Page 61 of My Dark Ever After
“You know, apparently she isn’t even buried here,” Guinevere whispered as she took in everything like it was dripping with gold and jewels. I knew to her the history and lore were what made it priceless.
“She is most likely entombed in Santa Croce,” I agreed. “With her husband’s family. But it is more romantic to think that the same church Dante was married to another woman in might also be the resting place of his eternal love.”
Guinevere hummed her agreement, drifting over to the wicker basket.
“It’s so ... full,” she mused, looking up at me. “People really still leave her letters.”
“They say if you write your deepest wish, Beatrice will grant it. Can you blame people for seeking out their dearest desires in any way they can?” I asked.
Her lids shuttered as she turned away, letting a sheaf of dark hair curtain her expression as she peered down at the basket again.
I left her to it in order to cross to the pulpit, where a stack of papers and envelopes waited alongside a donation box. After depositing a fifty-euro bill into the box, I took what I needed and returned to Guinevere, who was seated in the pew in front of the tomb.
She frowned as I extended the stationery and a pen to her.
“Your life has been complicated of late. I thought this place might bring you enough peace to parse out what your deepest desires are now. Beyond the chaos of myself, your issues with your father and his control, what is it that Guinevere Stone truly wants?”
Her eyes glimmered in the low light, reflective black pools under a waning moon. I could not read anything in them even though I tried.
Silently, she took the parchment from me and crossed her legs to write on her thigh.
I took my own piece of paper and pen back to the pulpit and stood behind it like a macabre farce of a priest, bent to write a different kind of sermon.
It did not take long to make my wish to Beatrice.
Desidero solo l’amore di Guinevere e la sua sicurezza.
I wish only for Guinevere’s love and safety.
It felt important to manifest that in sight of the fact she might be gone from me for good before too long. I did not have to wish for the love and safety of my family because I would always have a way to influence that.
If Guinevere decided to go home to America, all I would have remaining in my power would be wishes and prayers to protect her.
And perhaps a few well-placedsoldatito keep an eye on her for the rest of her life.
I waited for her to be finished with her longer letter, then watched as she licked the envelope closed and carefully placed it at the top of the basket. I followed suit, dropping my own beside hers.
“Do you believe in this?” she asked as we turned in tandem to leave. “That Beatrice or the universe might actually grant you what you want just because you wrote it down here and now?”
“No,” I mused as I held the door open for her again, checking over my shoulder to see that Philippe was doing as I’d asked and collecting Guinevere’s note from the basket. “I told you, I believe in no god but myself. Still, it is good practice to put what you want out into the ether. You never know what might come of it.”
“I agree,” she said as we stepped into the narrow road and I led us toward one of my favorite sandwich shops, l’Girone de’ Ghiotti.
“Dante himself wrote, ‘Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us. It is a gift.’”
“So you believe in fate?” she asked, her hand brushing mine as she swayed a little closer to me.
I reached out with my pinky to brush hers purposefully. “It is the reason I am what I am today. Who my father was and what he did meant that even when he died, he had placed my family in a treacherous situation. Do you know what the newcapo dei capidoes to the family of the previous leader of the Camorra in Italy,mia dolce cerbiatta? They murder his family so there will be no one to contest his reign.”
Her head snapped to face me, mouth agape in shock. “That’s barbaric.”
“We are barbarians in suits.” I shrugged. “This has been our way for centuries. It was stupid of me to think it would ever be different just because I willed it to be.”
“That’s why you returned from London.”
“Certo. I had never wanted anything to do with the Camorra, but how could I leave my mother and sister to the wolves?” I had notwanted to share this with her, but the stakes were so low now. She had already rejected the man I was—it could do no harm to explain the true terrors of my world.
“What about an amicable transfer of leadership?” she asked. “What if someone like Leo or Renzo had taken over?”
