The door slams behind him hard enough to rattle the frame and I stand frozen in the middle of the room.
My heart pounds and my hands shake.
I hear Sofia call from the bathroom.
"Mama? I'm ready to get out."
I take a deep breath and force myself to move.
I walk back into the bathroom and help Sofia out of the tub.
I wrap her in a towel and dry her off, then help her into her pajamas.
She chatters about the bubbles and how much fun the bath was, but I barely hear her.
All I can think about is the look on Dante's face when I called him a criminal.
The way his expression shifted from anger to pain.
He felt hurt by my words.
I didn't expect that.
I expected rage.
I expected threats.
I didn’t expect him to look wounded.
We walk back into the bedroom and Sofia climbs under the covers.
I tuck her in and kiss her forehead.
"Goodnight,Amore."
"Goodnight, Mama."
She closes her eyes and within minutes, she's snuggling deeper with soft, rhythmic breathing against my side while I sit on the edge of the bed and watch her sleep.
My mind replays the conversation with Dante over and over.
He wants to be part of Sofia's life, to help with bedtime routines and hang ornaments on trees and be the kind of father he never had.
I can see it in the way he looks at her and hear it in his voice when he talks about her.
But wanting something doesn't make it safe or erase the blood on his hands or the danger that follows him everywhere he goes.
I feel guilty and confused—like I’m drowning in choices that all lead to the same dark place.
But most of all, I feel scared.
Scared that staying here will change Sofia but that leaving will get us killed.
No matter what I do, I've already lost control of our lives.
And I don't know how to get it back.
8
