Page 40

Dante hadn't left Isolde's side for thirty hours.

She lay curled beneath black silk sheets, the morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his private wing-glass that overlooked nothing but open sky.

Her face was turned toward the warm spill of sun, though her eyes remained closed.

She hadn't spoken since waking in the morning.

Her wrists were bruised.

Her lip had a shallow cut from Roza's slap.

But what wounded her more was the silence inside her.

The way she now flinched at certain sounds.

The way she no longer reached for his hand when he sat beside her.

Dante stood by the window, his suit jacket gone, black shirt still buttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms.

His jaw was unshaved, jawline shadowed, veins dark along his arms.

He watched her like a man guarding his last breath.

Her eyelashes fluttered.

He turned at once.

Crossed the room in four long strides.

Sat on the edge of the bed.

She blinked slowly, adjusting to the blur.

Her voice cracked.

"Dante..."

"I'm here."

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her face with the backs of his fingers.

She leaned into the touch.

"Where is she?" she asked faintly.

His smile was cold. "Where she belongs."

Elsewhere - beneath the Vitale Tower

Roza sat on a stone bench, one leg folded over the other, ankle bare, the red silk of her gown now dulled with dust and dried blood.

Her hands were chained to the steel wall behind her.

Her wrists had bruised beautifully.

And she smiled.

The room was silent except for the slow drip of water.

A single bulb hung above her swinging faintly, casting long, swinging shadows across the stone walls.

She looked up as the door opened.

Alex stepped inside, dressed in all black, his expression unreadable.

"Dante will see you soon."

Roza tilted her head.

"Is he sleeping yet?" she purred. "Or is he still too busy playing nursemaid to his pretty little pet?"

Alex didn't respond.

"You know he'll break," she continued, smile widening. "He always breaks. Love's just a slow kind of poison."

Alex closed the door in her face.

But her laughter echoed long after.

Penthouse - Night

Isolde sat curled on the couch, legs drawn up under a blanket, Dante's black shirt draped over her.

Her fingers clutched a mug of lavender tea, though she hadn't touched it.

Dante sat beside her, one leg bent, arm stretched along the back of the couch.

He hadn't spoken in over an hour.

Finally-she did.

"I thought I was going to die."

His head turned slightly.

Her voice was soft.

"But what scared me more was thinking I'd never see you again."

He turned fully then.

Faced her.

And for the first time in days-he cupped her face in both hands and pulled her gently into his lap.

"You're not allowed to die before me," he whispered.

She blinked, trembling.

"You hear me, dove?"

She nodded.

He kissed her forehead.

Then her temple.

Then her lips.

"Say it," he whispered.

"I won't die before you."

"Good girl."