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I tip my head, indicating my nonna’s graveside. “You’re dressed like you should be over there.”
He inhales deeply. “I don’t belong there.”
His expression shifts for a split second, so fast that I could have imagined it, before he shrugs and crouches to his haunches with a deep sigh that stops me in my tracks.
“See? I was just picking some flowers.” He plucks a purple flower from the many at his feet before handing it to me. Then he rises to his full considerable height once more.
“I’m visiting…a dear old friend.”
I nod, bending to pick my own one while dropping my fistful of daisies in favor of the brighter bloom. “Me too.”
He arches a brow, mirth dancing in his dark gaze. “What age are you? You don’t look old enough to havenewfriends, let alone old ones.”
I narrow my eyes even as I hide a grin. “My mom says that a gentleman should never ask a lady her age.”
He chuckles at that, matching dimples appearing on both cheeks beneath his dark facial hair that make me smile broadly in return.
“That’s very true.” Then he winks playfully before whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “But then most people would say that I’m no gentleman.”
I offer him the coneflower that I picked as I shake my head solemnly. My long brown hair swishes around either side of my face before my eyebrows draw together in confusion.
“But you look like one.”
It’s as though a veil descends over his entire being at my words, shrouding the light-heartedness of moments ago in the space of half a heartbeat. He accepts the offered bloom with a puckered brow as he regards me with a slight tilt of his head.
“Bad people come in all shapes and sizes, little one. Even the devil was once an angel.”
His dark eyes, devoid of warmth, shift from me to stare toward my nonna’s graveside. I follow his line of vision and realize that the small gathering is dispersing.
“You’d be a clever girl to remember that.”
Without another word, he turns and walks with clear purpose to the cemetery gates, the purple flower still held in his hand.
I rush after him, past the mourners and my pale-faced mom, who is talking quietly with the priest.
The stranger has reached the huge Gothic gates of the cemetery by the time I catch up. Before I can ask what he meant by his words, Anthony rounds the corner, his hazel eyes turning thunderous when he spots my tall man.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Burton?”
My brows crease at the unbridled fury in my uncle's voice as my feet slam to a halt, and I drop to a crouch beside a looming white headstone, knowing better than to interrupt. The stranger—Burton, from the sounds of it—holds up his hands in a stalling motion, allowing the purple blossom to fall from his grasp.
“I didn’t go near her. I didn’t evenlookat either of them.” His voice is firm and assertive. Harsh and truly intimidating. “I kept my promise, Anthony. I stayed away…I only wanted to pay my respects to Julia—”
I knew he belonged to the mourners, but my glee at being proven right is short-lived when my uncle cuts him off with a vicious snarl.
“Your respects to Julia?” Anthony steps closer even as I shrink farther away, hiding myself entirely behind the headstone. “Youdisrespecther by coming here today, or are you too fucking stupid to see that?”
Without answering, Burton retrieves the bloom at his feet before straightening his shoulders and moving past Anthony, his dark head held high.
He stops when his shoulder brushes my uncle’s, anger bristling around him like an invisible force field. “I pay for my sins, Anthony Ricci. I relive that night. That loss.Every.Fucking.Day.”
His words are hissed through gritted teeth, and I feel the sincerity cleave a hole in my chest as he spits, “I don’t need you trying to rub salt into a wound that willneverheal.”
My eyes remain fixed on his broad back until he moves through the gate, coneflower still in his grasp as he eventually disappears from sight.
Then, before a red-faced Anthony can notice me and question my presence so far from where he left me, I turn away, still clutching the flower he gave me. I quickly rush back toward the safety of my mother’s waiting arms as the tall stranger's words play on repeat in my mind.
Even the devil was once an angel.
