Chapter 25
ANGELICA
Iwake to the weight of Sofia sprawled diagonally across the bed.
One of her legs is flung over my hip.
Her arm stretches across Dante's chest.
She's stolen most of the blanket and wrapped herself in it like a burrito.
She must've come in during the night and climbed between us without either of us noticing, and I think how providential it was for me to insist that we put on clothing before dozing off.
Dante's still asleep.
His face is relaxed and he's at peace.
The tension that usually lives in his jaw has smoothed out.
His breathing is deep and even and Sofia's head rests in the crook of his shoulder while his hand is curled protectively around her back.
I watch them for a moment and commit the image to memory.
My daughter and her father.
The man I confessed to loving last night, who told me he'd never loved anyone until Sofia broke him open.
It's a sacred moment I know I'll never get to relive again, but it will live forever in my mind and I am okay with that now.
I ease myself out of bed carefully so I don't wake either of them because it's too precious of a sight to disrupt, and I grab one of Dante's robes from the back of his bathroom door before slipping out and down the stairs in search of coffee.
The kitchen is spotless and empty.
Marta hasn't arrived yet to start her day.
I move through the space and pull out the coffee tin from the cabinet above the sink where Dante insisted I store the gift he gave me.
It smells heavenly as I measure grounds into the moka pot and set it on the stove.
He'd like me to use the fancy brewing machine, but I prefer this way because it's all I've ever known.
And some things, even though easier or more luxurious, aren't necessarily better.
While I wait for the coffee to brew, I lean against the counter and look around.
This kitchen has become familiar over the past few weeks.
I know where Marta keeps the good flour.
I know which drawer holds the measuring spoons.
I know that the third burner on the stove runs hotter than the others.
These aren't things a guest would know.
These are things someone who lives here would notice.
A week ago, I'd have been upset by this or even disgusted that I know Dante's house this way.
Hell, I know his body like this now too, and instead of frightening me, it makes me smile.
I turn and watch the stove top where the pot starts to hiss and bubble, then pour the coffee into a cup and add a splash of milk from the refrigerator.
Then I sit at the counter and wrap my hands around the warm ceramic.
The steam rises and I breathe it in.
Such a divine scent, though I have to let it rest a second before sipping or I'll scald my tongue.
Footsteps on the stairs make me look up.
Dante appears in the doorway wearing only the pants he had on last night.
His hair is messy from sleep.
Sofia is perched on his hip with her arms around his neck.
She's still half asleep and clinging to him like a koala, her little head perched on his shoulder, and she has sleepy eyes.
"She woke up and couldn't find you," he says. "She was about to panic until I told her you were down here."
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake either of you."
"It's fine. I needed to get up anyway."
He sets Sofia on the counter stool next to where I'm sitting then bends down to kiss my forehead.
She immediately leans against my shoulder and closes her eyes again.
I stroke her hair and she makes a small, contented sound.
Dante surprises me as he pulls out bread and jam.
He finds peanut butter in the refrigerator then toasts the bread and spreads it thick with jam and butter and cuts it into strips the way Sofia likes.
He sets the plate in front of her without asking if she's hungry.
It's such a warm gesture, it almost brings tears to my eyes and I can't articulate why.
She opens her eyes and picks up a strip.
"Thank you," she says before yawning.
"You're welcome, Tesoro, eat up."
I watch him as he walks back toward the stove and chuckles briefly as he takes out a mug.
His back is chiseled muscle that makes me swoon a little.
He pours himself coffee and leans against the counter across from us, watching Sofia take the first few bites of food.
He's handsome like this, fatherly, domestic, disheveled. I like it.
"I'll be gone most of the day," he says.
His eyes meet mine over the rim of his cup. "Finalizing a deal that should put the business back in order before Christmas."
I understand what he means without his having to say it directly and I'm grateful he’s wise enough to understand that Sofia doesn't need to be exposed to details.
Though, being reminded of his exact plan would reassure me.
Still, I can't control any of it anyway.
At some point, I just have to trust him.
"Will you be back for dinner?" I ask.
"I'll try. But don't wait for me if it gets late."
Sofia swallows her bite of toast. "Where are you going?"
"I have meetings," Dante says. "Boring business things that would put you to sleep."
"Can I come with you, Papa?" she asks, and I watch his eyebrows draw together as the words touch his heart.
I imagine it feels very touching to hear her call him that.
It doesn't cause the same painful recoil in my chest this time either, so we're making progress.
"Not today. But maybe another time."
She pouts but doesn't argue.
She's learned over the past few weeks that when Dante says no, he means it.
There's no point in pushing.
I take a sip of coffee and try to keep my voice steady. "Be careful."
He looks at me and something passes between us—an understanding that goes beyond words.
He knows I'm not just telling him to drive safely or watch the weather.
I'm telling him to come back alive.
To survive whatever happens today so we can have tomorrow.
"I will," he says. "I give you my word."
Sofia finishes her toast and slides off the stool.
"I'm going to play with my doll."
"Stay upstairs," I tell her. "Don't go outside without telling me first."
"Okay, Mama," she calls as she runs out of the kitchen and her footsteps fade as she climbs the stairs.
Dante and I are alone now, left to the awkward silence between us because everything has changed in such a short time and neither of us knows what to do with that.
He sets his coffee cup down and moves around the counter to stand beside me.
His hand rides the small of my back while he breathes in the scent of my hair.
"Christmas is in five days," he says.
"I know."
"Sofia's been talking about presents, about what Santa might bring."
"She always does this. She gets so excited she can barely sleep the week before." I smile softly, focusing on the ache I feel for him to not go and not put himself in danger.
I'm no fool.
If he doesn't finish this, we'll never be free, but God, do I want him to stay home and not go fight those bastards.
"What does she want?" he asks, and I know he's just trying to distract me.
He can probably see the worry on my face.
"Everything. But mostly, she wants the people she loves to be happy."
I lift my eyes and meet his gaze, hoping he'll realize what I'm saying.
That I want him to be happy too.
He's quiet for a moment, then he says, "What do you want?"
The question catches me off guard.
"For Christmas?" I ask, feeling a bit puzzled.
"Yes."
A month ago, I'd have said I want nothing more than to go home and return to my mundane, safe life where I interpret and translate for my clients and Sofia has sleepovers and play dates with kids from school.
But now the answer's different.
"I want this to work," I say. "I want you to come back tonight. I want to wake up on Christmas morning with Sofia running into your room to see if Santa came. I want to watch her open presents while you drink coffee and pretend to be surprised by everything she gets."
Tears well up in my eyes as I think about the reality that there's a chance he doesn't come home at all.
That we end up alone and running for the rest of our lives.
"That's specific."
"I've had a lot of time to think about what normal looks like."
"And that's your version of normal? Me drinking coffee while Sofia opens presents?"
He chuckles and pulls me against his body, and I rest my hand on his chest.
"Yes. That's exactly what I want."
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
"Then that's what you'll get."
Oh, God, how I wish he could promise that and keep it, but life isn't up to us.
Chance and fate weave a cruel web for us sometimes and there's nothing we can do to evade it.
Sometimes, it turns out for the good, like my being here and falling in love with him.
And other times, not so much…
"I'll need to go to Naples at some point," I say. "To get my things. To quit my job officially. To tell my landlord I'm moving."
Dante's hand cups my chin and he forces me to look up at him.
There's a sense of wonder in his eyes that makes me smile.
"You're staying?"
"Did you think I wouldn't after last night?"
"I hoped. But I didn't want to assume."
"I'm staying. Sofia's staying. This is where we live now." I stop and hold my breath for a moment before adding, "That is, if you want us…"
Dante leans down and claims my lips in a searing kiss so powerful it has him growling against my mouth, and I get the feeling that if Sofia weren’t able to run right back in as easily as she left, he'd have me on this table right now.
"You make me the happiest man alive," he says against my mouth.
"Just stay that way," I warn. "Alive, I mean."
After chuckling for a moment, he continues. "When do you want to go to Naples?" he asks.
"After Christmas. After whatever happens today is finished. I'll need a few days to pack and handle everything."
"I'll send people with you. You won't go alone."
"I figured."
He cups my face in his hands and leans down to kiss me again.
And this time, the kiss is soft but brief before he says, "I love you."
"I love you too."
He pulls back and studies my face like he's trying to memorize it.
Then he turns and walks out of the kitchen.
I hear him climb the stairs to change.
I hear the shower turn on, the sounds of a man preparing for a day that could end with him dead or triumphant.
I finish my coffee and rinse the cup.
Then I clean up the breakfast dishes and wipe down the counter.
The routine tasks keep my hands busy and my mind from spiraling into worst case scenarios.
Dante comes back downstairs twenty minutes later dressed in dark clothes that make him look every inch the criminal he is.
He carries a jacket over one arm and he stops in the kitchen doorway and looks at me.
He's terrifyingly sexy and he's all mine.
And there isn't a thing I wouldn’t do for him now.
"I'll call when I can," he says.
"Okay."
"If something happens, Rico knows what to do. He'll make sure you and Sofia are protected."
"Nothing's going to happen," I say halfheartedly, but that little voice in my head says, Never say never.
"But if it does…."
"I know. Rico will handle it."
He nods and walks toward the front door, and I follow him and Sofia appears at the top of the stairs.
She runs down and throws herself at Dante's legs and he catches her and lifts her into his arms.
"Be good for your mother," he says.
"I will. Will you bring me something?"
"Maybe. If you're very good."
She grins and he sets her down.
Then he looks at me one more time.
His expression is tense but his eyes say everything he can't put into words.
He loves me.
He's going to fight like hell for us.
And if he doesn't come back, he will make sure we're cared for.
He opens the door and walks out.
I stand in the doorway with Sofia beside me.
We watch him get into the car with Enzo.
We watch the car pull through the gates and disappear down the street.
Sofia takes my hand and squeezes it and then runs back upstairs to play.
I stay in the doorway for a moment longer and look at the empty street beyond the gates.
The house doesn't feel like a prison anymore, partly because I’m free to do as I please, but mostly because I choose to stay here.
I've come to realize I can never take the beast out of a man like Dante, but I can hope that one day, he will walk away from the beast he's been imprisoned by.
I close the door and lock it.
Then I walk upstairs to check on Sofia.
She's in her room arranging her dolls in a circle, humming a Christmas carol and making up stories about what each doll is saying.
I lean against the doorframe and watch her.
She's happy here, thriving in ways she didn't in Naples.
She has a father who loves her and stability—a home that's bigger than two cramped rooms and a kitchen that doubles as a living space.
This is what I've been trying to give her since the day she was born, and now she has it even if it came in a way I never expected.
It's unconventional the way Dante and I met or the circumstances under which Sofia was conceived, but we're no less a family than anyone else.
Except my partner is a dangerous man who puts himself in dangerous positions and may not come home at any given moment.
It's something I can't quite wrap my mind around but regardless, it's something I have to learn to live with.
Dante and I won't ever have the same relationship as a normal couple, but as long as he comes home to me, that's all that matters.
It's what I have to focus on.
And now, I'll grab my rosary and pray.
Because if he doesn't survive this test for Kemal, I may not survive losing him.