"No."
"Never?"
"Never."
I don't understand.
Twenty years. Plenty of women. And he never felt anything for any of them.
But he looked at me for thirty seconds and decided I was the one.
"Why me?" I ask. "What makes me different?"
Dante turns his head.
Our faces are close now. Inches apart.
"I told you," he says. "You looked at me like I was human."
"Other people must have?—"
"They didn't."
His voice is flat. Certain.
"People look at me and see a weapon," he says. "A tool. Something useful. Something dangerous. They see what I can do for them or what I might do to them."
He pauses.
"You looked at me like I was a person."
"I was terrified of you."
"I know."
"I hated you."
"I know that too."
"Then how?—"
"Because underneath the fear and the hate, you still saw me." His eyes hold mine. "I don't know how. You did. It was like coming home."
My throat tightens.
"Dante—"
He reaches up.
His fingers brush my cheek.
I stop breathing.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Marina
His touch is light. Barely there.
