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Heat fills my chest and I dig a clenched fist into the muscle of my thigh to leash the rage clouding my mind. I can be patient, I tell myself. Then I’ll make them wait, make them beg for death.
“Was?” I ask, bringing us back.
She looks down to me and her shoulders slump forward. “It’s complicated.”
“Maybe I’ll understand, I offer, wanting nothing more than to hear her breathy voice speak to me every moment of every day.
“I don’t even understand,” she says, and then cocks her head at me. “Wait. What did you say to me? Earlier, in Italian?”
“I asked for a name, dolcezza.” When her brows draw together, I explain. “The name of the person who could touch someone so beautiful, with such anger.” I lift my hand to trace my knuckles lightly along her jaw.
She leans into my touch without thinking, quickly righting herself when she realizes, forcing me to drop my hand.
“That’s why I came,” she says, her tone sobering. “To repent.”
For what?
“But I couldn’t.” She shakes her head and speaks through a sob. “I couldn’t even go inside.”
“Why?” I ask carefully.
“It was my fault. And I definitely shouldn’t be going in there after what I—” She stops short. “I can’t.”
I don’t go down the road of explaining penance to her, instead deciding she probably needs a breather before she tries again. I’m also not the best person to be giving religious advice.
“But why sit out here?”
She reaches for her chest again, clutching her fist against her creamy skin before dropping it to her lap. “Home is…not an option.”
I want to be gentle, but I can’t stop myself when she says she has nowhere to go.
“Tell me what happened. Let me help you.”
I reach for her, but my sudden movement makes her flinch.
“I’m trying to be patient, but the tears aren’t making it easy for me.” I move slower this time. When she doesn’t lean away, I edge closer and tilt her chin to meet my gaze.
“So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to let me help you, feed you, get you warm. And then I’ll find you somewhere to stay. Because these steps are no longer an option.”
“But—”
“There are no buts, dolcezza. Though, there is a choice. There’s always a choice. If you decline, my car is yours for the night”—I gesture to where Diego is parked—“and my driver will take you wherever you wish. But you’re not staying out here alone.”
She stares pensively at the car over my shoulder.
“So what will it be? Yes or no?”
“I don’t even know your name,” she says, forgetting about the handkerchief in her lap and using her pale fingers to swipe away the last of her tears.
“Is that the only thing stopping you?”
She bites her lip and nods shyly.
I don’t hesitate, holding out my hand. “Leonardo Conti,” I say by way of introduction. “But you can call me Leo.”
The corners of her mouth lift, and for the first time, I see a playful glint in her eyes.
“Kyra Dalton,” she responds, her hand finding mine.
