“My children are a family matter,” I counter. “Their mother is under my protection. Mine. Not the council’s. It is not negotiable.”
Evie says nothing, but I feel the change behind me. “Protection” is an ugly word between us, but necessary still.
Giulio’s gaze lowers by a fraction, though “submission” would be too generous a word. More like, “calculation interrupted.”
Acceptable.
“Leave,” I say.
He leaves. His men follow.
The corridor exhales without a sound.
Dante starts laughing. “There it is. There. Finally. The great man chooses.”
I turn back. Dante’s face is wet at the eyes. Sweat or tears.
Irrelevant.
“You should have chosen sooner,” he says.
“Yes,” I agree.
The answer stops the laugh. He wanted denial.
“You ruined me,” he says.
“No. I delayed consequence until ruin became all that remained.”
His jaw trembles once, and I know he hates that I saw it.
So do I.
I look at Luca. “Prepare transport.”
“Destination?”
“Dock airfield. Private route. No family pilot.”
“Done.”
“To who?” Dante asks.
“No one.”
His voice lowers. “Father.”
This is his first time tonight without putting on a performance.
Too late.
I let the word he just said exist for one second. Then I kill what remains of it.
“Don Vitale.”
His face changes. There’s the final cut. He swallows.
“Don Vitale,” he says, and it costs him.
