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“You’re everything,” he says, then gets serious. “There are two parties that pose a danger to you. Charles, I can take care of. He is immortal, but I can remove him as a threat. Amon is more complicated.”

“So will the remote island option protect me from him?”

“Only as long as you’re in thrall.” He holds out his hand for some orange. “Share it with me.”

“I’m in thrall as long as you live.” I break open the orange, stopping midway to let out an ahh as I too am broken open.

“Correct.”

“Wow, okay. So.” I put a double wedge in his palm. “Option two.”

“Both Amon and Charles are interested in you because of your power. Without it, you’re still precious to me, but invisible to them. So, your other choice is to have Amon separate you from that power.”

“Wait. Like Mom?”

“You’re not a child, so?—”

“Will I get it back?”

“No.” He starts to put the orange in his mouth.

“Don’t you dare eat that.” I uncurl my legs and hold up one finger. “Don’t you try to make me all melty right after you talk about doing to me what Laro did to my mother.”

He lowers his hand. “It won’t be as violent.”

“Why would Amon agree to do this?”

“Amon is making a bet that I’m not going to get out of the labyrinth alive, or Charles will kill me, or I won’t use the knife correctly. At which point, your thrall will break. You’ll marry someone else and have little Strega babies he can use.”

“Gross!”

“Yes. Gross.”

How can he be so blithe? So businesslike? As if anything he’s offering is even a little bit acceptable.

“Would you even love me if I was half of myself?”

“I’d love any single piece of you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

That’s a completely unsatisfying answer, but I didn’t ask the right question. What’s the point of him loving me if I am not even sure I’ll love myself?

“I don’t want to do that.”

“So, you’re getting on a plane?”

“No. I’m not doing either. Both options suck.”

“If you don’t choose, then I will.”

“I’ll hate you for the rest of my fucking life.”

“Don’t you think I know that?! The resentment on your face…

the distaste… it’s directed at me, and I deserve it.

I’m the one who failed to protect you. Even if I thread a hundred needles and make it through this, I’ll live knowing how much I hurt you.

But this is the deal I could make. It’s the only way to keep them away from you. ”

He stops there. I wait, because that’s ridiculous, but he adds nothing.

“Are you finished?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“What the fuck ? Whoo-boy. Art of the fucking deal, man.” I get up and pace.

“You want to put my power, which I’ve really gotten attached to, where?

In an old shoe? In a linoleum tile? For what?

Because don’t think I haven’t noticed that there’s no knife at the end of either option.

Is there a scenario where you’re not dead?

Where you succeed? Or is it just bleak, depressing bullshit all the way down? ”

“What if I said if I get the Ossidiana Knife and use it, and I can protect you as long as you live, I’ll find a way to get you your power back?”

Sitting there, resting his forearms on the chair’s arms, chin tilted up as if he can only recognize the world from above, he projects confidence, knowledge, power, and precision. If a man like this says he will find a way, then a way will be found.

Then his right hand—the one with the black ring—twitches. It may be a tremor from the ALS, or it may be some perfectly normal and barely perceptible muscle spasm.

How could it come to this? My mouth is suddenly full of spit and my nose is blocked by big blubbery snots.

Last night, I gave him complete control. I handed him back the power he’d lost the confidence to use. How did he wake up with none of it? How am I staring down the barrel of his fear, waiting to get my head blown off?

“Why can’t I just have you?” I sob. He gets up to hold me, but I push him away. “Why can’t I just have this one thing? I’ve settled for everything I ever had, but with you… I’m not settling. I got the best. I got served a shit sandwich and found you inside it and… wait… no that’s not?—”

“It’s okay. I know what you mean. We just get through this. Two options, my love . You just pick one or the other.”

“Hide or get kneecapped? These are not the options of a man who thinks he’s coming home.”

“I swear I’ll do everything to return to you. I’ll walk through fire. I’ll come back from the dead, even.”

I spit a laugh. “I hate that that’s funny.”

“You have to trust me.”

“I trust you. But, so what? You’ve done some kind of math and determined you don’t come out the other side. What am I supposed to do then? I’m back to who I was, eating shit sandwiches.”

“You’ll be free.” He takes my face in his hands and rubs my tears away with his thumbs.

“You’ll find a husband who will clean the counters and go to the grocery store.

And maybe you’ll take a lover or two or ten.

” He kisses each eye. God, why am I letting him?

“He will accept this because he adores you.”

“That’s some weird Italian thing.”

He takes a handkerchief from his pocket. “What can I say? I’m a weird Italian.”

How does this soulless, undead idiot makes me smile at a time like this?

He’s wiping my tears and snot away with a linen hankie and I’m trying not to laugh.

How can I let him go? How can I let myself be protected while he throws himself into the lion’s mouth?

I can’t help but put my arms around him and lay my cheek on his shoulder.

He holds me so tight I can barely breathe.

I want him to hold me tighter. I’ve been breathing my whole life and it’s gotten me nowhere.

Today, I will choose differently. I will get somewhere by my own will, my own choices. I will be a woman of power and precision. I will be a person of value because of who I defend and who I love and how I defend and love them.

No more excuses.

“I do not like this,” I murmur.

“Yes. Zero stars.”

“Unsubscribe.” I let him go, composing myself with a big sniff.

“You have to choose, Luna.”

“I have chosen, Carmine.” I grab his jacket and pull him to me, whispering into his lips, “We are both fucking stupid.”

“ Che? ”

I kiss him, and he gives me his tongue with such command and surrender, I am sure he’s forgotten that I can taste everything he’s feeling. He is afraid. He is wary of me. He loves me. More than anything, he loves me.

He pushes me away. “What do you choose?”

“You’re trying to save me, but I choose to save you. I’m going to get the knife myself.”