He stills when I reach out my hand to touch the cut on his lip, voicing the question I buried earlier, too lost in my own pain until he walked away. “Why?”
What was the punishment for?
He sees the question in my face. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.” It matters tome. “Why, Stefan? And don’t lie to me. Please.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. “When the meeting ended last night… only Rossi wasn’t in the room. The others – he would have taken you home, and I knew you would want to see them.”
He glances up. “So I… I blocked the door. Stopped him from leaving, for a few minutes. Him and Matteo, so they could havethat time with you. And I hoped that you would wake up in time to see them.”
He flexes his tattooed hands, clearly uncomfortable with my gaze. “I would like to take you somewhere, if you’re willing. In the house, I mean.”
I nod, my throat tight.
He did that forme, and Salvatore beat him badly for it. “Why don’t you leave this place? Why stay here?”
He clearly despises everything about his inheritance.
I watch as his mouth twitches up into a slightly crooked smile. “I was about to answer that question. Trust you to jump the gun.”
I stare at that small smile. The dimple that flashes. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him smile before.
When his hand slips into mine, tangling our fingers together as he leads me away from my room, I don’t pull away.
We walk down the hall, taking a few turns until he stops at another identical door. When I see the guards, I move to step away from him, but his fingers tighten. “It’s okay.”
He strides up to them, his face settling into emptiness. They eye me dubiously. One clears his throat. “Salvatore—,”
“I checked.” Stefan’s voice is cool. “But feel free to disturb him if you feel it necessary.”
They exchange glances. I let out a breath as they step aside, and he squeezes my hand as he softly opens the door and tugs me inside.
I turn to him as the door closes. “He doesn’t know we’re here, does he?”
I keep my voice low. Stefano shakes his head. “It… it will be fine. I promise.”
He still hasn’t let go of my hand. I glance over his shoulder, pausing.
This room has a slightly bigger window than the rest. It’s open, the late afternoon breeze creating swirls in the gauzy white material that hangs over the neat bed. Artwork decorates the walls, paintings and canvases clustered together to create chaotic but beautifulcolorall around us.
The woman in the rocking chair doesn’t look up at our arrival.
Stefano squeezes my hand once more before he lets it go. I slowly follow as he crosses the room, dropping down onto one knee.
The woman hums lightly, her gaze on the window and the open space beyond. Her dark hair falls loosely over her shoulders, heavily streaked with gray. And her eyes—
Dark eyes. Almost black, the iris and pupil nearly indistinguishable from each other, surrounded by olive skin.
Familiar eyes.
“Mamma,” Stefano says gently. He holds out a hand to me, his eyes softening as he glances back. “I brought someone to meet you. This is Caterina.”
My heart – it cracks. Straight down the middle, as I take his outstretched hand. Following his lead, I keep my own voice low. Gentle. “Piacere di conoscerti, Signora.”
She does not respond to us. She keeps humming, her eyes fixed on the window.
Fragile.
