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“Well,Ihave faith in the gods.” Saida pasted a smile on her face. “And in our Finestra.”
At leastsomeonewas willing to pretend.
“Dea doesn’t make mistakes,” Nina said softly, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.
This was a disaster.
“I wish I could spare you all,” Alessa said. “But Saverio needsme, and I need a Fonte. I intend to prove myself so that when the time comes for a final decision, one of you will volunteer.”
“And if no one does?” Nina asked.
“The Consiglio will have to choose. But I won’t. I know what it’s like to be thrust into a role you didn’t ask for, and I won’t do that to anyone again.”
“A toast, then,” Kaleb said, pouring himself a nearly overflowing glass and raising it high. “Cheers. To whoever dies first.”
Nineteen
Non è prudente aprire vecchie ferite.
It is unwise to open old wounds.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 28
Alessa folded her gloves beside her plate and stared blankly at the table cluttered with barely touched plates and empty glasses. The Fontes declined, pleading exhaustion, when a server entered with tiny frosted glasses of limoncello. Their chairs practically left grooves in the floor.
Dante turned the nearest chair backward to straddle it and propped his chin on one hand. “They reallyarescared of you, huh?”
“Of course they are.” Alessa curled her fingers into a fist. “I’m the monster who haunts their nightmares.”
His eyes softened. She wouldn’t have noticed the change a day before, but it was there.
Dante picked up a bottle of wine and squinted through the cobalt glass.
“I watched them open it,” she said. “It’s not poisoned. Unfortunately.”
Dante tipped it to catch the remaining drops and reached for another. Spearing the cork with a knife, he gave a deft twist, popping it out. He tipped the bottle her way, and she shook her head.
She didn’t realize she was staring at the knives inked on his wrist until he raised his eyebrows.
“Do you regret it?” Alessa gestured to his tattoo.
“Always.”
She had no grounds to judge or pry into his past. She was a killer who’d hired a killer, and he was marked, not banished, so whatever he’d done, it hadn’t been cold-blooded murder—probably a street brawl gone wrong. But it struck her that Dante might be the only person she’d ever spoken to who knew what it felt like to end a life.
“It must be terrible to have a reminder of your worst mistake etched onto your skin forever.”
He absently rubbed his thumb over the mark. “If I forgot, it would be like they died all over again. They don’t deserve that.”
Guilt and sadness had always been a weight she couldn’t shake off, but he spoke of regret like a gift, like he cared enough to want to keep their memory alive.
“Well,” she said, trying to smile and failing spectacularly. “I’m glad I don’t have to get marked. I’d run out of space.” Her smile collapsed.
“You want to talk about it?”
Only her ghosts breathed in the long silence. She’d carried Emer’s story alone for so long, with no one willing to listen.
“The first time, I was so… excited.” The words came unbidden, like blood welling from a wound. “After waiting so long, I was hungry for any kind of connection, even a simple touch.”
