“Like what?”
She sweeps her hand around her. “Likethis. Doing this with seemingly zero thought on how it would affect Alex if something happened to you. I’m only going with you because if you went alone, you’d do something stupid like slip over and immediately get shot, and then he’d be moping around for the rest of his life.”
She’s probably right.
I’m not used to having someone who cares.
“Maybe I’ll do something really cool, like … drop-kick them in the head.”
She laughs. “You’re literally that character in the movie that just fucking …dies.”
Great. Really filling me with confidence.
Oh God, thisisa bad idea.
“I hope you and Alex can work it out,” she says, after a few minutes of silence, and I know how important he is to her, so it just might be the kindest thing she’s ever said to me.
“So do I.”
“By the end of tonight, you’ll feel ten times lighter,” she says, with the same easy confidence Alex has about his own safety. Maybe it’s a byproduct of the dizzying combination of both money and power, but everyone at Sorrowsong seems to believe they’re invincible. “So what’s the plan? We deal with your stalker, and then you and Alex are fixed? Just like that?”
Not fixed, but maybe we’d have a chance to start to fix it, to begin building the giant ladders we’ll need to overcome the obstacles between us. It feels like we have these great big boulders blocking our way, that there might be a happy ending for us somewhere down the road, but neither of us can see it.
We just have to believe it’s there.
“That bad, huh?” she says, when the silence stretches on.
My fingers tighten around my seat belt when she skids round a bendwaytoo fast. “We have a lot to adjust to. A lot of things that’ll make it difficult. But we’ll make it work. I know we will.”
The screen in front of us lights up, casting her frown and the flowers tattooed up her left arm in a blue glow. The sound of her phone ringing blares through the car speakers, cutting off whatever she was going to say.
“Dad,” she says, affectionately. “Always lovely to hear from you.”
Her father’s voice is deep, rough like he’s spent too many years smoking cigars. “Belladonna, my darling,” he begins, tone sickly sweet. “Luca has just informed me that your car isn’t in the castle parking lot.”
“He’s always been observant, that one.”
“What are you doing at four in the morning with no guards?”
“Just a favor for a friend. If we have an entourage, it won’t work.”
I try not to linger on the wordfriendfor long, in case she takes it back.
The undercurrent of frustration in his voice is outweighed by the affection. “You turn my hair gray,Piccola.”
“I’m safe, I promise.”
“Who are you burying?”
She laughs, her usually sullen face brightening the same way Vincenzo’s does when he talks about his family. “I’ll tell you in about an hour.”
“Belladonna Luigia Francesca Morello.”
“What?”
“If I tell your mother, she’ll have your head on a platter.”
“Whoever it is, they tried to kill Alex last week.”
