How her eyes would hold mine without flinching when everyone else looked away.
I'd left it all behind. Left her behind.
Had to.
The family demanded blood for my transgression.
It was exile or execution.
Maybe I’m a coward.
Perhaps it would have been better for both of us if I were dead.
Then at least I wouldn’t have to suffer the gaping hole in my chest.
Her brother leans in, whispers something.
Her lips curve slightly.
And just like that, I’m helplessly drawn to her.
I move up the aisle, defying my brother’s orders.
Whispers follow me as I pass mourners.
But I keep my gaze on Katerina, ignoring Alessandro's narrowed eyes.
She turns her head and sees me approaching.
Her spine straightens.
Seven years ago, she would've run to me, consequences be damned.
We'd meet in abandoned warehouses, on rooftops with Manhattan sprawled below us, in the back of my car with fogged windows and racing hearts.
We were reckless, drunk on each other.
Our eyes lock across the diminishing space between us.
For one heartbeat, I see pain, rage, something that might be longing, before she shuts it down.
But it was long enough for me to feel the impact my leaving caused her. I’ve never been a man who felt regret or guilt. Until now.
"Katerina."
She meets my gaze with glacier-cold composure. "Luca Dante. I didn't expect to see you here."
Her voice carries no warmth, no hint of our shared history. It's as if she's greeting a distant business acquaintance rather than the man who once knew every inch of her body.
"I came to pay my respects."
"Seven years is a little late for respect."
The barb lands on its mark. Nearby mourners pretend not to listen, but I feel their attention like insects crawling across my skin.
"Katerina, I?—"
"Your father is dead, Luca. Whatever you came back for, you won't find it here." She turns slightly toward her brother, dismissing me.
