Page 82 of No Stone Unturned

He leaned forward, trying to ignore a headache that felt like an ice pick stabbing him behind the eyes. “I came to the US thinking this was behind me. But it’s not. I don’t think it ever will be.”

“So why do you keep doing it?” she asked him quietly. “Why don’t you say no?”

He considered a number of different answers, but settled on the truth because he loved her. “Because I can’t stop making amends. If I think it will help people, make up for what I’ve done, I’m in.”

She sighed and sat back on the bench, resting her head against his shoulder without speaking. He didn’t know if it were a good or bad sign, so he waited to hear her thoughts.

The silence stretched on before she spoke again. “Look, I understand why you do what you do, Slash. That’s part of why I love you. I also understand that inner conflict better than you might think, having made some unpleasant choices of my own while in Somalia.”

He didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to him before, but now he realized that mission had taken a significant toll on her, too. He frowned, looking at her in a different light. A fiercely intelligent woman who had taken on one of the most brutal cyber mercenaries in the world and won. She’d seen her share of what happened on a battlefield and understood the difficult choices. That bullet he’d put through Broodryk’s head on her behalf wasn’t one he regretted.

Shedidunderstand.

“For people like us, it’s in the details,” she continued. “I struggled with this myself. Hands once told me after every mission he asks himself: Did I do right by that person, by that situation, by the mission? Was my heart in the right place? Did I do everything in my power to save or help as many people as I could? There are no right or wrong answers. If you believe there’s a Judgment Day, then you will have to atone, because what’s done is done. No one can change the past, not even you, Slash. All you can do—allanyof us can do—is to try to make each day count moving forward.”

She was correct...about all of it. He put his arm around her, pulling her close and seeking the comfort that was her. “I just want peace. But I don’t know if I deserve it.”

“You do.” Her voice caught as she said it, twisting his heart in his chest. “But you have to forgive yourself first. I can forgive you. Father Armando can forgive you. Even the pope can forgive you. But you won’t move on unless you forgive yourself. Forgiveness isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s simply acknowledging that sometimes bad things happen to good people, and we’re faced with impossible choices.”

He wanted that to be the end of it, but it wasn’t. “I wish it were that easy. It’s more complicated than that. There’s a dark part of me,cara, a cold, ugly piece that isn’t going away. When it comes to that which is mine—my family, country or innocent people—I won’t play nice. Ican’tbe nice. I need to be clear about that. It’s not something that can change about me. It’s how I’ll ensure Lazo—or others like him—go down...one way or the other. The only question is whether or not you can live with that.”

Her fingers started nervously winding and unwinding the hat ribbon again. He’d never been this honest with anyone before. She knew more about him than anyone ever had, than anyone ever would. It was both liberating and terrifying, because he believed it was the final test for them as a couple. He tried to calm the pressure building in his gut by reminding himself of the principles of tai chi. Be mindful of the present. Embrace the calm, accept the outcome, whatever it may be.

“I may not be entirely comfortable with that part, but I appreciate your honesty,” she finally said. “I have one request. If you’re going to accept missions that will put you in those kinds of situations, then accept self-reflection as part of the deal and be sure your conscience is in the right place with the mission and the possible outcome. You can’t save everyone, Slash. You just can’t. Don’t let the guilt and pain become your identity, because you’re so much more than that to me.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, stunned by her words. She wasn’t condemning him. She wasn’t pushing him away.

She’s not going to leave me.

After a moment, he pulled her close and buried his face in her hair, his throat thick with emotion. She was both his comfort and strength. “Thank you,cara,” he murmured.

The lines of a letter written by F. Scott Fitzgerald ran through his mind.

I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity and her flaming self-respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be. I love her and that is the beginning of everything.

“You’re the beginning of my everything,” he whispered. “I promise you that by my actions, or inactions, I will not purposely hurt you. That would be a wound to myself from which I could not recover. I’ll work on the matter of forgiveness, too, if you’ll stand by me.”

Lexi tightened her arms around him. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you from the moment I set foot in Italy. You’re not alone, Slash, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter Forty-Three

Lexi

We stayed in Gaeta for another two hours, catching what Slash called a snack—but it was a full meal to me. We shared a plate of red shrimp pasta at an outdoor café overlooking the water, and I drank a glass of fruity red wine called Rosso Piceno. Slash skipped the wine and opted for coffee. He was a lot more relaxed than he had been an hour ago. Unloading that difficult inner turmoil, sharing a burden that deep, had to have offered him some relief. I couldn’t imagine how hard and lonely it must have been to keep the guilt, regret and pain locked inside him all this time.

He downed the last of his coffee, looking out at the ocean. “It’s time to go.” His voice sounded reluctant, like he didn’t want to leave, but knew we had to. It was how I’d felt leaving Salerno. We’d now forged a unique and important piece of our relationship in both cities, so leaving when our connection was fragile was hard for both of us.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Sperlonga. I could use some downtime to review the data and figure out a good strategy to move forward.”

“I’m with you on that,” I said. We desperately needed to regroup and focus our efforts. Nonna’s house was the perfect place to do that. She represented good memories of family life, and would remind him of the love and stability his adoptive family had offered when he needed it most.

We didn’t talk as we drove along the Amalfi coast, enjoying the spectacular views. The sun was softening over the horizon as the afternoon deepened, the cobalt sky adding a gorgeous backdrop to the setting. I glanced at Slash as he drove. His dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but his black hair was tousled by the wind, and a five-o’clock shadow covered most of his cheeks and jaw. He was probably the most strikingly handsome man I’d ever seen in real life. But it was what lay beneath—the complex, driven and caring person who’d been through so much in his thirty-three years—that I responded to the most.

I was looking forward to seeing Nonna again. The only downside to the visit would be her cat, Principessa, who hated me and refused to use her litter box when I was around—something I was assured never happened with anyone else. I wasn’t sure why animals acted so strangely around me. My hypothesis was I must emit an odd vibe, because they either hated me, wanted to dominate me or slobbered all over me. There didn’t seem to be a middle ground.

As we drove into town, I admired the gorgeous stretch of white beach and rocky cliffs. Much like the towns of Gaeta and Licosa, tourists didn’t overly crowd the streets of Sperlonga. Slash stopped at the market on the way to Nonna’s house, picking up some flowers, a bottle of wine and catnip for Principessa.

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