32. Lucia
Lucia
It took several tense hours for Camille’s fever to finally go down with medicine and water therapy, and even longer for Dante to feel comfortable enough to let her out of his sight.
By the time a second doctor gave a cautious nod of approval that she was back at full health, I felt like my legs were made of heavy wet sand.
Although I’m seconds from collapse, I wouldn’t trade a second of the past twenty-four hours. Hearing Camille call Dante Daddy was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed in my life.
I’d give up sleep for a year if it guaranteed I’d experience it again.
Now, hours later, after eating the food a maid left in a room that’s far too luxurious for little ol’ me and showering until the steam made me woozy, I’m finally getting ready to rest.
I doubt sleep will come easily. The Caruso compound is a grand palace with soft lighting and expensive furniture, but it reminds me too much of the home I grew up in to feel comfortable here.
Home? Ha! My childhood residence wasn’t a home. It was more like a prison. It just had fancy chandeliers and antiques I wouldn’t dare touch if I wanted to sit comfortably for the following week.
This place feels more welcoming, and the people here don’t look at me like I’m a stain on the family name, but I can’t help but wonder if that sense of homeyness has less to do with the expensive furnishings and more to do with Dante.
Watching how he was with Camille tonight makes me wonder how differently my life might have turned out if my father had loved me like Dante loves Camille.
Even if it costs him everything, he will ensure she is safe and protected.
I should sleep, but I need one last glimpse of Camille to reassure myself that she’s still safe, so I tiptoe down the hallway instead.
My bare feet pad silently on the polished floors and pause at Camille’s doorway just in time to hear part of Dante’s bedtime story.
It’s about a brave mouse and a dragon who was once afraid of the dark.
When the story ends with the dragon always knowing the mouse will be his light, no matter which path he takes, I caress the hinges of Camille’s door and slowly open it.
Heat spreads across my chest when I spot Camille.
She’s sleeping peacefully with her head on Dante’s stomach and her tiny arm curled around his waist, as if afraid he’ll disappear if she lets go.
Do you need me? Dante mouths.
Strands of wet hair fall from my messy bun as I shake my head. I don’t want to steal his focus from Camille for even a second.
“I just wanted to say goodnight.”
An imaginary rope lassos around my waist and pulls me closer when he jerks up his chin, inviting me in. Under his watchful eye, I cross the room, my hips stupidly swinging like I’m gracing a catwalk.
It’s impossible not to feel tension this hot, so I don’t understand why I keep trying to ignore it.
The knot in my stomach, which hasn’t loosened for the past day, eases when I brush back a loose curl from Camille’s temple. Her temperature is nearly perfect.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
I shoot my hand up to cover my squeak when she replies, “N-night, Lulu.”
Tears burn my eyes as euphoria surges through my veins too intensely to think about sleeping. Lulu was my nickname as a child, and although I don’t have many good memories, the people who called me Lulu are not part of the controversy.
When Camille rolls over to hug her pillow, Dante carefully slips out from under her before tucking a blanket around her. I immaturely drop a quivering lower lip when a sleepy and impossibly sweet “Night, Daddy” peeks out from beneath the pillow fort.
“I don’t ever see that getting old,” I murmur to Dante as he guides me out of Camille’s bedroom with his hand on the small of my back and his grin blazing.
“Me neither,” he admits, walking me to my room.
Our steps are slow and unhurried, neither of us eager to part. When we reach the door, with his hand resting on the doorknob, Dante hesitates.
“Do you have time to talk?” His tone is low, almost careful.
Too exhausted to pretend nothing has changed when everything has, I nod.
A major shift has happened between us. It isn’t just about how he saved me or how respectfully he treats Camille.
It’s the fact that he didn’t push me away when I tried to help.
He let me be part of something that’s usually sacred between a parent and a child.
He let me in.
When we enter my room, Dante wastes no time.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For what I said and for how I said it. You said no, Lucia. You said no, so it shouldn’t have mattered what you were doing or how you arrived at that situation. You said no.” He shakes his head, disgusted with himself. “I had no right to make it seem like that didn’t matter.”
The raw honesty in his tone hits me harder than I expected. He isn’t apologizing out of moral duty. He’s apologizing because he truly means every word he says.
“It wasn’t my intention to hurt you. That will never be my intention.
I was just scared,” he admits. “So fucking scared. Not about what they could have done to you, but about how their actions would have changed you.” His next words floor me.
“You’re everything I want my daughter to become.
” He points toward the door as if the men from the event are standing behind it.
I don’t look in that direction because I know every one of them is currently in a morgue.
“And those dumb fucks tried to steal that from you. They almost stole your light.”
Light?
As I stare at him, too overwhelmed to speak, a dangerous truth smacks into me.
The anger, the hurt, and my unbelievably frustrating jealousy the past week all make sense now.
I’m falling for him.
Tension hangs on Dante’s shoulders like a weight he’ll never fully set down, but I need to know the truth. It’s time for us both to start being honest.
“Who was she?” I could add more words to my question. I don’t need to. Dante knows exactly who I am referencing.
His exhale is as resigned as his words. “She’s Camille’s mother.”
His confession rearranges everything I thought I understood. “Oh… I wasn’t aware she was a part of Camille’s life.”
“She’s not. She was, but—”
“Are you trying to keep Camille away from her mother?” I ask, too hurt by my own circumstances not to be a voice for other women in a similar situation.
Dante’s eyes flash with wounded pride. “No. I would never keep a child from their mother.”
My lips quiver as I start to speak. “Then why say she was part of her life but isn’t anymore?”
The protectiveness in his eyes curdles my stomach. “Because I can’t offer her an olive branch until I’m confident Camille is safe with her.”
Safe? The worry displayed in that one word chills me to the core.
“Safe from what?” I ask, though part of me already knows.
He hesitates only long enough to make sure I have the courage to hear what he needs to say.
“Camille’s mother is an addict.” He wets his lips before coughing to slacken the croaks of his throat. “I don’t know how long she’s been using, but it’s not something she seems ready to defeat yet.”
Another realization smacks into me. I thought the way he carried Camille’s mother down the corridor last week was out of tenderness. But it wasn’t that. He wasn’t comforting her. He was protecting his daughter—just like I had done the night he came home drunk. Or worse.
“Did you use that night you left with her?”
He appears confused but immediately fires back, “No.” He scrubs at his jaw, tracing a tremor there, before locking eyes with me to make sure I see the honesty of his reply.
“But I can’t say that with utmost certainty.
I can’t remember what happened that night…
or that whole day.” The vulnerability projected in his eyes when he stops hiding from me affects me more than any confession could.
“I’m not trying to keep secrets from you, Lucia.
I don’t want to be that man. Not with you.
” My heart flips for every truth I hear in his words.
“I could have gone on a bender to forget the family court stuff I’m wading through, but I don’t understand why I would.
I have a solid case… Well, I did. I don’t anymore. ”
I blink, trying to understand. “Family court? Why are you going to family court when you have access to the most bigamist laws in the world?”
A slow smile curves his mouth, unexpectedly comforting me.
“I don’t want to follow those rules. I want new ones that don’t favor men of the Cosa Nostra solely because of their gender.
Ones that don’t trap women or punish them for things they can’t control.
” His voice deepens with conviction. “I want Camille to have as many rights as I do. And I want you to have them, too.”
I stagger back, shocked. He doesn’t want a future where women stand two feet back and only speak when spoken to. He wants them to be equal. He’s building something better, and he’s looking at me like he wants me to be part of it.
Terrifyingly slowly, the truth shrouds me.
I’m not falling for this man.
I’ve fallen.
“I…” I try to tell him I’m unworthy of his efforts, but just like my heart can’t deny what my head finally acknowledges, I can’t speak these words either.
I’m a good person. I deserve to be respected and loved the way he’s endeavoring to respect and love me, and his new-age approach to his family’s legacy deserves a standing ovation.
Although it will make everything harder, and the thought terrifies me, I don’t pull back when Dante steps closer. He’s strong enough to help me through this. I just need to be brave enough to tell him everything.
There’s only one thing I need to take care of first.
The pain that hasn’t left his eyes for even a second.
It was there before we knew how unwell Camille was, and it hasn’t relinquished control of his senses for even a second since she recovered.