“Pia.” I cut her off. “You are not dying here for me. That’s not how this story goes.”
Her nails dig into my arm. “And you’re not dying in here for me either. I’m done watching men make martyrs out of themselves and calling it love.”
A humorless sound scrapes out of my chest.
“Good,” I say. “Because I’m not here to die.”
Boot steps again.
Closer.
The shadow of a rifle barrel drags across the far wall as they stack near the entrance.
I breathe in through my nose.
Slow.
Count.
One.Two.Three.Four.
The fear that used to rot under my tongue doesn’t rise.
It’s gone.
Burned out of me the moment I chose her over God.
I angle my head back just enough to put my breath in her ear. “You remember what I told Carlo?”
She hesitates. “You declared war.”
“Exactly.” My mouth twitches. “You don’t declare war if you plan to lose.”
A broken almost-laugh slips out of her and dies halfway through.
It still lands like a blessing.
The boots stop.
Silence snaps tight.
A voice barks an order in the corridor. I barely hear it over the drum in my blood.
Not panic.
Readiness.
The thing I crushed beneath prayer for years rises now and settles into my bones like it’s always belonged there.
Giovanni tried to turn me into a weapon.
The Church tried to dull the edge.
Both failed.
I straighten.
Chin high.
