Page 155 of Ink Deep Devotion

My life changed. So has theirs. Titan is enduring his test from The Rites of Passage. I have to have faith that he will pass and avenge our family. I’m still tapped into our systems, and I know that Titan’s final test is the very man who is responsible for killing my father and sending us all the text messages of the people we love. His name is Franco, and he was trying to lure us out separately. I should have followed his tracks, gone to his hideaway, and killed him.

I would have if Mila didn’t run. Maybe in the end she saved me.

“I should avenge you, Dad,” I mutter, then my eyes slide to Mom’s grave.“But I have to take care of my heart first.” I have to find Mila. In the end, killing Franco isn’t my test. It’s Titan’s.

We found the hidden access tunnel under the auditorium and the fresh tire tracks, then we found nothing. The world is a big place; Mila could have fled anywhere.

“I think you would advise me to let her go, Mom. Let her run wild and free." I walk around the grave, lean down, and kiss the top of it. Then I press my forehead to the hard stone and close my eyes. "I was never good enough for her.”

My hand lingers on mom’s stone before I turn my attention to my father's.“Dad would tell me the opposite. He’d peel apart the earth itself, splitting it open like tectonic plates shifting, until he found what was his.” My lip tugs, and I raise my hand, kissing my fingers before I press them to the top of his gravestone.

I don’t know what I will do. I know I have to find Mila, but maybe when I do, I will tell her I will let her go.

Chapter 57

Mila

Five weeks later.

Freedom doesn’t taste sweet. It’s sour and tart, causing my eyes to squint and my mouth to pucker.

I try to walk out my door and breathe in the fresh air without that tightness in my lungs. It’s never a smooth breath; it’s more like I am the engine of an airplane flying through turbulence, choking on thunderclouds and hail.

“When will it get easier?” I shove my key into the lock, then wiggle the handle two more times to make sure it truly is locked.

Clothes flapping on the lines above create a breeze that cools my neck. I adjust my backpack straps before starting my walk to work. It’s only ten minutes down the uneven stone streets. My apartment is tiny, but it’s mine, and that means more to me than living in a castle.

I arch my back and begin to walk, feeling the weight of my backpack. A fake ID and cash were sewn into the bottom, along with the hidden phone I was given. Some mornings, it feels likethe dead weight of a body around my shoulders; other days, it’s more like a feather.

The faint scent of early morning espresso fills the air as the open windows carry out Italian conversations over morning breakfast. Avery arranged for me to be relocated to a small town outside of Naples, Italy. It took me four flights and too many bus rides to get here. When I did arrive, I didn’t sleep until I became so exhausted that sleep kidnapped me and held me hostage.

The moment the sole of my shoe stepped foot on Italian soil, I began to shake; still, to this day, my fingers rattle throughout the day, and that’s because Dante lives and rules over Italy. I told Avery this when she handed me my Italian passport and a new identity. She quelled my fears and stirred them all with one response.“I know Dante reigns over Italy, and just in case things go south, and it’s not Dash that finds you but one of his enemies, then at least you have a friend who can get to you faster than I can. Remember, Mila, your disappearance didn’t make you a target solely for Dash, but for others. Be smart, and for heaven’s sake, stop stressing out. It’s going to make people more observant of you. Stick to the cover story and do not call me again unless there is a gun pressed to your head.”

When I ventured out for the first time, I showed bravery by selecting a seat at the nearby coffee shop. I spent my time staring at the small espresso cup until it reached room temperature. The frothy top had all disappeared, revealing the substance. I felt like that expresso—bitter and acidic, ready to be consumed and digested.

My Italian is shit, a fact that stresses me out as I toss and turn in my non-air-conditioned room at night. But the silver lining is I work at a small cafe. I’m sure my Italian will get better once I start trying.

The canary yellow building, with an old brownstone framing the door and windows, stands out like old jewelry surrounded by shiny ones. Small tables spill out onto the street; a few are already occupied by the guests staying at the hostel across the street. The kitchen windows are open, and the scent of cornettos and espresso wafts down the block.

Growl!This is bad. I rub my stomach, but it only rumbles against my palm. If I give into my stomach and eat like this every morning, I’m going to have to be rolled down the street. But it smells and tastes so good! Just one more today, and then I’ll go back to my organic lifestyle as best I can.

“Morning, Nonnina!” I shout as I enter the kitchen, spotting the freshly baked cornetto filling the trays for the customers. Nonnina, meaning little grandma, runs the place. Her son has tried to convince her to retire, but Nonnina said she will die in this kitchen. However, since the hostel supplies the majority of her customers, most of whom are traveling Americans, she needed to hire a staff member who spoke English. Nonnina knows English, but she only speaks it to the customers she likes, who are few and far between. She only serves two items: espresso and cornetto. Apparently, one American asked her for almond milk, and she ran her out of the restaurant with a broom. So, I was hired to deal with the obnoxious tourists who don’t respect Italian culture.

Grind!The coffee machine is working at full capacity as it grinds the beans we will use this morning. Nonnina turns, shouting over the machine,“Buongiorno, mia dolce bambina.” She calls me her sweet child and often pinches my cheeks and tells me to smile. The first day I arrived to work for her, she told me it looked like I was running from a broken heart, and then she spotted the wedding ring on my finger. I never felt the ring Dash gave me. It just became a part of me, like he did. I shouldhave taken it off, but the absence of it doesn’t change the fact that I’m married to him.

I bend down and hug Nonnina. For the first time in my life, I feel tall. Nonnina claims to be five feet, but I would put her at four feet eight inches. And that’s only in the mornings. By the end of the day, her old bones are rounded from having worked in the kitchen all day.

“Am I hugging bones? I’ve hugged chickens fatter than you. Eat fast before they come to pillage us.” Nonnina smiles, causing her tan skin to fill with more wrinkles. She shoves a plate into my hand and then a shot of warm espresso.

Thump, my backpack hits the floor.

“That disgrace of a bag is going to make you more arched than me, child. You live in Italy; you need an Italian brand, not that American sack on your back.”

I giggle around the mouth full of cornetto.“I don’t like to go shopping.”

“Says no Italian woman ever.” She shakes her head with such a fury it makes her stumble into the kitchen island.

“I’m not Italian.”

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