Sal’s lips twist. “No, Iris. He actually let you catch him. That wasn’t a show of his authority. That was faith. He basically gave you his trust. It was fucking unbelievable.” There’s a beat of silence where he gawks my flushed face. “I knew he liked you but this . . .”
“What do you mean, you knew he liked me? That’s news to me.”
“He rescued you, put you up in a guest cabin, watched over you while you were sick, and ordered everyone to treat you with the utmost respect, or he’d kill us all. Why do you think the men scarcely speak to you? They're scared he’ll put a bullet in their brains.”
“He what?” My head spins. “He stayed with me when I had the fever?”
Sal drops his gaze. “Fuck, Iris. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Sal?”
“He wouldn't let any of us sit with you. Jackson wanted to keep you here, but el Fantasma arranged for your transfer to the cabin. He’s the one who administered the antibiotics and nursed you back to health. I know this because I hand-delivered clean linens and meals. He slept on the floor, Iris.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me this before now?” My hands fly to my cheeks, causing me to wince when I slap my wound.
“Look, I’ve stepped over the line. He’ll kill me if he finds out I blabbed.”
“I don’t believe this.”
“Fuck, you can’t let on that I told you.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word, Sal.” My heartbeat stalls and restarts. It was Dante all along. “What happened to him? I can sense there’s a good guy beneath all that bravado. Do you know why he’s so broken?”
He shakes his head. “Broken men are dangerous because they have nothing to lose. Once they gain something to protect, they become fucking lethal.” Sal glances over his shoulder, checking that we’re alone. “I’ve known him for a few years, and he’s never opened up. Carina has a girly way about her which he responds to—like an uncle or elder brother. They talk about her future. Never about his past. I just know it was something bad. Something that tore him apart.”
My knees turn to jelly and a dull throb builds at my temples. “I’ll use the bathroom, and then I’ll make a start on cabin ten.”
Sal runs a hand down his face. “Sure. Okay.” His heavy sigh is acceptance of his choice to divulge the unbelievable truth.
He was my hero and my prison guard.
I manage to walk the breadth of the room without crashing to my knees. Dante pretends to be evil. He’s erected impenetrable walls of self-protection. That same complicated man is fighting natural instincts, warring with inner demons, and safeguarding his heart with boundaries and rules.
Rules he evidently struggles to obey.
That doesn’t change how he’s wiped out my life and clipped my wings. I should loathe him for that alone.
Dazed and lost in thought, my feet carry me to the elegant bathroom. Granite countertops and lacquered stalls are nothing less than immaculate. A duo of floral hand wash and moisturizer line the basin, and still no mirrors.
My mind runs riot. Am I really this naïve? To think he has salvageable qualities. I desperately wish that to be true. I grunt with disgust at my immaturity. This is a perilous situation, with genuine emotions and a slack tightrope hanging in the treetops. One wrong foot and he’ll not just talk about my death, he’ll plan it.
I’m nothing special to him.
He trusted me to catch him.
My turmoil is justified.
El Fantasma is the one who dictates. He lays down the law. He demands respect. He offers nothing and takes everything. Even his nightly visits were under his control. I don’t pity the man; I pity the twenty-three-year-old woman with an infatuation for his alter ego, Dante.
Moments pass with my hands under the waterfall faucet. I miss gazing in a mirror at my unruly spirals and faint scattering of freckles. That’s how I recognize myself. Without that image, I don’t know who I am now or who I’m becoming. My identity has altered, and I haven't been privy to the change. I crave to see the grotesque cut carved into my skin. He must wince at the ugliness. Recoil at the imperfection. I’d give anything to find out how unsightly it really is.
We’ve both suffered.
We’re both damaged.
His bitterness bleeds into his veins.
Mine has been watered down to unshed tears.
