Chapter 15 Grace
GRACE
Idon’t know what’s come over me.
I barely recognize myself when he’s around me. He has a way of clouding my judgment and morphing all the thoughts in my head.
We look at each other for a moment.
The attraction between us is a living, breathing thing, but I can’t keep getting carried away by it.
“You said that you would take me to see Sarah,” I say, lifting my chin.
“The villa isn’t far from here,” he says. “Let’s go.”
He walks out of the restaurant, expecting me to follow him.
My cheeks burn with rage and mortification when I see the restaurant staff huddled outside.
Dante and I don’t exchange another word as I sit behind him on his red Vespa.
He drives through narrow streets lined with pastel houses and bursts of bougainvillea.
But the sweetness from earlier this morning has been washed away, leaving behind notes of bitterness.
It feels like there's a cloud hanging above me, blocking out all the sunshine.
I thought this man could be a friend, but he's just another person who sees me as a pawn.
And even though we’re still very much strangers, it feels like a betrayal.
A few minutes later, we pass through the gates of an opulent seaside mansion.
Men in black uniforms surround the whole property. Even the air itself is different, like it still holds the echoes of the violence that once took place here. The walls are a pristine white, but I have a feeling that if I were to peel back the layers, I would find stains of red.
I know houses like these.
I grew up in one.
I descend from the Vespa, but I can’t bring myself to move.
My feet are frozen to the ground. I can't even form a single thought as my heart starts to race.
"What's wrong?" Dante asks, instantly noticing the shift in my energy. He comes to stand before me, blocking my view of the house.
I focus on him.
It doesn't help. Looking at him only reminds me of everything that's to come—a marriage I don't have a choice in, a life I don't want, a future written by someone else.
The air in my lungs remains suspended.
"Talk to me, Grace," he says.
I lower my eyes and shake my head. I couldn't speak even if I wanted to.
He watches me for a moment, then glances at the house.
"Is it something about the house?" he asks.
I start to hyperventilate now. All of the memories I try to keep buried push to the surface—the children in the dungeon, the skeletons of the prisoners who wasted away in the cells, my mother's wicked heart.
Nothing is right in the world.
Nothing.
"You're having a panic attack," he says, reaching for my hand. He squeezes it in his. "How can I help?"
I shake my head and try to push him away. He doesn't let me.
“Have you heard of box breathing?" he asks.
His voice. It’s so gentle, so kind. It's everything I've been deprived of my whole life.
I look up at him. He's standing so close to me. The simple act of looking into his eyes awakens something dormant inside me.
"It's a breathing technique," he says. "You can use it to regulate your nervous system."
My gaze drops to his lips. I'm pretty sure his accent just switched for a second there. It seems to come out whenever he's agitated.
"Inhale for a count of four, hold for four seconds, exhale for four, and hold again," he says. "Do it with me, little bird."
His hands hold mine reverently. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he actually cares about me.
I let him guide me. We inhale and exhale as one. He doesn't take his eyes off me, not even for a second. It feels like I've stepped through a portal and entered a world where it's just the two of us.
"Are you feeling better?" He searches my eyes once more.
I nod.
“I’m assuming you don't want to go inside the house?" he asks.
I shake my head.
“That’s alright,” he says. “I can have Sarah brought out here.”
He makes a call. Two minutes later, Sarah walks out of the front doors with two armed bodyguards trailing her. When she sees me, she breaks out into a run.
Her frail body crashes into mine. I wrap my arms around her and hold her close.
"Grace, it's so good to see you," she whispers against my hair.
"How are you?" I pull away to study her face for any signs of distress.
"I'm well," she says. "I slept like a baby for the first time in years. I almost forgot what peace felt like."
Dante excuses himself to speak to his men. Sarah watches him go.
“He saved my life,” she says.
She's got it all wrong. Kindness always comes at a cost in our world, and only fools believe otherwise. But I don't want to be the one to burst her bubble.
“There’s more to him than what meets the eye,” I say.
She watches me curiously. “You like him, don’t you?”
“It’s not like that,” I say.
“I think you can trust him, Grace,” she says. “I’ve seen what real evil looks like. And Mr. Mancini is one of the good ones.”
I look at him now.
I really wanted to believe that. But…I don’t know.
I don’t know anything anymore.