“I’m not. I’m just saying that if?—”
“Stop, still.”
He stops.
I take his face in my hands, making him look at me. His eyes are red and if I didn’t know better I’d have concluded he was crying.
“I love you.”
The words fall out of my mouth before I can overthink them. They’ve been sitting in my chest for weeks now, getting heavier every day, and suddenly I can’t hold them anymore.
“I love you, Dante. I didn’t want to. I tried really hard not to. You’re dangerous, and like you said you’ve done terrible things and being with you scares the hell out of me. But I love you anyway. I love you because of who you are with Luca. I love you because of who you are with me. I love you because when I’m with you I feel safer than I’ve ever felt anywhere, which is insane considering what your life is like.”
The tears fall freely now, down my cheeks and dripping onto his chest. I don’t bother wiping them away.
“So don’t you dare die. Don’t you dare leave me and Luca alone. You will fight and survive and you will come back to us. Do you understand me?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, just stares at me the way he pulls me down and kisses me like I’m oxygen and he’s been drowning.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips. “I’ always have. I just didn’t know what to call it.”
“Took you long enough to figure it out.”
He chuckles, and it’s rare and beautiful to see.
“Yeah, well. I’m slow.”
I kiss him again and settle back against his chest. His arms wrap around me, holding me close, and I let myself sink into the feeling of being held by someone who loves me.
“We’re getting him back,” Dante growls. I’m not even surprised because I know lying beside me is a man who’s trying to act strong for me despite all that’s happening. “We’re getting Luca back and then we’re building a life together. A real one.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat and let myself believe him.
27
DANTE
Sleep doesn’t come for me easily, despite how hard I try.
Scarlett is still curled against my side, one hand rests over my chest, right above my heart, as if she needs the reassurance that it’s still there—that I’m still here.
The weight of her hand holds me down to the bed while my eyes trace the shadows crawling across the ceiling, stretching and shrinking as the night drags on. I count the hours instead of sleeping.
One a.m.
The assault begins at six.
The knowledge sits in my chest like a time bomb, impossible to ignore. I’m constantly reminded that every second that passes pulls us closer to violence, to blood, and to whatever pieces of myself I might not get back. Dawn isn’t relief—it’s a deadline.
Carefully, I withdraw myself out of bed, moving slow enough that the mattress doesn’t shift. She needs this rest more than I do. Whatever happens in a few hours will take everything shehas, and I won’t steal even a minute of peace from her now. I pull on my pants and a shirt, leaving it unbuttoned.
I walk toward the door and pause at the doorway. For a long moment, I just watch her sleep.
Her face is soft in the dim light, unguarded in a way she never allows herself to be when she’s awake. I try to commit to mind, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair spills across the pillow, the faint lines of frown between her brows that are visible even in sleep.
