sharp knives and sarcastic remarks since we’d first met. He’d said he loved me when he told me the truth no one else was willing to, and when he caught me on the fire escape in Rio, and when he’d come back for me in Alaska, and when he’d stood vigil at my beside in Seattle. Lorenzo had been saying it far longer than I’d been ready to hear it.
And I had loved him back far longer than I’d admitted aloud.
But choosing to say it out loud to each other, choosing each other again and again and again? That was our past, our present, and our future. That was what reallove looked like.
Four months later…
