By the time Dante sets me down on the edge of the bathtub, I've stopped crying, though my body still trembles with aftershocks. Everything feels surreal, like I'm watching someone else's life through a fog. The bathroom comes into focus slowly—the white tiles, the running water, Dante moving around me with practiced efficiency.
He grabs the first aid kit and settles on the closed toilet lid across from me, his blue eyes never leaving my face. There'ssomething in his expression I can't quite read—sadness, worry, relief all mixed together. But it's not the blank mask everyone else wears around violence. It's real, raw emotion, and somehow that makes everything feel more manageable.
"Let me clean you up," he says softly, dipping a washcloth under the faucet.
The warm water against my neck makes me flinch involuntarily, fresh tears springing to my eyes as he gently works away the dried blood.
"Sorry," he murmurs, rinsing the cloth. "The cut looks like it's stopped bleeding on its own, so I don't think you'll need stitches. But it's going to hurt for a while."
"What happens now?" The words come out barely above a whisper.
"Let's get you?—"
"No." I shake my head so violently that the remaining curls come loose from their pins. "I need to know. Are we at war now? Am I stuck in this life forever? I can't just sit here and pretend?—"
"Sofia." Dante drops the washcloth and takes my face in both hands, forcing me to look at him. That's when I realize I'm hyperventilating again, my chest rising and falling rapidly as panic takes hold. He demonstrates slow, deep breaths until I can mirror him. "Breathe, princess."
Gradually, the world comes back into focus. The blood on both of us has dried to brown, no longer the vivid red of fresh violence. Dante's eyes—so blue, so different from Kieran's cold gray—keep me anchored in the present.
"I'm not going to lie to you," he says once my breathing stabilizes. "I don't know exactly what happens next. What I do know is that the Costello hierarchy is fractured, and Vito has full control again. At least while they recover and regain some of the numbers they lost."
Some of the numbers they lost.The words sink in as I remember a gap-toothed grin and red curls. "Is Ciara okay?"
Confusion creases Dante's forehead. "Ciara?"
"The little girl—the flower girl. She was maybe five, with red hair. Gianna knows who I mean."
Recognition dawns on Dante's face, and he continues gently cleaning my hands as he answers. "Ciara's alive. We're a fucked-up bunch, but we don't hurt children."
Relief floods through me, though it's tinged with guilt. That innocent little girl wanted so badly to be part of the wedding, to make the aisle pretty for "Skippy." Now she's probably traumatized by the violence that erupted around her.
"I take it I'm not too far down on Vito's shit list if we're back at his place?" I ask, trying for lightness and failing.
"I'm not one to turn down protection from the Don while it's still available," Dante replies with a chuckle that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He reaches for antiseptic from the first aid kit. "We haven't spoken much beyond planning the rescue. He backed me up, but I can't imagine we're getting out of this without a stern talking to."
The antiseptic burns when he presses it to my cut, and I hiss through my teeth. "Do you trust him?"
It's the question I've been afraid to ask, but I need to know. Because sitting here, processing everything that's happened, one truth is becoming crystal clear: I need Vito's protection. The thought makes my skin crawl, but I can't keep running. I can't keep putting Dante in impossible positions.
"It's complicated, but I have to," Dante sighs, disposing of the bloodied gauze. "I owe him everything. He could have killed me to stop me from going after you—more than once—but he didn't. I don't care what his motives are. If it keeps me around so you're still safe, I'll trust him until he challenges me again."
What happens if he challenges you?I want to ask, but I already know. One of them would die, and that possibility fills me with both love and terror. Dante would die for me. I've always known that, but hearing him confirm it makes my chest tight.
And tonight? Tonight he killed for me. And, I don't even know how to process that.
"What do I need to do to keep it from going that far?" I whisper.
"Find a way to trust him."
Find a way to trust him.Easier said than done, but I'm starting to realize I might not have a choice. For the first time in weeks, I desperately wish Rina were here. She somehow learned to trust Vito, to love him despite everything. Maybe she could teach me how.
"Where's my sister?"
"I don't know," Dante admits, his voice gentle. "Vito hasn't told me much. My best guess is he sent her and your mother to another safehouse ahead of our assault."
Dante finishes cleaning my hands and starts working on the cut again, this time with butterfly bandages to hold the edges together.
"Is everyone else okay?" I ask, needing to know. "Elena, Marco, Gianna?"
