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From the inner pocket of my half-buttoned shirt, I pull out Donna’s card. Her name is scribbled in red ink, looping, seductive. There’s probably a kiss mark on the back. I stare at it for three seconds longer than I should.

Then I toss it in the trash.

I take a long drag of smoke and lean back, watching the sun creep across the ceiling.

Chapter Twenty – Lunetta

Enzo says my name again and I blink out of the fog in my head.

“Lunetta,” he repeats, already holding the car door open.

I try to smile. “Sorry,” I whisper, letting him help me in.

My legs still feel strange. There’s a tugging pain low in my back when I bend.

Behind us, Alfio snorts to his brother. “You sure you don’t want to get her a feather pillow too?”

“I’ll sit on your face if you keep talking,” Enzo shoots back but then he turns to me, his voice softening again. “Do you want a pillow?”

I shake my head and press my palms into my lap. “I’m fine. Really.”

Omero climbs into the front and starts the engine, the quiet hum of it soothing. Enzo settles beside me in the back. As we pull away from the house, I glance back through the tinted glass. The windows are lit. He’s probably in there somewhere. Vieri.

I haven’t seen him since… yesterday. I didn’t see him when I woke up. I didn’t dare ask his brothers about him. But my body remembers him even if my mouth won’t say his name. My fingers drift to my lips, brushing lightly over the skin. That tingle is still there. Still blooming like it never left.

Perché sento questo? Perché corro verso il peccato?

Why do I feel this way? Why do I run toward sin?

I begged for him to continue. I wanted him to continue.

“Are you good?” Alfio asks from the front, adjusting the rear view mirror. “You look so red.”

I flinch. “It’s the heat,” I mumble, tugging at the sleeves of my cardigan.

Enzo got me my outfit today, a cardigan and finally a proper dress. Soft cotton, navy blue with little white flowers. He even made sure the waist was stretchy, not tight.

I left my rosary behind. Tucked into the drawer. I haven’t worn it since I removed it for the dinner party. I haven’t felt worthy lately. After yesterday, I feel even less worthy. I know I am filth.

The heat is another lie, that’s not why I am red. And I didn’t even ask for forgiveness this time.

“But it’s freezing,” Omero says, not even hiding the confusion in his voice.

“I haven’t been outside in a while,” I say again, voice even smaller.

They don’t push further. I’m thankful.

We arrive at the ice cream shop and enter to soft jazz playing over the speakers. There’s something strange about this moment—about walking somewhere normal with people like them.

The shop is quiet. A couple kids giggle near the counter, and an older couple shares a sundae in the corner.

I slide into the booth with Alfio and Omero while Enzo goes to order. My hands tremble slightly as I smooth the napkin on my lap.

They look just as awkward as I feel.

“So,” Alfio starts, leaning back, “I still can't believe you saved us.”

Omero elbows him. “She’s sitting right here. Maybe don’t talk like she’s a ghost.”