"Do you know her?" she asks.
I can't bring myself to speak.
I've waited my entire life for this moment. I spent years hoping for the smallest piece of luck. And now I'm looking right at it.
I have to tear my eyes off the girl to look at Grace.
"She's..." I can't get the words out. "I'll explain later, baby."
I look back at the model. I'm afraid to even blink. I don't want her out of my sight for even a second.
"Enzo," I say. "The blonde in the green dress."
He searches the stage. It takes him a moment longer to recognize her.
"After all these years," he says, exhaling slowly.
"I know." My eyes brim with tears. "I know."
"Dante, who is she?" Grace asks.
It feels like there's something wrapped around my throat, keeping me from speaking. I'm afraid that if I were to say her name out loud, she'll disappear into thin air. Because this feels too good to be true.
"It's not safe to speak here," I tell her. "I'll explain everything later."
She nods, biting down on her bottom lip. And then she reaches up to cup my face. Her affection is so sweet that it only makes the tightness in my throat worse.
"I think you're my lucky charm,piccola," I say, kissing the inside of her wrist. "Good things only started happening to me after you walked into my life."
Ivy Blackwood and the models head backstage. I stand the second the show ends. I can’t risk her slipping through my fingers.
I wrap my arm around Grace’s waist as I weave through the crowd with her. Enzo stays back. He has to.
When we near the backstage area, we’re met with a line of bodyguards. I recognize them for who they are—trained killers.They're not part of some security agency. They're here to protect their boss.
A man steps forward, blocking our path.
“I’m sorry, but this area is off-limits,” he says. “I cannot let you inside.”
“They’re with me,” a man says from behind us.
I turn around to find Nico Monte, a tall man with black curls and clear blue eyes. He’s from a prominent Italian American mafia family, and I know he’s friends with Ivy Blackwood.
“You’re the Grim Reaper, right?” he says. “I’m abigfan of your work.”
“Just the Reaper,” I say.
“Sorry?”
“It’s just the Reaper,” I say. “I’m not the Grim Reaper. That’s someone else.”
“Nevertheless, big fan,” he says. “Ivy told me that you would be coming.”
He looks curiously at Grace, waiting for an introduction.
“This is my wife,” I say, placing my hand on the small of her back. “Grace, this is Nico Monte.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says.
