“I’m sorry,” he says. “For what I said and for how I said it. You said no, Lucia. You said no, so it shouldn’t have mattered what you were doing or how you arrived at that situation. You said no.” He shakes his head, disgusted with himself. “I had no right to make it seem like that didn’t matter.”
The raw honesty in his tone hits me harder than I expected. He isn’t apologizing out of moral duty. He’s apologizing because he truly means every word he says.
“It wasn’t my intention to hurt you. That willneverbe my intention.I was just scared,” he admits. “So fucking scared. Not about what they could have done to you, but about how their actions would have changed you.” His next words floor me. “You’re everything I want my daughter to become.” He points toward the door as if the men from the event are standing behind it. I don’t look in that direction because I know every one of them is currently in a morgue. “And those dumb fucks tried to steal that from you. They almost stole your light.”
Light?
As I stare at him, too overwhelmed to speak, a dangerous truth smacks into me.
The anger, the hurt, and my unbelievably frustrating jealousy the past week all make sense now.
I’m falling for him.
Tension hangs on Dante’s shoulders like a weight he’ll never fully set down, but I need to know the truth. It’s time for us both to start being honest.
“Who was she?” I could add more words to my question. I don’t need to. Dante knows exactly who I am referencing.
His exhale is as resigned as his words. “She’s Camille’s mother.”
His confession rearranges everything I thought I understood. “Oh… I wasn’t aware she was a part of Camille’s life.”
“She’s not. She was, but?—”
“Are you trying to keep Camille away from her mother?” I ask, too hurt by my own circumstances not to be a voice for other women in a similar situation.
Dante’s eyes flash with wounded pride. “No. I wouldneverkeep a child from their mother.”
My lips quiver as I start to speak. “Then why say she was part of her life but isn’t anymore?”
The protectiveness in his eyes curdles my stomach. “Because I can’t offer her an olive branch until I’m confident Camille is safe with her.”
Safe?The worry displayed in that one word chills me to the core.
“Safe from what?” I ask, though part of me already knows.
He hesitates only long enough to make sure I have the courage to hear what he needs to say.
“Camille’s mother is an addict.” He wets his lips before coughing to slacken the croaks of his throat. “I don’t know how long she’s been using, but it’s not something she seems ready to defeat yet.”
Another realization smacks into me. I thought the way he carried Camille’s mother down the corridor last week was out of tenderness. But it wasn’t that. He wasn’t comforting her. He was protecting his daughter—just like I had done the night he came home drunk.Or worse.
“Did you use that night you left with her?”
He appears confused but immediately fires back, “No.” He scrubs at his jaw, tracing a tremor there, before locking eyes with me to make sure I see the honesty of his reply. “But I can’t say that with utmost certainty. I can’t remember what happened that night… or that whole day.” The vulnerability projected in his eyes when he stops hiding from me affects me more than any confession could. “I’m not trying to keep secrets from you, Lucia. I don’t want to be that man. Not with you.” My heart flips for every truth I hear in his words. “I could have gone on a bender to forget the family court stuff I’m wading through, but I don’t understand why I would. I have a solid case… Well, I did. I don’t anymore.”
I blink, trying to understand. “Family court? Why are you going to family court when you have access to the most bigamist laws in the world?”
A slow smile curves his mouth, unexpectedly comforting me. “I don’t want to follow those rules. I want new ones that don’t favor men of the Cosa Nostra solely because of their gender. Ones that don’t trap women or punish them for things they can’t control.” His voice deepens with conviction. “I want Camille to have as many rights as I do. And I want you to have them, too.”
I stagger back, shocked. He doesn’t want a future where women stand two feet back and only speak when spoken to. He wants them tobe equal. He’s building something better, and he’s looking at me like he wants me to be part of it.
Terrifyingly slowly, the truth shrouds me.
I’m not falling for this man.
I’ve fallen.
“I…” I try to tell him I’m unworthy of his efforts, but just like my heart can’t deny what my head finally acknowledges, I can’t speak these words either.
