“You were out for almost two days,” he says quietly once I finish, setting the cup down onto the tray again. “They… didn’t think you’d make it.”
My heart tugs painfully as my gaze drifts instinctively down to my side. The question sits heavily on my tongue—What did Luca see?—but I swallow it back down before it can move past my lips. I already know the answer in the way my chest tightens. He was there. He saw me go down after the gun had gone off. He saw the blood. Even if he couldn’t understand what was happening, children still remember things like that long after the danger has passed.
I hate that more than the pain. He’ll never forget this. Not completely. Even if the memories fade with time, the feeling will still stay, that instinctive feeling that will remain unexplainable until he’s old enough for me to sit down and talk to him about it.
When I lift my eyes back up to Dante’s, I know I’m not the only one with that same understanding. He, out of anyone, knows that trauma has a way of carving itself into you viciously and without permission.
I clear my throat, shifting my attention to something else equally important. “Carlo? Enzo? Are they…?”
Dante nods. “They’re dead.”
Relief rushes through me in an instant.
For a long moment, I do nothing but soak in the good news.
It’s over.
The sentiment feels unreal. My entire life for the past four years has been filled with anticipation for the next disaster to strike, the next moment where everything falls apart again because forces outside of my control have decided to play God within their own syndicate.
Now that it’s finally over, Luca and I won’t have to live like hunted animals anymore. No more flinching at every unfamiliar sound, no more looking over my shoulder every time we go outside. Maybe now, Dante will let us leave the villa. I would love to show Luca around Sicily.
I’m clinging to that hope when Dante speaks again. “The only thing left is to track down the Bellanti Don. He managed to escape before anyone could take him down.”
The relief in me plummets in an instant.
So… itisn’ttruly over. A figure still lingers at the edge of everything we’ve survived. A man who knows how to exploit weakness and has already proven he’s willing to do what it takes to get what he wants. Someone patient enough to wait, regroup, and strike again when we least expect it.
“What’s wrong?” Dante asks, watching me too closely.
I hesitate. “I… don’t know if we can go back there.”
Confusion flickers across his face, followed closer by hurt. “You’re not safe anywhere else, Elena. I can protect you there.”
“That’s what you said before. If the Bellanti Don is still out there, who’s to say he won’t try again? Next time… I don’t think he’d let Luca and me live long enough to be used against you.”
He doesn’t answer right away. His hands curl into tight fists in his lap, his knuckles whitening. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and controlled, the words forced through clenched teeth.
“He has no one paying him to come after you anymore. You will be fine. I’m tracking him down as we speak because I don’t like loose ends. Not because he’s a threat to you.”
I shake my head. “I can’t raise Luca like that, Dante. I can’t live waiting for the next shoe to drop over and over again. I won’t do that to him.”
The silence that follows is crushing.
He doesn’t lash out or retreat behind anger the way he usually does when he doesn’t like where a conversation is going. He just… looks at me. That same controlled expression is there, the one he’s worn like armor for years, but this time, the maskdoesn’t sit quite right. Fatigue has worn the harsh edges down, his eyes betraying him.
Matteo used to say Dante talked with his eyes.
I hadn’t understood it back then. I’d thought it was just one of those affectionate observations people make about someone they’ve known their whole lives the way Matteo always was used to. Dante was always so careful in public, so unreadable when others were around. It was only behind closed doors with me that he ever allowed himself to unravel. I’d thoughtthatwas what Matteo meant.
But now, I think I understand differently.
Because when I look into Dante’s grey-green eyes, I see everything he isn’t saying. The grief he never learned how to put down, the exhaustion of carrying an empire re-built from ruin, the guilt that’s become a part of him. And beneath all of it, a bone-deep sadness for my pushing him away.
“You and Luca are my world. Without you… there’s nothing left. Please don’t go,” he whispers.
My throat tightens, emotion burning behind my eyes until tears threaten to spill. I want to tell him that I don’twantto go. That I’m tired of running, tired of always having to look over my shoulder. That I wish love alone could be enough to save us all.
But wishing doesn’t change reality.
