CHAPTER 42
Dante has shown no sign of life.
Ever since his last call a week ago, I haven’t been able to calm down. I check my phone every ten minutes and fall asleep in his room, hoping he’ll come back and find me there.
Will it always be like this if I stay with him?
He told me he can’t call because they might trace him, find him—whatever it is he does out there. If he doesn’t return after a month, I’m supposed to forget him. But I refuse to even let that possibility settle in my mind.
I had just given in. I can’t lose him again.
Javier has been trying to keep me sane this past week. After self-defence classes, he drags me to the mall to “distract” me. His idea of distraction, though, is letting me buy whatever I want while he stays silent, scanning our surroundings, so he’s not much help. I don’t like to go shopping.
Finn stays at home with Greta. I feel guilty leaving him with her, but she insists it’s fine, not a problem.
I’ve been on automatic mode for the past seven days. I accept all of Greta’s help just to drown in my anxiety without feeling like a bad mum. The only time I’m fully present is when I put Finn to sleep.
I’m terrified.
It’s been a week today. And here I am, in Dante’s room, biting my nails, with Finn asleep beside me, where Dante should be.
It’s midnight. I don’t want to sleep. My nightmares are too vivid—memories of things I’ve already lived through, only now Dante and Finn are in them, making everything so much worse.
I don’t care if he’s a killer. I don’t care how dangerous he is, if everything he’s told me is a lie, or if I still don’t know his true intentions.
I care.
I need him.
I need to kiss him, hold him, and start over. We both need to return to those months when we first fell in love.
He can’t die now. Not now that I’ve finally been willing to come back to him.
Tears sting my eyes as my phone stays silent on the nightstand. No new messages. No missed calls. Nothing.
I’ve thought about calling him, but what if he doesn’t answer? It would feel worse than this waiting. Or worse—what if I distract him and something happens?
The door opens. My heart pounds, then drops when it’s only Greta, slipping in with a cup of tea like she does every night.
“Cucciola…”
“He hasn’t called,” I whisper.
“Sometimes he takes longer. Maybe there was a problem with his flight.”
“He would have called me… wouldn’t he?”
She sets the cup on the bedside table with a sigh. Then she sits beside me, her warm hand closing over mine.
“Dante won’t leave you that easily,” she says softly. “No one can kill death, credimi.”38
I nod reluctantly. My chest tightens, and my stomach twists. Something feels wrong, and I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to know if I’m right. I’ve always told myself it was just my anxiety speaking. Nothing’s wrong. It can’t be.
Greta pats my back. Just as she’s about to leave, I grab the sleeve of her nightgown.
She raises her eyebrows at me. I swallow hard.
“You… your husband… he did the same thing, didn’t he? How… how did you calm down? How did you trust him enough not to… be this paranoid?”
She smiles sadly and sits back down, holding my hand.
“When I was younger, I didn’t care much about his job,” she begins slowly. “I thought Francesco was an immortal god.
“We got married when I was fifteen. He was twenty-five, just starting out in all this—but I hated him… so I was never interested in his work.”
“Hated him?”
She laughs softly.
“I despised him… he was so much older than me, and I thought he hated me too. Besides, we spent our wedding night together, and he didn’t sleep with me—bastardo… he left me all alone!”
“Why?”
“Because he respected our age difference,” she huffs.
“He didn’t want to do anything; he saw me as a child…
I practically forced him our first night because our families demanded proof, or they would have married me off to someone else.
” She shakes her head. “I didn’t know how to be a wife, and he wouldn’t talk to me…
I thought I was doing something wrong. We slept in separate bedrooms, and I was at school, so even though I was married, I felt like a child. ”
“What changed?”
“We never really knew,” she admits with a shrug. “It wasn’t like I suddenly came of age, and everything changed… but he stopped seeing me as a naive child. I stopped being one, too.
“I understood the situation we were in. We were friends. I introduced him as my big brother whenever I met someone.” A small laugh escapes her. “Years later, I discovered that jealousy consumed him every time I did that.”
Her eyes sparkle as she talks about her husband. I wish I had known him… perhaps he could have shed some light on all this for me.
“One day, he came home exhausted from work. I had never seen him dirty, dishevelled, or smeared with blood. I was terrified, thinking it was his own, so I rushed to help him… But it was the blood of a little girl he couldn’t save.
“That day, he revealed what his job truly entailed. I comforted him, and before I knew it, we were kissing like two lovesick teenagers… I don’t know what changed that night, but it remains one of the happiest moments of my life.”
My stomach twists. It breaks my heart to think about how she dealt with such loss.
“Never, on any other day, did he return home in a bad state. He always concealed his emotions, even from me, but he always showed his love.
“When I asked about his work, he spoke only about the people he rescued; he never mentioned loss, injury, or death… I lived for years in a perfect bubble where he was a god, untouchable by anyone.
“And then, on our thirtieth anniversary, he didn’t come… I knew something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones.
“I slept on the couch, waiting for him and Dante. They were working together on a rescue… I thought that if I heard the door open, I would feel relief, but instead, the pain grew, and the truth hit me.
“Dante came home with his body,” her voice cracks.
“I cried non-stop for days… I wouldn’t eat; I wouldn’t get out of bed.
Dante left home, and I felt lost. I caused him a lot of emotional stress.
” She wipes away some tears. “I went to work at the shelter… I took care of little girls. Dante focused on training. He kept blaming himself for his death.”
“But it wasn’t his fault. He can’t save everyone.”
Greta shakes her head.
“But my son is as stubborn as a mule and won’t let go of the thought,” she sighs, wiping her eyes.
“Since that day, I’ve lived in fear that Dante might die.
I know it’s something he’s passionate about.
It was also something his father loved. If Francesco didn’t die earlier, it was because he was watching over us…
because he wanted to look after us until the end.
And so he did. He died protecting his son. ”
“If Dante is following in his footsteps, then they won’t be able to harm him, because the two of you are the most important things in his life.”
“Did you completely trust his abilities?” my voice barely a whisper.
She nods. “Until the end. I never doubted him one bit, just as I never doubted Dante. They may not share blood, but they share a passion and a life together. My son will not be easily defeated.”
A shiver runs down my spine, and my heart aches.
I hope I can trust as she does.
Notes:
38.Trust me.