They’ll never know it’s love and war. That it’s messier than anything can ever be.
In the car, silence stretches between us. The driver pulls away from the cathedral and the city moves past in a blur. I stare out the window, hands clasped in my lap. My heart still hasn’t caught up.
“How did you?—”
“Later,” he says quietly. “Not now.”
I turn to him. He’s watching me, expression unreadable, but his fingers twitch. Like he wants to reach for me and doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
I look away first. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But I’ve made you mine.”
The words shouldn’t mean anything. But they do.
I rest my head back against the seat, eyes closing. My chest feels tight, heavy, uncertain. For the first time in months, I don’t know whether I’m terrified or relieved.
Probably both.
The car turns, sunlight breaking through the clouds for a brief second. I open my eyes, see the light catch in his hair, and realize that this—all of this—isn’t the ending I expected.
It’s something else. Something dangerous. Somethingalive.
49
NICOLO
ONE MONTH BEFORE THE WEDDING
Iused to believe I could control everything. That every person had a price, every betrayal a return.
But control’s a myth, and I lost it the moment I caught her in my arms when she was trying to escape her fate.
It’s been a couple of weeks since she left. Since the Castello went quiet—too quiet. Her laughter doesn’t echo through the halls anymore. Her perfume doesn’t linger in the air.
I thought distance would make it easier. It hasn’t. Now all I do is work, drink, and stare at the same documents until the words blur. Every signature looks the same. Every deal tastes like ash.
Romiro asked me what I wanted once. At the time, the answer was simple: revenge. Now I’m not sure what that word means anymore. Because I don’t want to destroy those who made me into the monster I am.
I want to see her again.
I call Emiliano a week later. He doesn’t pick up the first two times. On the third, he does, his voice calm—too calm.
“Esposito.”
“Folonari.”
A pause. Then, “If this is about the shipment?—”
“It’s not.” I lean back in my chair, the phone cold against my ear. “We need to talk. In person.”
He doesn’t answer right away. I can almost hear the gears turning in his head.
“Why?”
“Because some conversations aren’t meant for the phone.”
Another pause. “Tomorrow. Noon. You know where.”
