The cool air hits my face, and Domenico is there. His hand shakes as he uses his sleeve to wipe off the last of it and I push his hand away. “Don’t. It’s fine.”
“This is not fucking fine,” he snaps. “This is the furthest thing from fucking fine, Cat!”
He grabs my arm when I turn. “Where the hell are you going?”
“Home.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “There’s a fucking target on your head. You’re not going back there.”
My feet move anyway. “You chose that spot because it was easy to defend,” I point out. “So get the guard duty in place. They’re not chasing me out of my home, Dom. I know that space like the back of my hand. I’m just as safe there as I am anywhere else.”
More so. There are so many security measures in place, it’s locked up tighter than fucking Alcatraz. The only person who’s ever gotten past is Dante, and I can’t see him stabbing me for the glory.
Although maybe he would, after the last few days.
Domenico follows me, his eyes constantly moving as we head swiftly towards the apartment and up the steps. I only notice my shaking hands when I try to unlock the door.
Warm hands close over mine. “Steady,” Dom murmurs. “I’ll do it.”
For once, I don’t argue, stepping back and wrapping my arms around myself. The dark night is closing in, the last of the autumn sun setting over the copse of oak trees. Wind whistles through the clearing, and I glance around.
Phantom eyes watch me, and I flinch when Dom lays his hand on my arm. “Cat.”
His touch is gentle as he steers me inside, nudging me down on the couch and disappearing into my bedroom. I blink when he comes back out with a blanket. “What’s that for?”
“For you.” He wraps it around my shoulders. “You’re freezing.”
I didn’t notice.
Dom moves around my apartment in familiar steps, making coffee. Both of us are quiet, but I notice him glancing out of the window. I wrap my hands around the familiar warmth when he hands me the cup. “Thanks.”
He settles down next to me. “This… this could be a shitshow, Cat.”
I take my time, sipping at the steaming liquid. “Maybe I should just give up now.”
He nudges me. “Not even a little bit funny.”
Swallowing, I place the cup down and tug the blanket around me. The solid weight of my guns press into my stomach. “They’re going to come, Dom. They’ll keep coming, wearing me down piece by piece. Eventually, someone’s going to get through. It’s inevitable.”
I could be in class. Working out. Eating my fucking breakfast, and they’ll come. With knives, or poison. All of them trying to fulfillil bacio della morte. It might not even be a Fusco. Giovanni will reward anyone who completes it, Fusco or not.
A thought occurs to me. “You can’t taste my food anymore.”
“Like hell I can’t,” he says instantly. “This is exactly the reason why I’ve always tasted your food.”
He’s done it for six years, always insisting that I couldn’t be too careful. I just scoffed and let him get on with it.
Never imagining that it could truly happen.
“I… I don’t want to lose you.” The words nearly stick in my throat, dangerously close to a confession.
Maybe it makes me weak to need another person as much as I need him.
But at least I’m strong enough to admit it.
When I glance up, his face is grave, gray eyes swirling. “You think I’ll ever leave your side, Caterina Corvo? They’d have to put a bullet in my skull first.”
I close my eyes. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
