Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Dante
The room settles.
Bodies lower into seats. The family arranges itself around the dining table like they've done a thousand times before.
But nothing about this is like before.
Sophia sits pressed against Lorenzo's side. Her hand grips his arm. Her knuckles are white. She hasn't stopped touching him since he walked through that door.
She won't stop for a long time.
Bruno takes the chair across from me. His eyes haven't left my face. The grief that cracked him open minutes ago has hardened into something else.
Rage.
I know that look. I've seen it before violence. Before blood. Before broken bones and shattered trust.
He's going to hit me.
Not now. Not in front of everyone. But soon. When this is over. When the dust settles and the danger passes.
He's going to make me pay for every tear Sophia shed. Every scream. Every moment she believed her husband was dead.
I deserve it.
Aria sits at the head of the table. Pale. Shaking. Dmitri brought her back to consciousness, but she still looks like she might faint again. Her eyes keep darting to Lorenzo. Checking. Making sure he's real.
Everyone is waiting.
Waiting for an explanation.
Waiting for me to justify the unjustifiable.
I stand.
The chair scrapes behind me. The sound is too loud in the silence.
"Everyone needed to believe it," I say.
My voice comes out rough. Scraped raw.
"The funeral had to be real. The grief had to be real. If anyone suspected—if anyone doubted for a single second—it would have been over."
Sophia makes a sound. A small, wounded noise.
Lorenzo's arm tightens around her.
"I know what I did," I continue. "I know what I put you through. All of you."
I look at Sophia. At the devastation written across her face. At the way she's still trembling against her husband's side.
"I'm going to regret this for the rest of my life."
The words taste like ash.
"But the alternative was worse."
Bruno's jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists on the table.
"What alternative?" His voice is low. Dangerous. "What could possibly be worse than watching my sister-in-law try to throw herself into an empty grave?"
I meet his eyes.
"I can't tell you."
"Can't or won't?"
"Can't." I hold his gaze. "Not yet. Not tonight."
The silence stretches.
Bruno's fists tighten. The tendons in his neck stand out like cords.
"Tomorrow," I say. "Tomorrow everything will be settled. I promise."
It's not enough.
I know it's not enough.
But it's all I can give them right now.
Alejandro's men are watching. Listening. The phones in the living room are compromised. The compound might be bugged. Every word we speak could be transmitted to someone who wants us dead.
We had scanned the entire room.
I can't risk it more than I do.
Not when we're this close.
"Lorenzo has been hiding in the compound's basement," I continue. "Since the night we were supposed to leave for the mission. He'll stay there until we're safe."
Nico nods slowly. His face is unreadable, but I see the understanding in his eyes.
He knows.
He knows there's a reason Lorenzo agreed to this. A reason I orchestrated the most elaborate deception this family has ever seen. A reason I let Sophia believe her husband was dead for three days.
He trusts me enough not to ask.
The others follow his lead.
One by one, they nod.
Antonella. Kristen. Pietro. Nora. Carmela. Valentino.
Even Aria, still pale and shaking, inclines her head.
They don't understand. They don't know why. But they trust that there's a reason.
That's more than I deserve.
Bruno doesn't nod.
He stares at me with eyes full of fury. His jaw works. His fists stay clenched.
But he doesn't speak.
He doesn't demand answers.
He just looks at me with a promise written across his face.
This isn't over.
I know.
I know it isn't.
When this is finished—when Alejandro is dead and the threat is neutralised—Bruno will find me. He'll corner me somewhere private. And he'll make me pay for every second of suffering I caused.
I'll let him.
I'll stand there and take every punch. Every blow. Every ounce of rage he needs to release.
Because I earned it.
My eyes find Marina.
She sits at the far end of the table. Apart from the others. Her hands are folded in her lap. Her face is pale.
She's not looking at me.
She's staring at the table. At her hands. At anything except my face.
Something cold settles in my chest.
I know that look.
I've seen it before. On the faces of people who've been betrayed. Who've discovered that someone they trusted was capable of things they never imagined.
She's wondering if she knows me at all.
She's wondering how I could watch Sophia scream and say nothing.
She's wondering what else I'm capable of.
She's wondering if she can ever trust me again.
The answer is probably no.
I knew this would happen. I knew the moment I agreed to Alejandro's plan that I would lose her. That she would look at me like I'm a stranger.
Like I'm a monster.
Like the man she thought she knew never existed.
I want to go to her. I want to take her hands. I want to explain everything—Alejandro, Giuseppe, the truth about my family, the impossible choice I faced.
But I can't.
Not yet.
Not until tomorrow.
Not until Alejandro is dead and the surveillance is gone and I can finally tell her the truth.
By then, it might be too late.
She might already be gone.
Marina finally looks up.
Our eyes meet across the table.
I see it all.
The confusion. The hurt. The betrayal. The desperate need to understand.
And underneath it all—the question she can't ask out loud.
How can I trust you after this?
I don't have an answer.
I don't know if I ever will.
Marina
The room empties slowly.
Sophia and Lorenzo leave first. She won't let go of him. Her fingers dig into his arm like she's afraid he'll disappear if she loosens her grip.
I understand.
I understand more than I want to.
Bruno follows them out. He doesn't look at Dante. Doesn't speak. Just walks past with his jaw set and his fists still clenched.
Antonella touches his arm as they pass through the doorway. A gentle reminder. A silent plea.
Not now.
The others file out one by one. Nico and Kristen. Pietro and Nora. Aria, still pale, supported by Valentino and Carmela.
They murmur goodbyes. Squeeze shoulders. Exchange glances heavy with questions no one will ask tonight.
And then they're gone.
The dining room falls silent.
Dante stands where he was. He hasn't moved. His hands hang at his sides. His face is carved from stone.
He's waiting.
Waiting for me.
Waiting for me to speak.
I push back from the table. The chair scrapes against the floor. The sound echoes in the empty room.
My legs feel unsteady as I walk toward him. My heart pounds against my ribs.
I stop in front of him.
Close enough to see the shadows under his eyes. The tension in his jaw. The way his chest rises and falls with each breath.
He looks at me.
Those dark eyes. The ones that saw me before I was ready to be seen.
They're empty now.
Hollow.
Like he's already accepted what's coming.
My hand moves before I can stop it.
The slap cracks through the silence.
His head turns with the force of it.
But he doesn't flinch.
He doesn't step back.
He just turns his face forward again and looks at me.
Steady. Unflinching. Accepting.
"Once I eliminate the danger," he says. His voice is flat. Dead. "I won't cross your path again."
My chest tightens.
"I'll leave." He holds my gaze. "And I won't come back."
The words hit me like a second blow.
"I promise."
Something breaks inside me.
Tears burn my eyes. Spill down my cheeks.
My hand moves again.
Another slap. Harder this time.
His head snaps to the side. He takes it. Doesn't raise a hand to stop me. Doesn't try to defend himself.
Just stands there.
Waiting.
Like he deserves this.
Like he deserves worse.
"You idiot."
The words tear out of me. Raw. Broken.
My fists hit his chest. Once. Twice. Again and again.
"You stupid, stubborn idiot."
He doesn't move. Doesn't block me. Just absorbs every blow like it's nothing.
Like the pain doesn't matter.
Like he doesn't matter.
"How dare you." I hit him again. "How dare you say that to me."
The tears won't stop. They blur my vision. Streak down my face.
"You think I want you to leave?"
Another hit. Weaker now. My arms are shaking.
"You think that's what I need?"
I think about the past days. About watching him carry this weight alone. About the way he looked at Sophia's grief and said nothing.
About how much it must have cost him.
To stand there.
To stay silent.
To let the people he loves believe the worst.
I don't understand their world.
I don't understand the violence. The secrets. The impossible choices.
But I understand this.
Dante has been carrying things on his own for too long.
He's been the weapon. The protector. The one who does what needs to be done so others don't have to.
And no one ever asks what it costs him.
No one ever sees the weight.
"If you ever say that again," I choke out. "If you ever tell me you're going to leave—"
My voice breaks.
"I will make you regret it."
Dante looks at me.
And I see something I will never forget.
His jaw trembles.
Just slightly. Just enough.
He's trying not to cry.
He's trying so hard.
His eyes are wet. His throat works as he swallows. His whole body is rigid with the effort of holding himself together.
The man who killed for his family. Who lied for them. Who let them hate him to keep them safe.
He's standing in front of me, fighting tears like a boy who's never been allowed to break.
It destroys me.
I step forward and wrap my arms around him.
I hold him as tight as I can.
His body goes rigid. Frozen. Like he doesn't know what to do with gentleness.
Then he breaks.
His arms come around me. Crushing. Desperate.
His body shakes.
Not sobs. Not yet. Just tremors. Deep, silent tremors that run through him like earthquakes.
"I'm sorry."
The words are muffled against my hair.
"I'm sorry."
His voice cracks.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Over and over. Like a prayer. Like a confession.
Like he's been holding these words inside for so long they're finally spilling out.
I hold him tighter.
His heart pounds against my chest. His breath comes in ragged gasps. His fingers dig into my back like I'm the only thing keeping him from drowning.
I don't let go.
I can't.
Because I know—I know—that his heart holds so much pain. So much grief. So much guilt.
The last thing he needs right now is for me to let go.
So I don't.
I hold him in the empty dining room while his body shakes and his voice breaks and his walls finally crumble.
And I don't let go.