LOGINAndrea's POV"Yes," I said. And the word came out steady and certain, because it didn't feel like a lie. It didn't feel like a lie at all. "Yes. I'm his family. Please — how is he? Is he going to be alright? Please tell me he's going to be alright."She gave me a small, steadying nod — the kind that let a little of the terror drain out of me before she'd even spoken. "He's stable. And I want you to hear that first, because it's the most important thing. He was very lucky, all things considered. When he came in we were concerned about internal bleeding, and that's always the real danger in a head-on impact like his — but the scans came back clear. No internal bleeding. That was the thing we were most afraid of, and he doesn't have it."The relief hit me so hard and so fast that my knees actually gave a little, and I had to brace my hand against the glass to keep myself upright. Air went into my lungs — real air, a full breath — for what felt like the first time since my mother had turn
Andrea's POVHe's going to be okay, I told myself, and the words came in his voice — his exact voice, from a car speeding toward a different hospital on a different terrible night, when it had been my turn to fall apart and his turn to hold the two of us together. He has to be okay. You're going to get on a plane, and you're going to go to him, and you're going to be right there in that room when he opens his eyes.I would not let myself finish the other thought. The one waiting just behind it. The one about how I would go on, how I could possibly go on, if he wasn't okay. If the very last time I ever saw him was drunk and broken and asleep in the wreck of that apartment. If I never got to watch those dark eyes open one more time. If I never got the chance to tell him, out loud, to his face, awake — the thing I'd only ever been brave enough to text him from a runway.I couldn't go there. I wouldn't. Because I knew that if I let myself fall into that particular dark I would never get b
Andrea's POV"I have to go back." I was already turning, already reaching blindly for my phone on the counter, my hands going numb and stupid. "I have to go back to New York. Right now. I have to be there, Mum, I have to —""Andrea, wait — there's more. Listen to me a second." She caught my arm, gently but firmly, holding me still. "Dahlia's gone into labor. About two hours ago now. That's the other reason Luca's been calling and calling."I stopped moving entirely.It was all happening at once. All of it. Dante in a hospital bed somewhere. Dahlia bringing her baby into the world. The whole axis of my life spinning out from under me in the span of a single stolen afternoon, while I'd lain there useless and dead to the world in my childhood bed, an entire ocean away from every person I loved.I got my phone turned on and it lit up with a whole stacked column of missed calls, every one of them Luca, one after another after another. My hands were trembling so violently I could barely mak
Andrea's POVThe flight back was one of the longest of my life.I couldn't settle into it at all. I couldn't read, couldn't watch anything, couldn't make my mind go quiet for even a minute. There was a bad feeling lodged deep in my chest and it refused to shift no matter what I did — a heavy, cold, wrong feeling, sitting right in the center of me like a stone dropped into still water, sending out ripples I couldn't calm.I kept trying to talk myself out of it. It's just the leaving, I told myself. Just the grief of it, the finality, the goodbye I'd sent from the runway with my thumb shaking over the screen. Of course my chest hurt. I'd just wrenched myself away from the man I loved and confessed everything to him on my way out of his life. Anyone would ache after that. Anyone would feel hollow and strange and off-balance.But it didn't feel like grief. That was the thing I couldn't get past. I knew grief by now — I'd been living inside its walls for two whole months, I knew every corn
Dante’s POVBecause I'd told myself, all this time, that I was doing the brave thing. The hard, selfless, loving thing—cutting her loose so she could be free of me and my blood and my ghosts. I'd worn that story like armor. It was the only thing that had let me get through a single one of these gray endless days.But sitting there with her words in my hand—I love you, I'm tired of it being a secret, you were loved all the way—I finally understood the truth of what I'd done.She'd been braver than me the whole time. Every second of it. She'd loved me out loud and I'd hidden. She'd said the words and I'd run. She hadn't been afraid of loving me. I'd been afraid of loving her, and I'd dressed my cowardice up as protection and called it noble, and now she was thirty thousand feet in the air, saying goodbye, and I was sitting alone in the wreckage I'd made of my own life with her eyes tattooed over my heart.I looked down at my chest. At the healing ink there. At her eyes, looking back up
Dante’s POVI woke up in my bed with the sun coming through the window.It was too bright. Slanting in high and hard, the kind of light that means the morning's long gone. Almost midday, I figured, from the angle of it. My mouth was dry as sand and my head was splitting, a deep ugly pounding behind my eyes that made me squint against the light and immediately regret being awake at all.For a moment I just lay there, trying to figure out how I'd gotten here.Then the flashes started coming.The shower. I remembered the shower. Standing under the water with my clothes still on, letting it run and run because I couldn't make myself do anything else. The whisky before that. The mirror—I closed my eyes. The mirror.I lifted my hands and looked at them, and they were bandaged. Both of them. Clean white gauze wrapped careful and neat around my knuckles, the kind of job you can't do drunk and one-handed. I stared at them, trying to make sense of it, and I couldn't remember doing it.And then
Dahlia’s POVI smiled through my tears, my chest aching in that soft, painful way that comes from loving someone too much. Yes, I wanted him to remember. I wanted him to wake up one day and look at me the way he used to, with recognition and certainty.But even if he didn’t…Even if the memories ne
Dahlia’s POVI spent the afternoon in my painting room, alone with my thoughts. The sunlight coming through the big window made everything warm and soft, but my mind wasn’t focused on my brushes or the half-finished painting. It kept drifting back to last night—Luca’s hands on my skin, the way he w
Dahlia’s POVThe man’s knees gave out. He fell forward, trembling. “Please! Please don’t— I didn’t know, I swear! I didn’t mean—”Luca’s voice was cold and steady. “You saw her ring. You saw her guards. And you still touched her.”He took one slow step closer, his arm never wavering. The crowd arou
Dahlia’s POVWhen we got back to the mansion, it was quiet. Most of the lights were already off, and the guards nodded as Luca led me inside. My heart was still racing from everything that had happened that night—the club, the stars, the kiss, all of it felt like a dream I didn’t want to end.Luca







