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“It doesn’tmatter.”

“Yes, it does. I, of all people, know what that’s like.”

“Stop!” Dante shouted. “Wearen’tthe same. You touch people and they die, but it’s not your choice and it’s not your fault.Everyonewho cares about me dies, and it’salwaysmy fault. You give. Itake.”

“Then change.”

“People don’t change.”

“Ihave.” Her voice shook with anger. “I’ve changed so many times I’ve lost count. When I became Finestra, I was a naive girl who believed what anyone told me, followed the rules without question, even when it felt wrong. Even when I thought I’d shrivel up and blow away. I became a husk of a person, all pain and bitterness. Then you came. And you didn’t revere meorpity me. You noticed when I made myself small, and I hated it. I wanted to prove you wrong, so Ichanged.” Alessa drew herself up and looked him in the eyes. “I don’t care what anyone says—your gift is a part of you, but it doesn’t define you. You can choose to be better.”

His eyes were hard. “Well, I choose not to. Andthis”—he pointed from himself to her and back—“is not a thing. We aren’t the same. We aren’t friends. We aren’tanything.I’ll finish this damn job because we made a deal, but that’s it.”

“You are such an ass.”

“Now you’re catching on.”

Fury spiked through her. She wanted to dig her fingers into his stubborn face until she stole his soul from his body, once and for all. Ghiotte or no, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

She stormed out instead. Any would-be assassin who chose this moment to attack her would lose.

For five lonely years she’d told herself it was only her gift and her position that kept everyone away. That if anyone spent time with her, then, surely, they would care about her. Not the Finestra or the savior. Her. Alessa.

But Dante had heard it all, and he didn’t care. He was only there because she paid him to be, and she was so pathetic she couldn’t tell the difference between a friend and an employee.

She needed air. She needed to escape.

At the sound of voices ahead, she ducked inside the darkened kitchens.

From the thickest shadows, someone hissed her name. Not her title. Hername.

A dark figure stalked toward her.

She backed away, feeling behind herself for the open door. Instead, her hands met the hard muscle of Dante’s thigh.

“For Crollo’s sake, there you—” he started to say, before swiftly lunging around her to shove the shadowy form against the wall. A blade flashed in the dim light from the hall, and the intruder yelped.

Alessa knew that yelp. “Stop!” she cried out. “It’s my brother!”

For a second, she thought Dante would slice his throat anyway, but he stepped back, knife pointed at Adrick’s chest.

“Adrick, what are you doing here?” Alessa demanded.

“What ishedoing?” Adrick retorted. “He’s not a Fonte.”

“He’s my guard.”

Adrick raked Dante with a skeptical look. “Half dressed?”

Dante had grabbed a shirt before following her, but only a few of the buttons were fastened.

Dante’s eyebrows lowered. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, it is.” Adrick’s eyes narrowed.

“Dante, could you give us a minute?”

Dante’s glare deepened. “Yell if you need me.”