CHAPTER 19
She loves me.
She still loves me.
I’d get stabbed a thousand fucking times if that meant she’d be closer to forgiving me. She’s just too scared and hurt to accept it, but her feelings are still there, hidden.
Her lips taste as good as I remember. I can still feel the warmth of her body. I had her on top of me and reminded her of how good she could feel if she just caved in.
“You must tell her the truth!” Mom demands, as she checks the wound. Snapping, she adds, “I can’t do this; you have to go to the hospital.”
She wipes it with a cloth soaked in water. I complain aloud. I want to take the fucking knife out.
“I told her part of it,” I grit my teeth. “She won’t listen; I can’t force her—”
“If you can force her to be home, you can force her to listen.”
“It’s not that easy, Mom.”
She sighs. Bending down, she holds my face in her hands. They’re cold but soft as usual.
“If I’m honest, it’ll destroy her,” I say calmly. “She’ll try to leave. I’d prefer for her to hate me here than to be out of my reach. I need to look after them.”
She runs her hand through my hair and looks up at me again with her grey eyes. Since Dad died, they don’t shine the same.
“I can’t lose you too.”
I sigh and shake my head.
“You won’t. Trust me.” I hold one of her hands and caress it. “I know what I’m doing and why I’m doing it.” And with a smile, to soothe her, I add, “Besides, I’ve been more successful than Dad when he was my age.”
She touches the scar on my cheek. This time, I do pull away from her. She doesn’t need to remember the first time I got injured after a rescue.
“I’m not a child anymore.”
“You act like one since you found that girl.” She stands up. “You need to get your priorities straight because everything you’re doing—”
“It’s for them.”
“Everything you are doing is wrong. You’re acting on impulse, and your father used to say—”
“That I must hide my emotions when it comes to external cases, not when they involve my family.”
We both knew two very different versions of the same man. The Francesco she knew was a strategist, always calm and calculating. The one I knew gave his life for his son in a heartbeat.
Mom follows me down the stairs.
“Francesco would never—”
“Dad didn’t want me to tell you... but he killed everyone.”
I look up at her from the bottom step. A memory flashes across her face, and she takes two steps back.
“He didn’t… What did he say? Who...”
“I don’t know who they were; I never asked. But he said they hurt you, and that was the only time he lost control. He did everything he could to keep you safe, impulsive or not. And he did it because he loved you...”
She presses a hand to her heart and closes her eyes.
“That stubborn man... he could have told me!”
I smile sadly.
Despite his attempts to appear emotionless, his mask always fell when they were alone together.
For the first few years under his care, I thought he didn’t love Mom at all—until I turned twelve.
She was cooking, talking about her work, while Dad looked at her with an adoration I had never seen in his eyes.
When I started working with him, I stayed close, watching his every move.
I gave him a lot of trouble for my impulsive behaviour, so one day, while we were coming back home, he told me about the one time he lost control.
Mom had come home hurt; he didn’t tell me why, but he did tell me how he took care of the pricks who beat her and how grateful he was that he had saved his fire for that moment.
“There is nothing more important than family, Dante,” he told me later. “I would do anything for both of you, but we also must know when to strike. We can’t let our emotions cloud our judgement, but if they do… then we must make it worth it.”
Then, like every time we started a rescue, he pulled a picture out of his vest, kissed it with his eyes closed, and put it back where it belonged.
The day he died, he gave it one last kiss and placed it on his chest. Only then he stopped breathing.
“He would have done anything to keep you safe, Mom,” I continue. “I’ll do the same for Lana. She’s been through enough, and I can’t let her suffer again.”
She purses her lips and nods.
“Just be careful. You can’t protect anyone from the grave.”
I shake my head and open the front door.
“They won’t take me away from them. Not again.”
Alonso waits for me in the car. I open the back-seat door and make sure I don’t move the knife too much as I settle in.
I hate this kind of wound.
I pull my wallet out of my trousers and look at the pictures I keep in there.
One is Lana and me, a few days before the wedding, fooling around with each other, smiling; the other is a picture of Mom and Dad.
Aurora took it during her wedding and gave it to him.
They didn’t accept her feelings until about two years later, but even then, it shows how much he loved her.
It’s the same one he kissed the day he died, and I haven’t let go of it since.
I couldn’t save my father. I will not make the same mistake with my family.