I don’t know if I believe in god anymore, but the certainty in Rosa’s voice gives me hope.
We’re going to get him back. We have to.
Father Benedetto arrives at Dante’s request around dinnertime. He’s an old man with kind eyes. Dante meets with him privately first, and then the priest comes to find me.
We talk for almost an hour. He tells me about redemption and sacrifice, about how love can transform even the darkest acts into something meaningful.
“You’re afraid of what tomorrow will bring,” he says, and it’s not a question.
“Yes.”
“That fear is natural. But remember this, child: you are not fighting for violence. You are fighting for your son. For your family. And when the cause is just, even violence can be an act of love.”
I don’t know if I believe that either. But I want to. God help me, I want to believe that what we’re about to do is right.
That night, I find Dante in his room, standing by the window. Tomorrow feels enormous, this crushing weight hanging over both of us.
I cross the room and wrap my arms around him from behind, pressing my cheek against his back. He’s tense at first, but after a moment his hand comes up to cover mine.
“Are you ready?”
“No.” I press a kiss to his spine through his shirt. “But I’m going anyway.”
He turns in my arms and looks down at me with those grey eyes that have seen so much death and somehow still manage to be tender.
“Scarlett…”
“Don’t.” I reach up to touch his face. “Don’t tell me to stay behind again. I can’t wait in a safe room while you risk everything for our son.”
“I know.” His voice is rough. “I’m not going to ask you to stay. I just need you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“Promise me that if things go wrong, you’ll run. You’ll grab Luca and run. Not even for me.”
The thought of leaving him behind makes something twist in my chest. But I look at his face and see that he needs the assurance and to know that no matter what happens, Luca and I will survive.
“I promise.”
He kisses me then, and it’s deep and desperate. And I kiss him back with the same intensity.
26
SCARLETT
The kiss lasts longer than either of us expects, and I don’t mind. I open up to him, and he grabs my waist, pulling me closer until my chest is pressed hard against his.
A moan slips out of my mouth at the force, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I grind hard against him, pleasure coiling tighter inside me.
He groans and tugs at my hair, and a sharp wince escapes from my mouth. That seems to snap him back to reality. He stiffens and pulls away.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he mutters, stepping back and rubbing his face. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Hey,” I call softly.
He turns to face me and what I see in his eyes makes my stomach flip. He looks tired. Not just physically, but emotionally. He looks like a man who’s carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.
“You should sleep,” he says. “Tomorrow’s going to be?—”
