But right now, she’s the only thing that matters, and I can pretend.
I press my lips to the top of Bella's head, inhaling the scent of her sleep-warm skin.
I'm sorry, I think. And then, because the thought follows inevitably from the first,I'm sorry about Luca.
I’ve never once regretted killing a man before, because every person I killed deserved death in some way. But now, for the first time in my life, I feel guilt at taking someone’s life.
Five years ago, Luca Farnassi was nothing more than the bastard who helped take Gia away from me. Five years later, he has become much more than that.
He was a man who loved his little sister, who was forced to step up after their father’s death, and who walked into the criminal world not because he wanted to but because he had to.
He did the same fucking thing I would have done in his place.
And I killed him.
The old Slava would rationalize this—remind myself that Luca made his choices of his own accord, and that the consequences were earned.
But the old Slava never met Bella.
The sun starts to peek over the horizon, and its first golden ray kisses Bella’s brow. She stirs in my arms, a small sound leaving her throat as she shifts. Her eyes remain closed, but she presses herself closer to let me savor her warmth for a little longer before the barrier inevitably returns when she wakes.
I tighten my arms around her, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and feel my heart skip a beat when a small smile ghosts her lips.
"I thinkyou should bring Alessandro with us," Bella says as we start walking down the stairs of the chateau to the car waiting outside. “Back to New York.”
I freeze mid-step.
"No.” The word is automatic. “Absolutely not.”
She turns towards me, and I see an already carefully constructed argument she's prepared. “Slava?—"
"He's safer here." I interrupt her. "He’ll be too close to the D’Ambrosios if he’s in New York.”
"The D’Ambrosios almost got to him here in France." She crosses her arms and the defiant jut of her chin returns. "And no matter how many assurances Lavoisier makes, you know that the D’Ambrosios will try again."
"Then I’ll provide my own security for him." I step closer to her. “I’ll send my own men to the school so that no-one can ever get close to him.”
"That might’ve worked when the D’Ambrosios didn’t know his location. But now they do." Her voice softens. "You can't protect him from across an ocean, Slava."
My jaw clenches at the certainty in her voice. "And how are you so certain I can protect him in New York?”
Bella uncrosses her arms and she places her hand on my heart. "I know what the city took from you. But you can’t hide him here forever."
Bella's right. It was a stroke of luck that the D’Ambrosio hitman didn’t actually manage to reach Alessandro. And I can’t count on luck to be the thing to keep my son safe.
Maybe the illusion of safety I've built around him is exactly that: an illusion.
"It's the same thing I feel about Anthony," Bella continues. "Being away from him, not knowing if he's safe, not being able to see him. It's unbearable.”
I stare at her and she meets my gaze. I know that protective terror in her voice. It’s what’s driven every choice I’ve made about Alessandro ever since Gia was taken away from us both.
And on a deeper, instinctive level, Bella understands this as well.
"You're sure," I say finally.
"I'm sure he's safer with you than without you." She reaches out and adjusts my collar.
I catch her wrist. "If anything happens to him in New York?—"
