Page 166 of Dangerous King
"I still think about her," I say after a while. "About Sabine."
Enrico nods but doesn't reply. His silence is enough. He understands.
I don't. I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around what Sabine did. Mostly, I think, because Mamma seems to be mad at me. Like it was my fault. She hasn't said it out loud, but it hangs between us.
I'm not going to argue with her, but neither am I going to accept the blame. Sabine made her choice. So did my family. And so have I.
I've found peace in that realization. I'll always love them, but if they want to keep their distance, I'm not going to beg them. I've grown stronger, and I have my own support system now. My husband and his family love me unconditionally. My door will always be open for my family, but I'm not going to stand in the doorway begging for them.
"I've been thinking we should take that honeymoon soon," Enrico suggests, guessing where my thoughts went.
I raise a brow. "You mean the one we earned after a bombing, a funeral, and a hitman swallowing poison in front of us?"
"That's the one," he murmurs, eyes gleaming. "We could go somewhere warm. Somewhere with no phones. Just you, me… and maybe a stray dog or two."
I laugh, the sound curling in the quiet room like a promise.
"I'd like that," I say. "But no stray dogs, Shadow will get jealous."
He leans forward and presses his lips to mine, soft and slow, like we have time. Because now, we do.
Outside, the sky begins to shift. The faintest hint of blue over the horizon. Another morning. Another start.
I don't know what's coming next. We still don't have all the answers. Maybe we never will.
But I have Enrico.
I have this life we fought for.
And I finally have peace.
EPILOGUE
The next afternoon…
We set the meeting deep in the industrial district, in a dead zone with no cameras, no heat, and no foot traffic unless you're running from something. We have to be sure Edoardo's men aren't watching. He can't know we're talking.
Can't know we're planning behind his back.
The concrete feels colder today. Or maybe I'm just more aware of it. A few feet away, a rusted fan ticks uselessly in the rafters, stirring air that still smells like grease and rust and old blood.
Marcello is here too. New hair growth covers the scars on his skull, and he still sports a slight limp, but he's as sharp as ever.
Stephano stands by the surveillance rig we smuggled out of Valente. His usual crisp presence is dulled, sleeves rolled, shirt rumpled. He looks like a man ready for war.
Toni sits across from me, legs spread, elbows on his knees, one boot tapping restlessly against the steel floor. Stephano queues up the casino footage again, scrubbing through hours of glossy celebration and hidden rot. On fast forward, I watch bodies brush past each other like ghosts, happy and angry faces become interchangeable.
"There," he says, freezing the frame. "That's her."
The screen sharpens. Donna Margarita.
Marcello perks up and moves in closer.
What the fuck is she doing there? Not that she isn't allowed to gamble, but to be there the night Ledyanoy Prizrak abducted my sister and tagged Kingsley is one hell of a coincidence. She's dressed like a guest, pearls and deep red silk, and she's moving through the crowd with a practiced grace. But her eyes give her away. They aren't on the tables or the machines.
They're onhim.
"She followed him?" Toni asks.
