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The words nearly killed me. Because Alessio had asked me to do it while he was still alive. And, as with every important thing between us, I had arrived too late.

22

ADRIANA

The room they gave me was large and spacious, the walls painted a soft cream. Pale curtains framed tall windows, and a thick rug covered most of the wooden floor. The bed stood beneath a linen canopy, wide enough for three people, with more pillows than anyone could reasonably need. A small sitting area occupied one corner, arranged around a low table with a vase of white flowers.

I crossed to the French doors at the far end and opened them.

Cool air moved across my face.

The Juliet balcony was barely deep enough for two people to stand beside one another. Its iron railing overlooked the rear garden, where clipped hedges divided gravel paths and stone statues stood among beds of lavender and rosemary. Beyond the garden, the estate disappeared into rows of cypress trees. Their black shapes cut into the darkening sky, and somewhere below, water moved through a fountain or water feature I couldn’t see.

Night had begun closing over the property. One section at a time. The walls. The trees. The road beyond the gates.

I rested my hands on the railing and let the cold iron press into my palms.

It had been a long day. Most of the afternoon had been spent upstairs with the girls. They had brought coffee, pastries, and enough questions to keep me from thinking too hard about the men gathered downstairs.

Neither of them had ever met DeMarco.

They said his name with the excitement of people discussing a story they had been told since childhood. The missing cousin. The dangerous brother. The black sheep who had walked away from the Cavalho family and become a priest.

I stepped back into the room and closed the balcony doors.

A clock in the hallway struck nine before I went downstairs.

The house had quietened, although it had not gone to sleep. Voices moved behind closed doors. Floorboards creaked overhead.

I followed the light toward the kitchen, where I found Demitri standing at the counter with his back to the doorway.

He had changed out of the clothes he had worn earlier. His dark shirt was open at the throat, the sleeves rolled past his wrists. Bread, cheese, sliced meat, and a jar of mustard were spread across the stone counter.

He glanced over his shoulder.

“I was coming to find you.”

I stopped inside the doorway.

“I thought you might be hungry. In the excitement, we all missed dinner.” He cut another slice of bread. “The family became distracted.” He spread mustard across the bread with more attention than the task required.

“They forgot to eat?” I asked.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he told me.

I leaned against the opposite side of the counter.

He placed the top slice on the sandwich and cut it cleanly in half.

“I’m sorry, Adriana.”

“For what?”

“I should’ve paid more attention. It’s not right to sleep without eating.”

His eyes lifted to mine. He slid the plate across the counter. I looked down at the sandwich in front of me, then at him.

“Thank you.”