“You don’t know what you’re choosing.”
“I do.” I glance at Dafne’s shape under the sheet, then back at him. “I really do, and I wish I could say good luck and just get on a plane, but I’m not going to.”
He takes the hand I’ve laid on his chest and kisses my knuckles before closing his eyes and resting his chin on them.
“You’re going to make me crazy.” He opens his eyes. “Let Connor drive you back to the safe house. Please. I’ll be there when I’m done.”
When he’s done.
I know what that means, and I won’t offer approval or condemnation.
I try to go around him, but he takes me by the wrist, stopping me. I don’t fight him, because he won’t trap me for long, and he won’t hurt me. I know it from the love in his expression.
Staying with him doesn’t mean being his shadow or witnessing his barbarity.
“What you do with Henry…” I shake my head and let my hand drop away from his. “That’s up to you. But I think that greenhouse has seen more than enough suffering.”
He grabs my wrist again before I’m out of reach. “I’ll always do everything in my power to protect you. Always everything.”
I nod instead of saying I’ll always do everything in my power to stay with him.
Always. Everything.
Willa gets into the back seat with me, claiming she needs the lift. I don’t believe her. Dario didn’t ask her to watch me, but I guess he didn’t need to.
“You okay?” she asks when we’re on the road. Connor’s in the front, and the car is so big he seems as if he’s in another room, but she speaks quietly. “That was a lot.”
“It was.” I’m not sure if she means the condition of Dafne’s body or seeing Henry zip-tied to a shelving unit. One would have been a lot. Both is overwhelming. “I don’t know how he doesn’t carry this around with him every day.”
“He does.” She doesn’t have to ask who I’m talking about. “Trust me, he does.”
“Do you think he’ll ever stop?”
“I don’t know if he can.” She takes out her phone and looks at the lock screen for longer than it would take to check the time. “Dario and I could have been something. I couldn’t do it until he let all that go, and he laughed at me. Literally laughed. He said, ‘I’m not cutting off my dick for you.’ There was no point arguing. If a man thinks his masculinity is eating nickels, you either leave him or learn to love digging money out of shit.”
“No,” I say decisively. “I don’t agree.”
She looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “With what?”
“I won’t learn to love it. And I won’t give up on him. He saved me, and I’m going to save him.”
“Good luck.” Shaking her head, she opens her phone. “If anyone can fix that hot mess, it’s you.”
There’s not much confidence in her statement of confidence.
She’s looking at her phone, so I take out mine.
There’s a notification. When I open it, I find a message from Massimo’s number.
—That day he took you, Grandma
said you’d never turn on us.
She’s always right—
—Just please say you’re safe—
<VOICE MSG>
Leaving Massimo’s texts unanswered was easy, but now there’s a voice message, which I don’t know how to access. It’s probably exactly what it sounds like, and more of the same.
Do I really not know how to access a voice message? Or do I not want to figure it out for myself?
Scroll. Select. Press OK.
That was easier than I thought it would be.
I press the triangle that means play on the kitchen stereo and put the phone to my ear. It works. My brother’s voice comes through.
Hey, Goody. It’s me. Massi. Listen. You have to hear this from me, in my voice. I want you to know that no matter what you think you saw on Armistice Night, it’s not what it looked like. It was all a show for Lucari. We figured if we made like we didn’t need you, he’d lose some of his leverage. You know? Like, if a man don’t know the value of what he has, he doesn’t really have it. And Dad said it’d come out in the wash after…(pause) anyways, I can’t stand that we made you think none of us care. We care, aright? We care a lot. Hang tight and when shit gets scary—hide. (pause) All right. I love you. We love you. Bye.
“Sarah?” It’s Willa. I forgot I was in the car with her. “Are you all right?”
I nod and close the phone. She swipes it from me before I can get it into my pocket.
“Hey!”
“What did he say to you?” she says, phone behind her back. “He’s got a hurtful mouth on him, and I can teach you to make him wish he never opened it.”
“No, it’s… please give it back.” I hold out my hand. “Please. I mean it.”
Reluctantly, she places the phone in it.
“Don’t you cry over him,” she says. “I see tears coming and don’t you deny it.”
“I’m fine.” I’m obviously anything but fine, and I should let her believe the message is from Dario and that he was careless and cruel. But just as Massimo couldn’t let me think my family didn’t care about me, I can’t let Willa believe Dario caused the tears I’m holding back. “It’s someone else.”
“What is it then?”
I shoot a look toward the driver’s seat, then the rearview mirror. Connor doesn’t seem to be watching us, but he has ears.
I speak as softly as I can. “Do you think there will ever be a truce?”
She scoffs. “As soon as one side asks for a truce, the other side thinks they’re winning. No one asks for peace when they’re on top.”
“I guess not.” I look out the window, watching the world pass by.
“I’ve seen some smart, shrewd, strong women through this,” Willa says. “Of all of them, you’re the most dangerous. All the others wanted out. Worked for it. None of them had Dario’s hands on them. None even spent more than an hour with him. None knew why we do this. But your circumstance means you know more and less than you think you do.”
“I know everything now.” I shudder, thinking of Dafne.
“You don’t, but you know the stakes. You know what he’s fighting for and against.”
I nod, running my thumb over the edge of the phone.
I have to assume Massimo knows about Dafne. More than that, I have to assume he knows she was hollowed, and that it’s real, and it’s now. Not some ancient, forgotten practice. I want to call him back right now and ask him, but I also don’t want to know. I want to keep loving my big brother.
“Sarah,” Willa says sharply to direct my focus back to her, then drops her voice again. “Who messaged you?”
“No one.” I cover the phone and its shameful truths.
“You said it wasn’t Dario. Who is it?”
The secret of the texts is unbearable, and the voice message has made it harder to hold. I don’t know what to do about any of it. I don’t know how Massimo knows my number or what to make of his words.