Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Dante
The bathroom door closes behind me.
I lean against it.
My hands shake.
My whole body shakes.
I can't remember the last time I cried. Before tonight. Before Marina held me in that empty dining room while I fell apart.
And now—
Now I can't stop.
I push off the door and walk to the shower. My fingers fumble with the faucet. The water comes on cold. I don't wait for it to warm.
I step in fully clothed.
The cold hits me like a slap. Like Marina's hand across my face.
Alejandro is going to pay.
For what he did to my family. For what he made me do. The manipulation. The impossible choices.
He thought he could use me.
He thought he could turn me against the only family I have left.
He was wrong.
I brace my hands against the tile. The water runs over my head. Down my face. Mixing with tears I can't control.
I'm going to destroy him.
Not just kill him. Destroy him. Take apart everything he's built. Make him watch it crumble before I put a bullet in his skull.
He's going to regret the moment he walked into that warehouse. The moment he showed me those photos. The moment he thought he could make me betray the people I love.
The water turns warm.
Then hot.
I don't move.
I let it burn.
Maybe it can wash away some of this. The guilt. The shame. The weight of watching Sophia scream over an empty grave.
Maybe—
The bathroom door opens.
I don't turn around.
I hear her footsteps. Soft. Careful.
Then arms wrap around me from behind.
Marina.
She's still dressed. Her clothes soak through instantly. She doesn't seem to care.
She just holds me.
Her cheek presses against my back. Her hands flatten over my chest. Over my heart.
I turn.
The water streams down between us. Her hair plasters to her face. Her eyes find mine.
I kiss her.
Not gentle. Not careful.
Desperate.
My hands cup her face. My mouth claims hers. I pour everything into it. Every broken piece of me. Every shattered edge.
She kisses me back.
Her fingers grip my shirt. Pull me closer. Like she's trying to hold me together.
I don't deserve her.
I don't deserve any of this.
I told her I would leave. I meant it. I had every right to walk away. To disappear. To spare her from the darkness that follows me everywhere.
And she stayed.
She slapped me. Hit me. Called me an idiot.
And then she held me while I broke.
I pull back just enough to look at her.
Water runs down her face. Her eyes are red. Swollen from crying.
But she's here.
She's still here.
"I love you."
The words come out rough. Broken.
"Marina." I press my forehead to hers. "I love you."
She makes a sound. Half sob. Half laugh.
"I know you don't believe me." My voice cracks. "I know I haven't earned it. I know I've done nothing but bring chaos into your life."
Her hands come up to my face.
"But I love you." I close my eyes. "I've loved you since the moment you opened that door two years ago. Since you stood there terrified and defiant and so fucking beautiful I couldn't breathe."
Tears mix with the water on my face.
I can't tell the difference anymore.
"I love you." The words keep coming. I can't stop them. "I love the way you cry at movies."
She laughs. A wet, broken sound.
"I love your right hand." I take it. Press my lips to her palm.
Her fingers tremble against my face.
"I love you more than everything I could ever love." My voice breaks completely. "And I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be what you need. I've never—"
She kisses me.
Soft. Gentle.
She kisses my lips. My cheeks. The tears streaming down my face.
"Stop talking," she whispers.
I try to laugh. It comes out as a sob.
"I mean it." She pulls back. Looks at me. "Stop talking and let me love you back."
The tears come harder.
I can't control them.
I've never cried. Not since that night.
I learned to lock it away. To push it down. To become stone.
And now—
Now I'm standing in a shower with the woman I love, crying like I'm twelve years old again.
Like I'm that boy in the closet.
Like I'm finally allowed to grieve.
Marina holds me.
She doesn't tell me to stop. Doesn't tell me it's okay. Doesn't offer empty words.
She just holds me.
Her arms around my neck. Her body pressed against mine. Her heart beating steady against my chest.
I bury my face in her neck and let go.
Marina
Dante's tears slow.
His breathing steadies.
The water runs warm between us, soaking through my clothes, plastering my hair to my face.
He pulls back. Looks at me.
His eyes are red. Swollen. Raw in a way I've never seen.
And then he kisses me.
Hungry.
His hands slide down my back. Find the hem of my soaked shirt. Start pulling it up.
I laugh against his mouth.
"Dante."
He doesn't stop. His fingers work the fabric higher.
"Dante." I pull back. "I'm on my period."
His hands pause. For exactly one second.
Then they keep moving.
"Take your hands away." I grab his wrists. "We're not doing this."
He looks at me. Water streaming down his face. Eyes dark.
"Nothing can keep me away from fucking your pussy."
I burst out laughing.
The sound echoes off the tile. Loud. Unexpected.
"I'm serious." I push at his chest. "I'm in a lot of pain during my period. Your dick won't help."
He raises an eyebrow. "You don't know that."
"I absolutely know that."
"Maybe my dick has healing properties."
I snort. Actually snort. "Your dick does not have healing properties."
"You haven't tested it."
"I don't need to test it." I'm laughing harder now. "I've had periods for ten years. I know what helps. Your dick is not on the list."
"Maybe it should be."
"It shouldn't."
"You're being closed-minded."
"I'm being realistic."
He grins. Actually grins.
"What about my tongue?"
I shove him. Hard.
He stumbles back. Catches himself on the tile.
And then we're both laughing.
Not normal laughter. Not the kind that comes from something funny.
This is different.
This is tension breaking. Pain releasing. Everything we've been holding crashing out of us at once.
I double over. My stomach hurts. My face hurts.
Dante braces himself against the wall, shoulders shaking.
We laugh until we can't breathe.
Until tears mix with the water on my face and I can't tell if I'm crying or laughing or both.
Until my legs give out and I slide down the tile, sitting on the shower floor in my soaked clothes, gasping for air.
Dante slides down next to me.
We sit there. Side by side. Water raining down on us.
Laughing like idiots.
It's not funny.
None of this is funny.
Tomorrow everything changes.
And I can't do anything about it.
I can't control what happens next. Can't plan for it. Can't prepare.
All I can do is sit in this shower with the man I love and laugh until my ribs ache.
The laughter fades.
We sit in silence.
The water runs over us. Warm. Steady.
Dante's hand finds mine.
I lean my head against his shoulder.
"I'm scared," I whisper.
He doesn't answer.
He doesn't need to.
We both know what's coming.
I take a breath. Push myself up.
"I need to change." I look down at my soaked clothes. "And call my parents."
Dante nods.
I lean down. Kiss his forehead.
"Don't drown in here."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "I'll try."
I step out of the shower. Water pools on the bathroom floor. My shoes squelch with every step.
I grab a towel. Wrap it around myself.
At the door, I pause. Look back.
Dante sits on the shower floor. Water streaming over him. Head tipped back against the tile.
He looks broken.
He looks beautiful.
I leave him there.
I peel off my wet clothes. Drop them in a pile on the floor. Pull on dry underwear, sweatpants, a soft shirt.
My phone sits on the nightstand.
I pick it up.
Twelve missed calls from my mother.
I sit on the edge of the bed. Take a breath.
And dial.
She answers on the first ring.
"Marina." Her voice is sharp. Worried. "Where have you been? I've been calling for days."
"I know, Mom." I close my eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Are you okay? Your father and I have been worried sick."
"I'm okay." The lie comes easy. Too easy. "Everything's okay."
"You don't sound okay."
I don't answer.
Because she's right.
I don't sound okay.
I'm not okay.
Nothing about this is okay.
"Marina." Her voice softens. "Talk to me."
I want to.
I want to tell her everything.
About Dante. About the Sartoris. About the cartel and the fake funeral and the man I love who just cried in my arms.
But I can't.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
"I'm just tired," I say. "It's been a long week."
She's quiet for a moment.
"Is this about a man?"
I laugh. Soft. Broken.
"Yeah, Mom." I wipe my eyes. "It's about a man."
"The complicated one?"
"The complicated one."
She sighs. "Do you love him?"
I look toward the bathroom door.
I can still hear the water running.
"Yeah." My voice cracks. "I love him."
"Then figure it out." Her voice is firm. Practical. The same voice she used when I was a kid and scraped my knee. "Whatever's complicated, figure it out. Life's too short for anything else."
I nod even though she can't see me.
"I will."
"And call me tomorrow. Let me know you're okay."
"I will."
"I love you, sweetheart."
"I love you too, Mom."
I hang up.
The phone drops to the bed.
I sit there. Staring at nothing.