I will not hold her to it.
But I will stay, nonetheless. Until she tells me otherwise.
Movement down the hall, and I pause as someone slips out of a door, quietly pulling it closed.
Giovanni Fusco locks eyes with me as he turns, blue eyes flaring with surprise before he rocks back on his heels. He crosses his arms as I walk toward him. “Asan- Stefano.”
“Gio.” I turn my gaze to the door. “How is she?”
He frowns. “How did you know she was in there?”
My lips curve up. “Nobody is that careful about leaving an empty room. Unless you and V’Arezzo have a deeper relationship than I realized, I’m assuming it’s Caterina.”
He blinks. And then a low sound of amusement escapes him. “She’s pretending to sleep, if you want to go in.”
I frown at that, even as Gio steps away from the door to give me space, and I eye him in silent question as he slides his hands into the pockets of his chinos.
He lowers his voice further. “I know what it is to be the outsider. Caterina has always made her own choices, and I am grateful for it. I would be a hypocrite to argue with her now, no?”
My brows knit as the words filter through. I don’t know the details of how Giovanni Fusco became part of… whatever this is, but I know enough. “Il bacio della morte– was it real?”
His face darkens. “Yes. Caterina is no fool, nor is she weak. She risked everything to keep my youngest sister safe despite my own actions, and I still live with those regrets. I likely always will.”
My thoughts shift. Move to a room full of people, a bucket. The scent of her skin burning beneath my own hands. “How do you live with it?”
He studies me. “By trying to be a better man. She makes mewantto be a better man.” A half-smile. “If only to keep up with her.”
I understand that, possibly more than he even realises.
“Go on,” he tilts his head toward the door. “Lunch will be ready soon. Morelli has a thing about family meals, you’ll find.”
Family meals.
“Thanks.” It comes out gruffly, and Gio studies my face before he nods.
The door opens silently beneath my hand, and I slip into the room. The thin cotton curtains are pulled back, giving me another angle of the ocean outside as I cross to the bed. “Cat?”
I keep my voice low, just in case. But her brown eyes immediately blink open.
“You haven’t slept,” I say softly. She didn’t sleep on the flight either, keeping her eyes closed but her body tense. “Why not?”
Her sigh is heavy, even as she shifts over in silent invitation. I climb onto the bed as she pulls herself up to sit beside me, her head leaning on my shoulder. I wait.
“Real?”
The quiet question threatens to shatter whatever pieces of my heart still remain. “Real.”
We sit in silence for a few moments.
“When I was under…,” she whispers eventually. “I always dreamed, you know? Vivid, real dreams. Of all of them. Of you. Of a different life. It felt so real, Stefan, and then I would wake up. I - I know this is real. But if I go to sleep – what if it’s not? What if I wake up and I’m stillthere?”
My breath catches. “You’re not there anymore, Cat. It’s over. He’s dead.”
She picks at a stray thread on the bedding. “Maybe. But he’s still inside my head. Not so easy to kill there, as it turns out.”
“Give it time,” I say as gently as I can, even as the rage burns my throat. And the guilt. “It’s been hours, Cat. Nobody expects you to walk away and forget it ever happened.”
“I don’thavetime.” Her voice raises a little, frustration leaking in. “Not when – there is so much to do, Stefan.”
