Page 52

I move carefully because I don't know what will wake her. I answer before the call drops.

"Vittoria."

"Tell me she's breathing."

"She's breathing. She's asleep. One bruise on her cheek. It seems she's mostly unharmed."

There's a pause on the line, and I brace for screaming. For the kind of rage that comes when someone you love gets hurt and you can't get your hands on the people responsible.

It doesn't come.

"Good," Vittoria says, and her voice is so calm it scares me more than rage would. "Then listen to me, Valentino, because I'm only going to say this once. If a single hair on her head is harmed. If one more thing happens to her that you could stop. I will kill whoever touched her. I don't care who it is."

A beat.

"Even if it's you."

I stand in the cold hall with my back against the wall, and I almost laugh. Not because it's funny. Because it's the most Sartori thing I've ever heard, and she said it without raising her voice. Without a single crack in it.

I've known Vittoria had steel in her for years. The rest of the family forgets because she's small, clever, and kind. They keep waiting for the part of her that breaks.

It's not coming. It never was. If they had looked harder. Saw her for what she is and not their delicate baby sister. They would've realized too.

"Nothing happens to her," I say. "You have my word. I'd put myself in the ground before I let anyone near her again."

"I know you would." Her voice is matter-of-fact. "That's the only reason I'm not on a plane right now. Do you have a plan?"

"I'm waiting on your brothers."

A sigh travels down the line, long and tired. For the first time, she sounds less like a Sartori and more like a woman worried about her friend.

"Of course you are."

"Vittoria—"

"No, listen." The calm slips just enough for me to hear what's underneath it. "Amanda has been through more than you know. More than she lets anyone see. She walks into a room and lights it up so nobody ever thinks to ask why. They never ask about her. Her parents—" She cuts herself off. "It's not my story to tell. But that woman in there has spent her whole life waiting for someone to choose her and stay. And you⁠—"

She goes quiet for a second.

"You're too quick to decide who's worth protecting, Valentino. You make up your mind in five seconds, and then you stay until you think they don't need you anymore. I've watched you do it for years."

I look toward Amanda's door.

"This is different," I hiss without meaning to.

"Maybe it is." A silence. "She trusts you. More than you think. More than she'd ever admit out loud. So whatever you think you're doing in that farmhouse, don't be careless with it. You don't get to be kind to her and then decide it was just the job. Do you understand me?"

My free hand finds the rosary in my pocket, the movement so automatic, I don't realize when I'm doing it anymore. The beads are warm from being against my body, and my thumb moves over them the way her finger moved over my mouth before she fell asleep. I shove that thought down.

"I understand."

"No, you don't," Vittoria says, almost gentle now. "But you will. Just don't break this. You hear me? She doesn't have many people who stay. Be one who does, or be honest enough to walk away before she starts counting on you."

"Vittoria—"

"No. You don't get to make her feel safe and then disappear when you decide the danger is over. You don't get to become someone she counts on and call it duty because that makes it easier for you."

The widow in Catania comes to mind before I can stop it.