“For you,” I say. “I can live with that.”
Carlo snorts, but there’s less amusement in it now. Less certainty.
“Romance in a shithole,” he muses. “Giovanni would be so proud.”
My gaze finally drags off her.
I look at him.
Straight into the rot inside his skull.
“Say his name again,” I tell him calmly, “and I’ll show you what vox mortis feels like without a Bible.”
His smile stutters.
Then he pastes it back on.
They always do.
Until they can’t.
“Brave,” he says. “Stupid. But brave.”
I turn back to Pia, letting him talk to my back.
“Listen to me,” I say.
She shakes her head hard, chains clinking with every denial.
“No. You don’t get to leave me here like this. You don’t get to be noble about my kidnapping. You don’t—”
“Pia.”
Just her name.
It drops into the space between us like an order and a prayer at the same time.
Her eyes shine.
For a second I see her like the first time—furious, terrified, alive in a way that ruined me on sight.
“I’m not choosing death,” I tell her softly. “I’m choosing you.”
Carlo clears his throat, louder now, like he’s trying to claw back control.
“I hate to interrupt,” he says. “But this is exquisite and all—and here I am without a hankie.”
I ignore him.
“Whatever happens next,” I whisper, “you remember this part.”
She bares her teeth in something that wants to be a smile and can’t quite get there.
“I’ll remember everything,” she says.
My chest caves.
Because so will I.
