"Mon cher,I know you love her, but…" she wraps her arms around me, giving me a hug.
"No buts,maman.I don't think I can continue on if she's really gone. Not again," my voice is muffled as some tears finally make their way down my cheek.
"You have to. For Luca." She threads her fingers through my hair in a gesture of comfort.
"What if I can't?" I whisper, ashamed of myself.
"You're strong, mon cher. Stronger than anyone I know. And I've seen how much you love that boy—too much to leave him helpless in this world."
She's right. I would never rationally leave Luca to fend forhimself. But this grief operates on an irrational level, and the only thing I can think of is Allegra.
My little tigress.
"She's alive," I state, this time with no shade of doubt.
"Mon cher,"mamanmakes a tsk sound, disappointed that I'm not seeing reason. "I don't like this. I'm taking my godson with me until you get yourself together. I don't feel comfortable leaving him with you like this…" She sighs deeply. "I know you, and soon you'll search for comfort at the bottom of a bottle.Non, this isn't a productive environment for a child."
"Fine, just…give me a day or two," I take a deep breath, recognizingmamanis right, even though I don't like the thought of Luca being away.
But right now…I don't want him to seethisside of me.
"I'll go grab him." She takes a few steps before turning sharply toward me. "Don't do something stupid, okay?"
I raise my eyes to hers and nod slowly.
Then, alone once more, I do, in fact, find comfort at the bottom of a bottle.
My gaze isblurry as I open my eyes. But there's no mistaking the determined saunter of the woman in front of me or the way she's wielding a long, pointy knife. She's wearing a pair of dark jeans coupled with a gray woolen sweater—and she looks fucking hot as she sways her hips, her murderous intentions only making her sexier.
"I knew it," the words tumble out of my mouth as the alcoholic haze lifts.
"You son of a bitch," she says, her eyes blazing with fury as she charges me. I catch her by the arms, holding her in place as we both fall to the ground.
"Bastard," she continues to spew insults, trying to free her knife hand.
"Little tigress," I can barely speak, the happiness bursting from deep within me.
She's alive. I knew she'd come back to me.
"Let go of me, you asshole," she struggles in my hold, but I just tighten my arms around her.
"Just one moment. Let me hold you for a moment," I rasp, desperate to feel her warmth, her scent—the proof I so desperately needed that she's alive.
"Shh," I whisper in her hair, reveling in her presence.
How many years did I dream of just this? Holding her like this?
She's still struggling, and her knife jabs my chest, its pointy tip scratching the surface of my skin. The sudden pain surprises me, and she takes advantage of it to jump out of my arms.
"You fucking bastard. You couldn't keep it in your pants even at my funeral?" She looks at me in disgust, and I can't help but frown in confusion.
"What are you talking about?"
"You think I don't remember that blasted perfume?" She shakes her head, taking a step back. "It's been imprinted in my memory since the first time I smelled it on you." Her head moves back and forth as if she's looking for something.
"Where is she? Where did you hide her?" she continues, and it takes me a moment to realize she's talking aboutmaman'sperfume.
"You're wrong," I start, trying to decide how best to explainmamanto her.
