How much of Domenico Rossi is left?
“Too much,” I say finally. Honestly. “And I would do it again, Dom.”
I would do worse – far fucking worse - if it meant getting Alessia away from there. And the guilt sinks cold claws into me once again at the memory of Amie racing back through that tunnel, racing toward Matteo to buy us time to run.
She bought Alessia’s freedom with her own safety.
“Amie,” I say roughly. “Did you see her?”
Slowly, he shakes his head, brows creasing. “Matteo was looking for her when I left.”
I run a hand over my face at the implied question. “She could have gotten out. But Matteo would have noticed her absence long before Alessia’s. So she stayed, and went back to him.”
Silence. “Seems to be a lot of that going around.”
At the sharp words, my own brows knot. But he brushes past me, going out of his way to avoid crossing paths with the little girl at my feet. “Dom—,”
“Not now,” he says hoarsely. “Where can I go?”
I watch him. Watch the way he holds himself, as if ready for a fight. The way he’s had to hold himself for months, nightafter night of fighting and killing for Matteo’s entertainment. “Straight up the stairs. Pick any of the empty rooms.”
He doesn’t respond, his feet eating up the stairs as I slowly turn back to the door. When nobody else appears, I take a few more steps.
I need to see her.
Need her.
And I raise my hand up against the morning glare, squinting at the two people next to the car. Dante nods at me, but Cat… Cat’s face starts to crumple.
“Little crow.” My voice is hoarse. “You’re late.”
My voice is thick, my throat tightening. And Cat—
She launches herself toward me, her feet eating up the distance between us as she runs straight to me and I throw my arms around her, dragging her to me and gripping the back of her head as she buries herself into me.
I breathe nonsense into her ear, a garbled mix of Italian and English as I hold onto her.
I hold onto her as tightly as I can, and it feels as though my lungs have filled with air for the first time in months.
I can finallybreathe.
I don’t move until she does, my hands reaching up to cup her face. I don’t hide that I’m examining her, the memory of her empty face still able to paralyse my throat with fear. Caterina closes her eyes, her hands moving to cover mine. “I’m okay, Luc.”
No, she’s not. I know it, and so does she.
“You will be,” I say quietly. My thumb strokes over her cheekbone, just once, before I draw away and meet Dante as he steps forward.
I glance down at his outstretched hand, reaching out to grip it. “Welcome.”
He nods, his grip tightening as he looks over my shoulder and back to me. “Luc – is she—,”
“Here,” I breathe, and he freezes. “Right inside the entrance.”
And Dante V’Arezzo pales. His hands drop, tugging at the cuff of his shirt as if trying to make himself presentable in his battered clothes. “I see. Cat…,”
She slips beneath my arm, fitting there like a puzzle piece. Her brows are scrunched when I look down, tight with worry and something deeper.
My smile feels crooked. “Do not worry. Your daughter isveryforgiving of mistakes, I have found.”
