Page 92 of Of Lies and Shadows

Fulvio doesn’t move right away, clearly annoyed at being dismissed mid-conversation. After a beat too long, he stands, straightens his suit jacket, and spares me a final tight nod.

“My time is yours,” he says to Dante. “When you’re ready.”

He brushes past me as he leaves, and I don’t miss the almost imperceptible tension in Dante’s jaw. When the door closes behind Fulvio, I’m left standing across from him in the silence that settles like dust.

Dante clasps his hands in front of him. “You’re done avoiding me, then?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Avoiding you?”

He lifts an eyebrow, the bitterness bleeding in. “Yes. Since I told you I loved you. Since you left me standing there like a fucking fool.”

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to stay calm. “I needed time.”

“To do what, Francesca? Decide if I’m a monster or not?”

“Bruno told me something today,” I say, bypassing the trap he’s laying. “He said the problem with the weapons, the raids, it’s not just Vescari. It’s bigger. Smarter. He doesn’t think Don Salvatore is behind it, not fully.”

Dante’s brows lift slightly. “And how do I know that’s true?”

“Because I trust Bruno.” I meet his gaze evenly. “The way you trust Fulvio. Or Vito.”

He scoffs, low and bitter. “Must be nice.”

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He walks out from behind the desk, closing the distance between us in three strides. “Tell me, Francesca. Was there ever a time you trusted me like that?”

I swallow hard. “Let’s not go there.”

“No.” His voice sharpens. “I’d like to know.”

I glance down, trying to steady the thrum of my pulse. “There was a time,” I say quietly. “When I thought it was possible. Before the wedding. Before the gun. Before you spit in my face and told me I was nothing.”

His jaw ticks. He looks away for a second, then back. “I can’t erase that day. But I would if I could.”

I nod slowly. “I believe you. But that doesn’t mean I can forget it.”

A long silence stretches between us. Then he asks, more quietly, “And what about now?”

“What about now?”

“Do you trust me?” His voice is softer now, almost gentle.

I hesitate, then answer carefully, “In some ways… I do.”

“In some ways?” he repeats like it’s an insult.

He leans back against his desk, crosses his legs at the ankle, and slips his hands into his pockets. A casual stance, but I can see the storm just beneath the surface.

“And your body?” he asks, eyes not leaving mine. “Do you trust me with that?”

My cheeks flush, but I don’t look away. “Yes.”

Because despite everything, my body remembers him. Remembers the tenderness beneath the dominance. Remembers the way he made me feel like I belonged in my own skin for the first time in years.

He nods once. “And your safety?”

That one takes longer.

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