Chapter 29
CHANTEL
For the rest of the afternoon, I lie in Cristian’s bed, clinging to his pillow.
Between crying spells, I call his number on repeat just to hear his voicemail.
Eventually, Nonna Vitale calls us all out for dinner, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. I can’t eat, but we sit together in silence, sharing the heaviness of grief.
The men don’t return that night, and it’s the only hope I have left. I know they won’t give up on their brother. But with every passing hour, despair creeps in, drowning what little faith I have left.
I’ve gone over endless possibilities, imagining how he might have survived. Maybe someone on another boat picked him up. Maybe he hit his head, and he has amnesia. Maybe he wasn’t even on the boat, and this was all a misunderstanding.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
But maybe has never felt further away when darkness turns to daylight, and nothing changes.
I force myself to shower, then join the others in the dining room. Abella tells us she’s spoken to Angelo, and there’s no news to report.
Nonna serves us tea and pastries, which we only manage to pick at.
Every movement feels weighted down by misery, and things that used to be simple now require a monumental amount of energy.
Breathing. Sipping water. Forcing words out of my mouth.
It feels like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
As Nonna comes around the table to check on us, she pauses beside me. When I glance up at her, I catch her staring at the gold cornicello necklace she gave me. She reaches out to brush her fingers over it, then kisses the Madonna medal she wears around her neck.
“Madonna mia, fa' che torni. Non hanno avuto abbastanza tempo.”
She presses another kiss to the top of my head and wanders back to the kitchen.
“What did she say?” I ask.
“She prayed to the Madonna to bring him home,” Abella answers. “She said you haven’t had enough time together.”
I swallow the pain in my throat as Abella and Gabi stare at the cornicello, and I remember Mariella and Cristian doing the same thing.
“What does it mean?”
“Nonna gifts those necklaces to welcome someone into the family,” Mariella explains solemnly. “She’s only ever handed them out on the wedding day, until you.”
The significance of that statement hangs over the table as I try to process the reason behind it. But I can’t.
“Nonna always knows,” Gabi says, her voice choked with emotion.
Mariella meets my gaze, her face unreadable. “She always does.”
I spend the afternoon pacing through Cristian’s wing, trying to dispel the crushing anxiety in my chest.
When I’ve exhausted myself, I rummage through his closet and find a T-shirt that still smells like him. After pulling it on, I curl up in his bed and lie there for hours, replaying every interaction we’ve ever had.
From the beginning of our time together at Sanctum, he showed me what real safety was.
He was patient, calm, and consistent in a way that felt like a balm to my nervous system.
There was so much quiet strength and protection in everything he did, leaning into him felt like the most natural thing in the world.
He never demanded trust or tried to rush the process. He didn’t raise his voice or get frustrated with me. For an entire year, he helped me work through my trauma without asking for anything in return.
He was my anchor through every storm, taming the chaos in my mind and unraveling years of tension in my body. With him, I had a refuge that felt like home when nothing else had.
He was the breath of air I’d been dying for, and I found myself dreaming of a life where I could have it forever. Then I did what I always do.
I let fear win.
But I had no idea that while I was busy securing the fortress around my heart, I was robbing us of precious time.
Time we can’t ever get back.
I mourn that loss as I imagine what it would have been like if I’d done everything differently. Where would we be now if I’d just admitted how I really felt about him?
“Hey.”
Mariella’s voice drags me from my thoughts, and when I glance over at her, I know she’s here to have the conversation I’ve been dreading.
I force myself upright, clutching Cristian’s pillow as I gesture to the empty space beside me.
“I find staring at the wall helps, if you want to join me.”
A ghost of a smile teases her lips. “I often recommend that to my patients.”
She comes to sit with me, getting comfortable on the bed as her gaze drifts around the room. When her eyes settle on a raven painting, something flickers across her face.
“Do you want to hear the story about how our father chose Il Corvo for Cristian?” she asks.
“Please.” I nod. “I’ve always wondered.”
“There wasn’t a timeline for when he would choose our animal names,” she says. “Some of us were young when he decided, and for others, it came naturally over time. Cristian’s took the longest because he was so introverted as a child, his thoughts felt like a secret you had to earn.”
“That is still wildly accurate.”
Mariella’s eyes fill with warmth as she thinks back on that time in their life. “He was always the observant one, and he could tell I was having a bad day just by looking at me. Somehow, he’d find a way to fix it…so quietly you almost wouldn’t notice.”
“I know what you mean.” I give her a wobbly smile.
“It was funny, over the years there were times he’d sneak out to the lighthouse, and we always wondered what he was doing there.
He put a lock on the door when he used it, so none of us could get in.
One night, I followed him there. When he finally noticed I was behind him, I told him it was too late to turn back.
I didn’t actually think it would work, but it did.
He took me inside and showed me what he’d been hiding. ”
“What was it?” I ask curiously.
“A raven.” She blinks back tears. “It had been injured somehow, and he was nursing it back to health. He’d been doing the same thing with all sorts of creatures over the years, and none of us even knew about it.
But after that, it became our little secret, and he let me help.
Together, we rehabbed orphaned raccoon kits, an owl fledgling, baby squirrels, and too many seagulls to count.
He taught me so much about patience and healing, and honestly, it’s what made me want to go into medicine.
When I told him that, I expected him to push back, because that’s what men in our world always did.
But Cristian just looked at me and said, ‘you’re already halfway there. ’”
I wipe away my silent tears, thinking that sounds exactly like him.
“So anyway.” Mariella blows out a breath.
“I thought long and hard about it because everyone was pressuring our father to choose a name for Cristian. He wasn’t swayed by their suggestions, but I was determined.
So I marched into his office and told him I knew exactly what Cristian was.
My father said he’d hear me out, but I had to tell him why first. So I did.
I explained that Cristian was intelligent.
He learned by observation, and he could solve impossible puzzles.
He noticed everything around him, and he could read people like nobody else.
You had to earn his trust, but once you did, his loyalty was unwavering. ”
“And what did your father say to that?”
“He looked at me, and before I could even tell him myself, he said, ‘Cristian is a raven.’” She laughs.
“I won’t lie, I felt like the sun shined out of my ass that day because I’d managed to convince him.
But it was our little secret. Nobody else ever knew about that conversation. Not even Cristian.”
“Thank you for sharing it with me,” I murmur. “I don’t really feel worthy, but I’m grateful to have another little piece of him.”
“You are worthy,” she answers softly. “You always have been.”
I let out an agonized breath as I squeeze the pillow tighter, realizing that’s probably the first time I’ve ever actually heard those words.
“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Mariella says. “And I get it now.”
I force myself to meet her gaze, afraid of what I might see there.
“You’ve always been so secretive,” she observes. “I never asked because it wasn’t my place, but it didn’t make sense that Ares sent you to me that night. They have their own doctor, so I knew he was hiding something. I guess you weren’t just some woman they picked up off the street.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I admit.
That acknowledgement blankets the room in silence as we both process what it means for our friendship.
“Do you hate me?” I ask finally.
“I could never,” she assures me. “If there’s anyone who understands what it’s like to cross enemy lines, it’s me. When I was sneaking around with Ares, I was convinced my entire family would disown me if they found out. But by the time they did, I think they just felt sorry for me.”
“The uncertainty has been slowly killing me,” I confess.
“Well, I can’t speak for everyone, because I don’t know how they’ll feel about it. But I can promise you that I won’t tell anyone.”
“Really?” I blink at her.
“It’s not my secret to tell.” She shrugs. “I’ve known you for six years, Chantel. I’ve seen you at your lowest, and while I know that most of what Ares does is an elaborate scheme, I trust you aren’t part of that.”
“I’m not,” I swear. “And I don’t know why he did what he did today.”
“He’s definitely up to something,” she agrees. “He doesn’t show his hand without a purpose.”
I feel like she has a suspicion about what he’s planning, but my head hurts too much to think about it. Mariella seems to understand that, because neither of us has really slept.
“You should try to rest.” She gets up. “Cristian would want you to take care of yourself.”
“Do you think he’s coming back?” I whisper.
“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “But if there’s anyone who can do it, it’s him.”
I nod, and she turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway.
“There was one thing I forgot to mention about that raven in the lighthouse,” she says.
“What was it?”
“Cristian left the door open so the bird could decide when it was ready to fly.”
A hollow carves its way through my chest as I recall what he said to me after he revealed himself.
You weren’t ready then.
“I think he left the door open for you too,” Mariella croaks. “Just in case you ever found your way back.”