Page 152 of Levi

He doesn’t need to say it. He stands, buttons his jacket, leaves the folder where it lies.

“I just want you clear-eyed. And I don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” At the door he pauses. “Get some rest. You look like you haven’t.”

Then he’s gone. The folder’s still on the island, and what he left unsaid starts doing its work. Because it finds the oldest, biggest hole in me and pours straight in.

I look at the glossy men with their planes, their yachts, and I see myself the first day Dante laid eyes on me. Sprawled out on the couch, hungover in his listing, days without a shower, no shave, mean, telling him to get out of his own listing.

That was his first sight of me.

A wreck at the bottom of myself. Then later, demanding he haul me to the liquor store every damn day like I can’t make it through an hour without tequila and picking me up from the drunk tank.

And Dante dates men with villas in five countries. A lot of them based on the pictures.

It shouldn’t surprise me. Dante could have any man he wants, anytime, anywhere. I’ve always suspected that. I just didn’t expect to see the evidence laid out in front of me.

The shame that rolls through me almost takes my breath away again.

I’ve never let myself think about his past boyfriends. Or the type of guy he dated because I’ve always known it wouldn’t be a derelict like me.

The hand Freddie dealt plays itself out. Maybe I mistook being hauled out of a hole for being wanted. The pain stands back up in me and starts squeezing.

For about five minutes, it works. And then it doesn’t. Not like it would have a week ago, a day ago, before last night.

I handed Dante the worst of me. The shed, the box, the storms, what my own mother let happen. He didn’t flinch, didn’t leave. He stayed with me. He took the part of me the world agreed was fixable and put his mouth to it like it was the opposite. Hours ago. I can still feel everywhere his hands were.

What could somebody like Dante want with me?

That’s the question Freddie wanted me to ask myself. And I’ve got an answer he doesn’t know I have. Dante wanted me before he knew who I was and after he knew everything.

That’s all I need to know and I’m holding onto it with everything I’ve got. Maybe I’m not meant to question why. Dante sure as fuck doesn’t need to explain it to me. I’ll take whatever he gives me and never question it.

If there’s one person in this world I trust, it’s Dante.

Freddie’s poison doesn’t take this time. Instead, it shows me his hand. Shows me what Freddie is. Freddie will reach into anything good in my life and rot it from the inside to keep me his.

He didn’t come here about last night’s show. He came to make sure the only person who’s ever wanted the real me starts looking like an illusion. He’s expecting me to tuck my tail between my legs and run back to the one place left that’ll take me.

Him.

Freddie went too far and overplayed it. He meant to bind me tighter, and instead he showed me the truth.

I want out of this.

I’m still standing there when the garage door rolls, the side door opens, and Dante calls out. “Levi? You here?”

“I’m in the kitchen.”

He finds me at the island with the folder’s contents. He spots it immediately. Freddie’s handiwork, splayed open on the marble where he can’t miss it.

He doesn’t ask what it is. He picks it up, flips through the photos quickly. Then he pulls out the stool across from me and sits, calm as always. The world could be ending and Dante wouldn’t even sweat.

“Go ahead,” he says, waving a hand at the folder. “Ask me about anything in there. I’ll tell you all of it. I’d rather you hear it from me than from his folder.”

That’s the difference between them, sitting right there in one sentence. Freddie hands you a folder and walks out so the dark can do the talking. Dante turns on every light in the place.

“Freddie investigated you. Went deep into your background. He says you date men with their own planes. Tech guys.” I’m not steady. “Old money. Villas in five countries money. He says that’s your level. Always has been.”

“It was.” No denying it. “I had a life in Miami before I ever heard your name. My own money, my own place. I sold most of those men homes before I ever had dinner with them. I thought it was a good life at the time. The folder’s not wrong about any of it. Sure, I dated the men in the photos.” He holds my eyes. “I never felt anything real for any of them. They were pleasant, they were interesting, and not one of them ever mattered enough to cook them breakfast. Not a single one. I never considered it. I could’ve had that for the rest of my life. My life was the most comfortable empty I’ve ever been.”