“We did it,” Dante said, pouring celebratory whiskey that no one seemed inclined to drink. “The bastard actually backed down.”
“For now,” Bea warned. “He said it himself: this isn’t over.”
“We’ll be ready.” Alessandro was watching Marina, searching for the warmth that used to flow so freely between them. She was still guarded. Still distant. “We have the book. We can prepare the curse-breaking ritual. By the time the full moon rises…”
“Five days.” Marina turned the book over in her hands. “The full moon is in five days.”
“Five days to break a curse that’s lasted two centuries.” Dante raised his glass. “I’d say those are decent odds.”
No one else raised theirs.
After Dante and Bea and Estelle had gone, Alessandro found Marina in the kitchen, staring out the window at the darkening sky.
“Marina.”
She didn’t turn. “Yes?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
The lie landed between them, obvious as a locked door.
“Talk to me. Please.”
She finally turned, and what he saw in her face stopped him. Worse than anger. Worse than grief.
Resignation, with the lights already dimming behind it.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she said. “How quickly you dismissed me. How alone I felt, standing in this kitchen, trying to warn you about someone who wanted to hurt us both. And you chose him, Alessandro. You chose to believe a demon over me.”
“I was wrong…”
“I know you were wrong. You’ve apologized. I’ve accepted it.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “But accepting isn’t the same as forgetting. And I can’t forget how that felt.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying maybe we should think about what happens when the full moon rises. Maybe we should consider that the bond breaking might be… for the best.”
The words landed.
“Marina…”
“I love you. God help me, I do. But love isn’t enough if I’m always going to be second-guessed. Always going to feel like my voice doesn’t matter.” Her eyes were wet. “You hurt me. Really hurt me. And I don’t know if I can get past that.”
Alessandro reached for her. She stepped back.
“Don’t. Not right now.” She picked up the recipe book. “We have five days to break this curse. Let’s focus on that. And when it’s over… we can decide what comes next.”
She went upstairs.
Alessandro stood alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of bread and the weight of everything he’d destroyed.
Her grief bled into him. Not the dramatic sobs of immediate grief, but the slow, steady leak of hope draining away.
He thought about his grandfather’s final words:Don’t make my mistakes. Live your life.He’d spent ten years trying to honor that advice while simultaneously ignoring it. He’d searched for a cure to the curse, yes, but he’d done it alone. He’d pushed away everyone who tried to help. He’d treated partnership as weakness and isolation as strength.
And now he was losing the one person who’d actually seen him, not the Draven heir, not the arrogant attorney, but Alessandro. The man who burned toast and couldn’t roll fondant and had started smiling at customers without meaning to.
