Heart aching, I lift my head to look at him. “I do,” I insist, my voice breaking on the confession, and Sandro’s eyes soften in the dark, his hand coming up to cradle my cheek.
“Oh, Sunshine,” he murmurs, the rough pad of his thumb caressing my skin. Then he pulls me to him once more, placing a kiss on the crown of my head that feels half apologetic, half promise.
Hours pass—maybe longer. The light outside the cell died a long time ago, plunging us into a heavy, suffocating dark. My lips are parched from lack of water, my stomach raw with hunger. Butit doesn’t feel as lonely as it did before. And thanks to Sandro’s body heat, despite the persistent chill, I’ve stopped shivering.
Sandro shifts, his chest brushing my shoulder. “You should try to sleep.”
“I can’t.”
“Close your eyes anyway,” he says. “Rest while you can.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
I glance up, barely able to see him. “Because you think they’ll come back?”
“Because I don’t want to be caught unprepared when they do.”
Something about the honesty in his tone makes my chest tighten.
“Do you blame yourself for what happened?” I ask quietly.
“I failed them,” he says. “My brothers, my family. I failed you.”
“You didn’t.”
His laugh is sharp, bitter. “I walked us straight into a trap.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
His silence tells me he doesn’t believe it.
So I reach for him again, my fingers brushing his forearm until he lets me take his hand. His skin is rough and warm despite the cold. “You’ve done nothing but try to protect the people you love. That’s not failure.”
For a long time, he doesn’t respond. Then he exhales slowly. “You shouldn’t talk like that. It makes me forget everything I’m supposed to remember.”
“What’s that?”
“My priorities,” he says, voice low. “My focus.”
“Maybe you need to forget them for a little while. You’re carrying too much.”
He turns his head, the motion small but unmistakable. “If I stop, we won’t survive this.”
I bite back my response, unsure whether I should push further.
Then, softly, he says, “You’re not a distraction, Evi.”
My heart skips a beat, and I tilt my head to search Sandro’s troubled face. He’s already apologized for what he said, but it must still be weighing on him, and hearing himdenyhis statement fills me with a warmth that chases away the dungeon’s dank chill. “I made Raf’s big night about myself when I reacted to my parents the way I did. I should have known better than to let them get under my skin. You were just trying to be there for me…” I insist, guilt knotting my stomach when I think of Sandro’s look of desperation when he realized Raf was in danger and too far away.
“I should have handled it better,” he counters. “It’s my job as Raf’s right-hand man to protect him. But it is also my responsibility as your husband to keep you safe. I’m the one who let things get out of hand.”
I hesitate, surprised he’d even bring it up again, and astonished by how introspective his assessment is. Sandro is loyal. He’s kind. But he’s also deeply compassionate in a way I sometimesforget because he hides it beneath a gruff exterior. “You’ve all been under immense pressure. I’m sorry my family drama landed on your plate at all.”
“That’s not an excuse.” His voice is quiet, rough. “You have done so much to help us, since the moment you came into my life, and the first time you truly needed me, I shut you out.”
I shift closer, my cheek pressed to his chest. “You were scared.”
