“I’m sorry,” I cry into his chest. “I’m so sorry. For not speaking up sooner. For bringing him here. For everything.”
But he doesn’t say anything, he just holds me while I shake and cry and break into pieces.
We sit there for a long time. Me crying. Him holding me. Neither of us talking about the impossible choice ahead or the seventy-two-hour deadline or the fact that we might lose everything.
Eventually the tears stop because there’s nothing left. I’m empty and exhausted.
“Come on,” Dante says quietly. “You need to rest.”
He leads me to his room and we lie down together without bothering to change. He wraps himself around me and I curl into him desperately seeking any comfort I can find.
“We’re going to get him back,” Dante says into the darkness. “Whatever it takes. Whoever we have to kill. We’re bringing Luca home.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
I close my eyes and try to believe him. Try to quiet the terror screaming through my veins long enough to rest.
We lie there in the darkness holding each other, and somewhere between the fear and the planning and the guilt, something unspoken passes between us.
A pact.
Whatever it takes, we get our son back.
Or we die trying.
His arms tighten around me and I press closer, drawing strength from his presence even though I know he’s just as broken as I am.
Eventually exhaustion pulls me under into fitful sleep filled with nightmares of Luca crying for me while I can’t reach him.
When I wake a few hours later in the pre-dawn darkness, Dante is still awake staring at the ceiling.
“Did you sleep at all?” I whisper.
“No.”
“Dante—”
“I can’t. Every time I close my eyes I see him.”
I take his hand and hold it tight. We don’t say anything else. Don’t need to.
We both know what’s coming.
In a few hours, I will walk into that cathedral, face Viktor, and trade the ledger for our son’s life.
For our sake, I hope the universe is kind enough to make things work out in our favor.
24
DANTE
I haven’t slept since Luca was taken.
The ceiling above the bed has a thin crack running through the corner, one that I don’t remember being there, but I’ve been staring at it for so long it now feels sewn into my skull.
I keep counting the crooked lines, and memorizing the patterns, anything to keep me from going berserk.
