“There’s something else,” I say quietly. “About us. About what we are to each other.”
“What?”
“You were supposed to be his wife. You were supposed to give him children, build a life with the heir to this empire.”
“But I didn’t. I’m here instead.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you were his first.”
“No,” she agrees. “It doesn’t. But it also doesn’t change the fact that he never really had me. Not the parts that matter.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because when he touched me, I felt like property. When you touch me, I feel like a person.” She stands and crosses to my chair, settling carefully on my lap. “Because with him, I was surviving. With you, I’m living.”
I wrap my arms around her, careful of her injured shoulder, and breathe in the scent of her hair.
“I love you,” I tell her, the words easier the second time.
“I love you too.”
31
KASI
Three weeksafter the restaurant shooting, life has settled into something resembling normal.
My shoulder barely aches anymore, just a dull throb when rain is coming. The physical therapy sessions are paying off. I can move my arm almost normally now, though Dr. Patterson still insists on weekly checkups to monitor the healing. Yesterday’s session went so well, he’s talking about clearing me for full activity soon.
This morning, I’m reviewing contracts for the German expansion when Marco appears in the garden where I’ve set up my temporary office. The sunlight is perfect here, and being outside makes the business paperwork feel less suffocating. Klaus’s revisions to the insurance clauses are giving me a headache, but at least out here I can breathe.
“Busy?” he asks, settling into the chair across from my table.
“Yes. Klaus is being particular about the insurance clauses.” I set down my pen and stretch, working out the kinks from hunching over documents. “What’s on your mind?”
Marco glances around the garden, checking for staff or security within earshot. His usual easy confidence seems strained today, and there are dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t been sleeping well.
“I need to talk to you about something. Something weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I’ve been getting reports from our West Coast contacts. Nothing concrete, just…rumors. Sightings.”
“Of what?”
He pulls out his phone and scrolls through messages, his thumb moving quickly over the screen. I notice his phone case is new.
“Someone matching Dante’s description. Three different cities over the past two weeks.”
My blood goes cold. “That’s impossible. The investigation confirmed?—”
“I know what the official reports say. But these sightings…” He shows me his phone screen, though I can’t make out the details from this angle. “Security footage from a hotel in Sacramento. Blurry, but the height and build match. Then a restaurant in Portland, same thing. And yesterday, someone spotted a man who looked like him outside a bank in San Francisco.”
“Could be anyone. Lots of men have dark hair and Dante’s general build.”
“Maybe. Probably. But the timing bothers me. All within the past month, all on the West Coast where our operations have been…disrupted.”
“Disrupted how?”
