"Sophia, don't?—"
"Stop." My fingers work the first button free. "Just stop."
"You don't want this on your hands."
"Your hands are my hands now." The second button gives way. "That's what love means."
"Not this kind of love. Not with this kind of blood."
I look up at him then. His jaw works like he's grinding glass between his teeth. Those warm brown eyes have gone somewhere dark, somewhere he thinks I can't follow.
"You think I'm too innocent for this."
"I know you are."
"I'll be here." The words come out steady, certain. "Every time you come home with someone else's blood on your clothes, I'll be here to help you take them off."
"Sophia—"
"Because I know you." I pull my wrists free, returning to the buttons. "I know you don't hurt people who don't deserve it. Every drop of blood on these clothes? They earned it."
His breath shudders out. "You can't know that."
"I do know that." The shirt falls open. "Because I know you."
He stands still as I push the fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. The blood has soaked through to his undershirt. I reach for that too, but he catches my hands again.
"Luna's alive."
The room tilts. My knees forget how to work.
"What?"
"Giovanni told us. She's been in Europe. She contacted him six months ago."
"No." The word comes out wrong, broken. "She died. The car bomb. Everyone said?—"
"Everyone was wrong."
This is a nightmare. I'm still asleep, and this is one of those dreams where everything you thought was real crumbles into dust.
"That's not possible."
"It's true." His hands tighten on mine. "Giovanni's been feeding her information about the family. About us."
My legs give out. Lorenzo catches me, pulling me against his blood-stained chest. The metallic smell fills my nose, makes my stomach turn.
"She's dead. She has to be dead."
"She's not."
"But the funeral. My mother went to her funeral." The memory surfaces sharp and clear. Mom in her black dress, eyes red from crying. "She mourned her. We all did."
"There was no body to identify. The explosion—" Lorenzo's voice catches. "We assumed. We all assumed."
The room spins. I press my face into Lorenzo's chest, not caring about the blood, needing something solid to hold onto.
"She's been alive this whole time?"
