Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Dante
I arrive at the clinic twenty minutes early, after I've been checking my phone every five minutes after she texted that she was visiting her mother.
Marco sits in the driver's seat, engine idling. I watch the clinic entrance through tinted windows and try not to think about the last time I was here when I spoke to Dr. Kent about upgrading Elena's care and I signed papers making myself responsible for treatments Bianca could never afford.
I wonder if she’s mad that I made a decision for her without asking because asking would have meant watching her refuse out of pride.
The clinic doors open.
Bianca steps out, and something in my chest tightens.
She looks small. Tired. Her shoulders curve inward like she's trying to make herself disappear. And her hand—her right hand—is wrapped around the pendant at her throat.
Her thumb moves over the metal in small circles. Over and over.
I get out of the car.
She doesn't notice me at first. Just stands there in the parking lot, gripping that pendant like it's the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground.
"Bianca."
She looks up and tries to smile but fails miserably.
"Hey. You're early."
"Traffic was light." I cross to her, notice the redness around her eyes. She's been crying. "How is she?"
"Declining." The word comes out flat. Empty. "They upgraded her meds. Put her on stronger pain management. There's a night nurse now."
"Good."
"You did that." Not an accusation. Just a statement. "You authorized it all without telling me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because she needed it and you would have argued. Watching you suffer over something I could fix was unbearable, so I decided to do what was needed on my own."
Her hand tightens around the pendant. "I don't know whether to thank you or be furious with you."
"Be both. I usually am."
That gets a small laugh. Barely there, but real.
I guide her to the car, help her into the back seat. Marco pulls out of the parking lot, and we sit in silence for the first few minutes. But I keep watching her hand. That rhythmic movement. Thumb over metal.
"Tell me about it," I say finally.
She looks up. "About what?"
"The pendant. You touch it when you're upset. I've seen you do it a million my times." I gesture to her hand. "What does it mean to you?"
For a moment, I think she won't answer. That she'll deflect or change the subject or tell me it's just a piece of jewelry.
Instead, she unclasps the chain. Holds the cross in her palm.
"It was my mother's. She gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday.
" She runs her thumb over the worn gold.
"She said it was a reminder that I was loved.
That even when everything else fell apart—when my father left, when the bills piled up, when the world felt too big and too cruel—I had something solid to hold onto. "
I wait. Don't interrupt. Don't mock or dismiss or try to fix.
"It's stupid, probably. A piece of metal on a chain.
But it feels like... I don't know. A promise.
" She looks at me, and there's something raw in her eyes.
"All the promises a parent makes to a child.
I'll keep you safe. I'll love you no matter what.
I'll fight for you even when I'm too tired to fight for myself.
And my mom kept those promises. Every single one. Even when it cost her everything."
The words hit harder than they should, because I understand.
I had a parent who made promises too and tried to keep them until the weight crushed her.
"My mother gave me something," I hear myself say. "Not a pendant. A watch."
Bianca goes still.
"It was my grandfather's. Expensive. Old-fashioned.
Gold casing worn smooth from decades of wear.
The kind of thing you're supposed to pass down through generations.
A family heirloom that carries weight beyond its monetary value.
" I pull it from my pocket—I've been carrying it since she died, though I never wear it.
Can't bring myself to put it on. "She gave it to me the week before she.
.. before I found her on the bathroom floor. "
"Dante—"
"She called me into her room. It was a good day—one of the few near the end where she wasn't drunk.
Where her hands didn't shake and her eyes could focus.
" I turn the watch over in my hands, feeling the familiar weight.
"She said it was a reminder that time is all we have.
That we can waste it or use it, but we can't get it back.
That every second matters because we don't know how many we have left. "
My voice cracks. I clear my throat.
"She wanted me to use mine better than she’d used hers. To not let shame or fear or other people's expectations steal years I'd never get back. To not let my father's mistakes define my life the way his mistakes defined hers."
"And then she died."
"And then she died." The words taste like ash. Like smoke and grief and failure. "Three days later. She'd been drinking all day while I was at a meeting with Matteo."
I can still see it. The tile floor. The way her hair spread out like a dark halo. The way her chest barely moved.
"I called 911. Held her while we waited, chocking on her vomit.
She opened her eyes once—just once—and looked at me.
And I could see that she knew. That that was it.
That she'd finally drunk enough to kill herself.
" My jaw tightens. "She tried to say something.
I think it was 'sorry.' But her words were slurred and I couldn't... I couldn't understand her. "
Bianca's hand tightens on mine.
"The ambulance came. They took her to the hospital but it was too late. Her body was shutting down from years of poison. The doctors said there was nothing they could do. That even if she’d survived, she'd have needed transplants she'd never qualify for. So we just... waited."
"You stayed with her."
"For three days. I sat by her bed while the machines beeped and the nurses tried to look anywhere but at us.
She smelled like vodka and hospital antiseptic.
Her skin was yellow. Jaundiced from liver failure.
Her breathing was shallow. And all I could think was that she had wasted her time.
Wasted it on my father. On his scandal. On drowning in bottles instead of fighting to stay alive for me. "
"You were angry with her."
"I was furious. For leaving me and giving up. For not being strong enough to survive." I close my fist around the watch. "But I was also angry at myself. For not seeing it sooner; not taking the bottles away; not forcing her into rehab or treatment or anything that might have saved her."
Bianca reaches across the seat, takes my hand. The one holding the watch.
"It wasn't your fault."
"I know that. Logically, I know that." I look at her. "But knowing and believing are different things."
"Yeah." Her thumb moves over my knuckles. "They are."
We sit like that for a while. Her hand in mine. The watch between us. The pendant still in her other palm.
"She was right, you know," Bianca says softly. "Your mother. About time being all we have."
"I know."
"And she'd want you to use yours well. To not waste it on guilt or anger or trying to fix things you can't change."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"I think you're trying to control everything because you couldn't control the one thing that mattered most." She squeezes my hand.
"But you can't control death, Dante. You can't control disease or addiction or the choices other people make.
You can only control what you do with the time you have left. "
The truth of it sits heavy in my chest.
"What would you do?" I ask. "If you knew you only had limited time left. What would you do with it?"
"I'd spend it with the people I love. I'd stop hiding. Stop pretending. Stop wasting energy on things that don't matter." She looks at me, and there's something fierce in her eyes. "I'd choose the messy, complicated, terrifying thing over the safe thing. Every time."
"Even if it costs you everything?"
"Especially then."
The car pulls up to my house and Marco gets out, giving us privacy.
I should move. Should open the door and go inside and put distance between us before this conversation goes somewhere I can't take back.
Instead, I pull her closer.
"I'm in love with you," I whisper. "I've been trying not to be. Trying to keep this strategic and controlled and safe. I tried to tell myself you were just a tool I'm using against Caterina. Just a convenient solution to an inconvenient problem."
Her breath catches.
"But that's bullshit. You know it. I know it.
" My hand comes up to cup her face. "You stopped being a tool the moment you stood in that apartment and negotiated terms instead of breaking.
The moment you looked at me with fire in your eyes and refused to be afraid.
The moment you made me laugh when I didn't think I remembered how. "
"Dante—"
"You make me want things I thought died with my mother.
Hope. Family. A future that isn't just survival and revenge and proving I'm not my father.
A future where I come home to someone who sees the worst parts of me and loves me anyway.
" My thumb brushes her cheekbone. "You make me believe time is worth something again.
That the years I have left aren't just about building power or protecting territory or maintaining control. "
Tears slide down her cheeks.
"I know it's complicated. I know Caterina is still threatening us with your past. I know Matteo gave me two weeks and half of them are already gone.
I know my father is working against us and marrying you could cost me my position.
My reputation. Everything I've spent a decade building.
" I press my forehead to hers. "But losing you would cost me more.
It would cost me the only thing that actually matters. "
She kisses me.