Page 51 of His Eternal Claim

Then at the sky. Then at the cigarette again.

Leaning against the stone railing, I look down at the city sprawl beneath me like a kingdom I never particularly wanted.

Italy.

Beautiful.

Corrupt.

Bleeding.

Mine… whether or not I like it. I bend slightly over the balcony. Click.

A flame flickers inches from my face. I freeze.

My hands go to my holster. I look sideways.

Massimo Bianchi stands beside me. Like he’s always been there. Some kinds of old devils don’t need permission to appear. Colder eyes. Crooked grin.

I stare at him for a long second. Then lean in and light the cigarette. Take a drag, letting it burn my insides, and exhale slowly.

Massimo keeps his lighter open. Watching the city along with me.

“The woman I was supposed to marry…” He shuts the lighter with a flick. “…ran away last year.”

I turn my head and take another drag. “Smart girl.”

“Foolish more than smart.”

I smirk as smoke curls between us. “Depends.”

Massimo glances at me. “On what?”

I look back at the city, at the lights and the shadows that come with it.

At all the places bodies could disappear. “On what she was running from.”

That wipes the amusement off his face. I take another drag. Strangely liking the smoke. And for the first time tonight, the silence between us doesn’t feel political.

It feels personal.

“Didn’t know you smoke,” I mutter as Massimo leans against the railing beside me.

Close enough to be disrespectful. Far enough not to get stabbed.

“I don’t,” he says.

I glance at him. “Then why the lighter?”

Massimo looks at the skyline. “At some point…” His voice drops. “…you stop carrying things for yourself.”

I whisper into the darkness. “And start carrying them for ghosts?”

He looks at me. “Something like that.”

Interesting.

Dangerous.