CHAPTER 22
Dante seemed… strange. His eyes were puffy, and he stared at me with such sadness I almost said I was sorry.
I leave Finn in his cot and go to Dante’s room. The door is open, so I peek inside. He’s half on the bed, half on the floor.
I sigh and shake my head. I shouldn’t help him… right?
I close my eyes for a second before I go in. Getting close, I make sure he’s sleeping. I hope he took one of those weird pills. He always sleeps like a log when he takes them.
I pull off his shoes, then his socks. He groans.
“I shouldn’t even be doing this,” I mumble. “I hope you’re not drunk… or high.”
But he doesn’t smell of liquor or drugs. He smells like Dante.
Like my Dante.
I take off his pants and shirt. His limp body is heavy, but he can’t sleep fully dressed—he doesn't like it.
I try to tug the sheets beneath him, but it’s impossible. I search for a blanket, but I can’t find one.
I take the sheets from the side he isn’t sleeping on, and just as I’m about to cover him, a sharp pang crosses my chest.
He looks so calm and beautiful as he sleeps…
Drawn as if by a magnet, I lie down beside him, stealing the hug I so desperately need from him.
Sometimes I wish I could forget every night we spent together, as I’ve done with most of my memories, but I cling to them because those moments with him were the happiest of my life.
I hug him tightly, tears streaming down my cheeks.
I wish he would wake up and kiss my head. I wish he would wake up and tell me he loves me, that he never wanted to leave.
But he won’t—and even if he did, I wouldn’t believe him.
I study his face. Dark circles shadow his eyes, yet he still looks handsome.
I brush my thumb over his skin, tracing the scars carved into his face.
“How did you get this?” I ask softly.
“Fighting for someone.”
I arch my eyebrows. Maybe that’s why he got the statue. “Was it worth it?” I can’t imagine anyone being okay with ruining their face for someone else.
“Every scar,” he replies without hesitation.
It was for me. Rescuing me.
I trail my hands down his neck, over his tattoos, until I reach the place where I stabbed him.
The stitches on the wound are visible, and a shiver runs down my spine.
I look up at him again, even though his eyes are closed.
Is it wrong if I kiss him?
Yes. It is!
I kissed him the other day, and it didn’t seem to bother him…
Just one. I just need one.
I press my lips against his and scratch his nape.
I wish I could truly hate him. I hate knowing I’m so weak that, if he asked me to crawl, I would. Of course, I’ll resist, but if he finds the right words, if he gets into my heart again… I’ll be back.
I press our foreheads together as I rub his cheek.
Why did he have to ruin everything we had? Why couldn’t he really love me?
“If you do this every night, he’ll go to sleep without complaints,” Greta says from the doorway.
I jump down from the bed, moving away with every step. It hurts my heart, because I don’t want to leave—but I don’t want to take risks either.
Greta looks at me with a smirk.
“I didn’t… he was… I…” I sigh. “Please, don’t tell him.”
She mimics zipping her lips. I head to my room, as if my feet were on fire, wiping my face.
Minutes later, Greta comes too. I blush.
“You do love my son.”
“I love who I thought he was.”
“And what did he do to disappoint you? He never told me.”
I place Finn on the bed with his toys and sit beside him. Greta frowns.
“I shouldn’t say.”
“I want to know so I can understand why you want to hate him so badly.” She shrugs. “Maybe you don’t know the truth… maybe I don’t.”
I sigh. Greta sits in the chair across from us, blocking any chance of leaving without listening.
“He made a deal with my father. He was going to… use my body, and if I didn’t marry someone else, Dante was going to marry me and sell me when he got bored.”
“But that doesn’t make sense.”
“I know. I said—I tried to tell that to my father, but he showed me the messages between him and Dante… they were disgusting. Later, my husband, Stefan, used to show me things Dante did. I tried to call him for almost four months and…” My voice cracks.
“And when… when I finally knew about Finn, when I needed him the most, he sent me a text telling me I was disgusting and to get over it.”
“Oh, dear—”
“I don’t know what you know, but that’s what they told me. Stefan used to call him, even while he…” I wipe my face and shake my head. “I heard him. He forced me to listen. I saw pictures. It was Dante. I know it was him.”
“Maybe you wanted it to be Dante. I don’t think—”
“I trusted him blindly as well… but I saw so much evidence I can’t deny it.” I pause. “I’m sorry. I know you trust your son, but he’s not who he says he is.”
She holds my hand.
“Listen to me, cucciola. Dante is good. I raised him. I know I must sound na?ve, but he’s so good—you can’t imagine what he does.”
“You can’t know! We’re not… we never…”
“I know. I was just like you. My brothers and my father…” She stops, eyeing Finn. “Well, you must know what they did to me. But Francesco’s job was nothing like theirs. Now Dante is the head of his organisation.”
I shake my head.
“You can’t know,” I insist.
“I can. I saw them. Both. I’ve been with them since the beginning.”
She looks at me. Her gaze steady. She’s as brainwashed as I am.
“I know my father isn’t a good man. I don’t know what he does for a living, but I know Dante is much worse. Nothing will make me change my mind.”
“How much worse?”
“They told me he was a human trafficker,” I whisper. “He killed and dismembered my husband in front of me! He was the father of my child! He aimed a loaded gun at me! He even shot me!”
Greta sighs. “I know it looks awful, but I promise you, Dante is not the bad one here. When he was supposed to marry you, he disappeared for four months. The next I knew, he was in the hospital, wounded.”
“They told me he was with someone else. Maybe he got into a fight.”
“No, cucciola. I know my Dante—”
“I thought I knew him too. Yet, he smiled at me on my wedding day… and he left. He left me alone with a husband who beat me and raped me for two years straight, only to come back as if nothing had ever happened. I’m sorry if I see him as the bad one—but I’ve been hurt too much to try again.”
One of Finn’s toys gets stuck in my hair. Greta and I try to untangle it, but Finn won’t stop pulling. Tears sting my eyes; I grab a pair of scissors and cut the lock.
Greta stares at me for a beat, and I quickly hide the scissors on my nightstand. This is the only time I’ve ever cut my hair like that.
“Lana, cucciola,” she insists softly, “I shouldn’t tell you this, but my son has been in love with you ever since he saw you.
I was about to lose him—he was reckless, angry at life, and felt like he had no reason to keep going, and I didn’t know how to help him.
He wanted to die… but he didn’t want to kill himself. ”
“Then one day, he woke up in the hospital and told me, ‘Mom, I found the girl I’m going to marry.’” She pauses.
“Months later, he started remodelling this house so you’d feel comfortable.
He did everything to make sure you’d want to be with him—or even if you didn’t, he would’ve respected it, though he wouldn’t give up. ”
“Yet he left me,” I sentence. Greta doesn’t argue. “I have Finn. I can’t take the risk. I can’t be heartbroken, blind… anything. I need to put my whole attention on my son, not on a relationship.”
She nods. “And I respect that. But maybe… just maybe, you should loosen up a bit. Give him a chance to show you that things aren’t exactly how you think.”
There’s no reason to keep arguing with her. She sees her son as the most wonderful being on earth—like I would see Finn if he ever lied to me. So I just sigh and nod, though I won’t fall again.
“Besides,” she continues, “think about this: if he were worse than your father, would he give you space? Let you live here for free? He hasn’t demanded anything from you, nor has he hurt you. He’s waiting for you to open up, and he’ll wait until you do because he loves and respects you.”
Or because he wants to manipulate you.
Tears prick at my eyes again. Why can’t I just accept what she tells me? Why does that little voice in my head keep warning me away from him?
We sit in silence for a while. A part of me knows she might be right, but I’m too frightened. I hate it. I want to give him a chance without worrying about the consequences—but I can’t. I know I will go nuts if I do, and it will be worse for both of us.
My phone buzzes, but I ignore it. I need to call my mum, though I want to be alone first—especially when I call Tara. I don’t want anyone listening, nor interruptions. We were never able to talk much before, and now I want to seize every moment.
“If you love him, why did you stab him?”
I blush and turn my gaze away from her. I can’t tell her that sometimes everything fades, and before I know it, I’m doing something completely different from what I intended. Sometimes it lasts a second, sometimes minutes. When I was first rescued a couple of years ago, it lasted hours.
“I wanted to escape.”
“And why didn’t you?”
“His security and—”
“We both know that’s not the reason.”
I sigh and meet her grey eyes. They look tired, yet so young. I wonder what she’s been through.
“My heart yearns for him,” I admit, lowering my voice.
“I love him so much it hurts, but my head won’t stop screaming that I’m making a mistake.
I can’t go through all of it again. If Finn weren’t involved, maybe we wouldn’t even be having this conversation—but I won’t risk him because of my desires. ”
She mutters something in Italian so fast I can’t understand, then smiles sadly and nods.
“I understand.” She falls silent for a bit, then sighs and searches for our notebooks. “Enough chatting. Let’s get back to where we left off yesterday.”
My stomach churns. I really want to change things. I hope she doesn’t hate me.