This isn't love.
This is two broken people reaching for each other in the dark.
And I won't do it.
I won't let myself fall into this. Won't let myself become another casualty of the Sartori world. Won't let myself love a man who kills people for a living, no matter how soft his voice gets when he says my name.
I'll fight it.
I'll fight him.
I'll fight myself.
Because the alternative is drowning. And I've spent two years learning how to swim.
I wipe my eyes. Straighten my spine. Force my breathing to slow.
A week maybe.
That's all I have to survive.
A week and he'll be gone. Back to Chicago. Back to his family. Back to the life I want nothing to do with.
And I'll forget him.
I'll forget all of it.
I have to.
Dante
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I stare at the ceiling for three seconds before reaching for it. The movement pulls at my stitches. Pain flares through my side like someone's twisting a knife.
The name on the screen makes me pause.
Valentino.
Valentino never calls unless something's wrong. The Sartori's cousin runs security for Aria in Sicily. Handles the family's European connections. Old-world formal, Catholic guilt, the kind of soldier who crosses himself before pulling a trigger.
I answer on the fourth ring.
"Dante." His voice is deep. Accented. The Sicilian cadence stronger than mine ever was. "How are you?"
I almost laugh.
How am I?
"Been better," I say. "But I'll live. For now."
Silence on the other end. Valentino isn't the type to fill space with meaningless words. He waits. Processes. Decides.
"Good," he finally says. "Because I need you in Italy."
I close my eyes.
Of course he does.
