“He loved you,” Leone says. “He died for you.”
I hear the accusation, even if he won’t say it out loud.
Bam shifts closer to me. “She’s not going anywhere unless she says so.”
Leone laughs, ugly. “You think you own her now? Is that how this works?”
Rhett speaks, voice low and almost reasonable. “Let’s not escalate. The war’s over. She’s alive. That’s what matters.”
Leone ignores him. His eyes are on me, burning holes through the shell. “The Academy failed. They couldn’t keep their promise. You don’t have to finish the Hunt. You don’t need to be claimed. You’re free. Your father will make alternate arrangements for your future marriage. We owe Westpoint nothing, Lia. Please.”
It sounds like mercy, but it feels like a threat.
I try to picture what happens if I go back. If I take my father’s hand and let him close the cage again. The funerals. The silence.The lectures about duty and bloodlines. The slow, suffocating death of everything that ever made me feel.
My head swims.
I look at Bam. He’s not begging, not even hopeful. Just waiting to see which way I’ll jump. He’s still a beast, but for the first time I see the man he could be. I see the outline of something softer, if I let it live. If I just blow on the ember flickering inside his soul.
My pulse thunders.
“I’m not a package,” I say. “You don’t get to ship me around.”
Leone’s jaw tightens. “You’re not a hostage, either.”
“No,” I say, “but maybe I like the risk.”
He’s silent, grinding his teeth.
Julian, from the wall: “You gonna shoot all of us? Because the gun only has six shots and you’re outnumbered.”
Leone barks a laugh, but it’s hollow. “I only need one for him,” he nods at Bam.
I feel my body go cold.
Bam snarls. “Try it.”
It would be funny if it wasn’t about to get him killed.
I lift my hands, palms open. “Leone, I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not like this.”
Leone sighs. “You can still walk out, Dahlia. If you don’t, I can’t protect you. No one can.”
I look over my shoulder at Bam, this mad, ruined boy who would bleed for me. I wonder if he knows that’s exactly what I want.
“Please,” Leone says, “don’t make me do this.”
I want to ask why he’s still trying. Why he cares so much. But I know the answer—Papa gave him the order, and the only thing worse than death in our world is failing to keep a promise.
I look at him, at his ruined body and the streaks of blood running down his face. I look at Bam, fists curled and eyes wild.
“I’m not going home,” I say.
Leone’s face shatters. “Then you’re dead.”
I can feel every pair of eyes in the room pressing into me: Bam’s wild and hungry, Leone’s hollow and lost, the others flickering between hope and fear like there’s a prize for the first to predict my next move.
The Bonaccorso mask is so tight on my face I worry it might crack. My heart is banging against my ribs, but I don’t let it show. Ciro would hate this display of emotion, but he’s not here to see it. He’s a name on a list, a tally mark in a war that never ends. He’s proof that loyalty only protects you as long as it’s convenient.
