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“Yeah, I know about that.” He strokes my cheek. “I’m sorry you went through so much and for your loss.”
“Thank you. It was such a rough time. When I woke up from my coma and I was told my friend didn’t make it, I wanted to die too. I couldn’t believe it was true, even though I knew when the car struck us that I’d lost her.” I fight back tears. I hate talking about the accident with anyone. This always happens to me, but I feel I should tell him because he asked. “My other best friend, Harper is always trying to uplift me. And even my father, despite our problems helps too. But I will always blame myself. Sometimes I feel bad for just living and doing all the things she can no longer do.”
He cradles my face. “It was an accident, Serenity.”
“I know, but it was me who was driving. I keep thinking if I just checked her seatbelt was on, she'd be alive today. It's my responsibility to check, isn't it? To make sure people are safe when they're with me.”
“Baby, sure everyone tries to make sure those who are with them are safe, but you can only be responsible for so much. Especially when driving a car.” He presses his lips together and pauses for a moment. “I'm may sound harsh saying this, but that responsibility was hers. As long as you’re an adult it’s your responsibility to make sure you have your seatbelt on. The person to blame for that accident was the drunk driver. The two of you would have been fine had the driver not run into you. Please remember that.”
He holds my gaze with a tenderness that I love and I reach up to touch his face.
“Thank you for the reminder. That part tends to be the last thing I think about.” I think of everything else because I believe when you’re driving, you should try to be as careful as you can in case something like what happened to me occurs.
“That’s completely normal, but it’s important you remember whose fault it was so you can heal.”
I nod, knowing what he’s saying is all the right things my soul; needs to hear. “That means a lot.”
“Glad to hear that.”
“Spending this week with you has been great. You made me realize I could be happy again. It’s awful to be alive and feel so dead inside.” To take the gloom down a notch I decide to joke. “That’s the part that was supposed to scare you away.”
I smile at him but his mood seems to darken even more.
“I’m still here. You didn’t scare me. I know what it feels like to feel dead inside, too. I probably know more than most. It's the worst feeling and the only people who understand are the ones who feel it too.”
I would say he knows pretty much everything about me from what he’s read and what I’ve personally told him, but I still don’t know much about him.
It feels like everything he’s allowed me to know so far has been carefully selected and crafted then spoon-fed to me in tiny bites. I understand why and it scares me when I think of what his world must be like. But I want to know.
I want to know more about him than I do and what would make a Russian mob boss feel dead inside.
“What happened to you, Dante?” My voice is as hesitant and cautious as someone walking on thin ice.
Dante looks away from me. Picks up the cigar again and takes a drag on it. I don't miss the tremble in his hand and the clench in his jaw. For a moment I think he won’t answer, then he sets a cigar down, blows out a another series of smoke, but it down and turns back to face me.
“I watched my mother die when I was fourteen. She was murdered right in front of me.”
My mouth drops. “Oh my God.” It’s one thing to see someone die in a accident, but murder? And at fourteen? My throat goes dry. “I'm… so sorry. I didn't mean to pry and make you remember something so awful.”
“It's okay. I’ve always been told to talk about it when I get the chance, so I guess this is a chance I should take.”
“You can talk to me any time.” I search his eyes and for the first time they actually look void and I see the emptiness he carries. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person look like that before.
“There was an attack on my home in Russia,” he continues, probably seeing I’m eager to know what happened. “At the time my cousins were staying with us. Men broke in with guns. My father and my uncle were away. The men knew that and decided to pay us a visit. They shot my cousins first and when I tried to protect my mother and sister, they shot me and made me watch them slit my mother's throat. Then they took my sister. All I remember is her screaming and I couldn’t do anything to stop them. I blacked out and I thought I died.” He looks away again. “My sister was only eight. My father came home to the massacre. All of us practically dead, including the house staff. I was the only one to make it out alive. Days later, they found my sister's body in the gutter. She'd been raped and dismembered. They left her like that to send a message. My father found the men and got his retribution, but none of us was ever the same after that. Especially me. I blamed myself for not being able to do more. In my mind I did nothing.”
I stare back at him open-mouthed, my skin paling and going clammy with terror.
“Dante, I’m so sorry. There wasn’t anything you could have done.”
“I know that, but just like you, I think of what I could have done to stop it. All these long years have gone by and I still wonder. It still affects me and I still have to pick myself up and be strong.”
I cover his hand with mine to give him reassurance, but it’s him who flicks my hand over so he can hold it and give it a gentle squeeze.
“How do you find strength after that?”
“You do it because you have to. You realize there has to be some reason in this world why you got the chance to live and they didn’t. So, you fight for strength to live for your fallen ones because you know they’d want you to.” He gives me a small smile that's there one minute and gone the next. “You can do it, too. I believe in you. You just have to believe in yourself.”
Every single word spoken grips me, warming my heart and awakening it even more.
