Death Bliss
The draft from the open vault door reaches the flame, and the flame bends once, twice, and then it is gone, and the chapel is dark, and the ledger sits in its hidden cavity beneath the granite altar stone, and the pages are still open to the authorization code that will burn the Armenise syndicate to the ground.
Domenico sets the notebook on the writing desk by the window. He does not let go of my jaw. His other hand finds my hip, and the touch is deliberate and slow, the same deliberate slowness he brought to our second night, the slowness of a man who has decided that urgency is for people who do not know what they want. He knows what he wants. I know what I want. The knowing is terrifying