Chapter 123

"Have you stopped crying?" he said, with a touch of humor and concern. A mixture that made my eyes widen and admire the huskiness in his voice, even though he was only fifteen.

"Your voice…"

His eyebrows arched.

"What about it?"

I shook my head.

"Nothing. I just didn’t imagine it would be like this," I said, pressing my knees tighter against my chest.

He smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth stretching and his cheek rounding.

"You imagine my voice?"

Like water, my blood rushed to my face.

"Yes." His smile grew wider. "I mean, no."

"Liar."

"Don’t call me a liar!" I stammered. "I don’t lie."

"You just don’t tell the truth. Seems like it’s not your strong suit."

He seemed to enjoy how my only reactions were lowering my head and fiddling with my fingers in embarrassment.

"Look at me, girl."

I swallowed hard, raising my chin and meeting his dark eyes.

"I have a name."

The amusement in his gaze didn’t waver.

"I know your name. Emília Gray."

His whisper floated along with the autumn leaves.

He knew my name.

Dante already knew me.

"If you know, then don’t call me ‘girl.’ It’s rude of you."

"You’re not in a position to demand politeness when you were screaming my name and chasing me."

I wrinkled my nose.

"That was an accident," I stammered, returning my gaze to the dry foliage on the ground.

"You were following me by accident?" he asked, still amused. "Imagine if it were on purpose. What would you do? Climb on my back?"

It was impossible not to notice how Faulkner carried himself with confidence—in his movements, his voice, his gaze.

It was strangely alluring.

"What are you going to do now? Kill me?"

I blurted out the words before I could stop them. Dante studied me and closed the small distance between our bodies by a few centimeters.

I held my breath as his face blocked my peripheral vision. All I could see were his beautiful eyes, his thin, rosy lips, and the hair falling across his forehead.

"Do you want me to kill you?"

The wind rustled the leaves.

My skin prickled, and I felt the cold dissolve in my veins.

It took a while for me to answer.

For some reason, I was more tempted to admire his irises than to worry about my own life.

Dante had this magnetism. Exiling my reason and making me believe that he alone was the explanation for everything.

"No."

He exhaled through his nose and stepped back, standing up abruptly.

Faulkner extended his hand and spoke softly. I admired how small I felt compared to the greatness Dante possessed and consumed from the rest of the world.

"Good, because I want to keep you alive."

I grabbed his hand and stood up.

I didn’t think much about his response, as I was more concerned with how warm and sweaty my body felt from our hands that wouldn’t separate.

He led me out of the forest and walked me home.

All in silence. No exchange of glances.

Just our breaths conversing and getting to know each other.

Faulkner didn’t say goodbye or give me a chance to speak. Yet, I saw that moment as a victory. A prelude to something big and wonderful.

It was only when I got home that I realized what he had said.

Dante didn’t just want me to stay alive.

He wanted to keep me.

And after searching through my father’s dictionary for so long, I found that "keep" could mean to guard, preserve, conserve, and protect.

***

Seven Years Ago

The two-hour lesson had ended, but I hadn’t left the room. I pressed the violin to my body, feeling the sound of the music float in a melodic conversation with me. A conversation I didn’t understand.

I wasn’t sure what I was playing—only that I needed to convey something.

I needed to deliver something to whoever listened.

Maybe that’s why I wasn’t the lead violinist in the class. I didn’t even try to be the best pianist, as there were many students better than me. It frustrated me because I loved classical music. I loved listening to it, feeling it, and sometimes, it even felt as if it danced with me when I played it on my MP3 player. But I needed more practice.

I was attempting to learn a very difficult piece: Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata. It was complex, so much so that even our teacher couldn’t play it perfectly. But I wanted to master it completely. Maybe then I’d gain the spotlight in class and have the chance to perform it someday.

“Miss Gray, your mother is here.”

My teacher knocked on the door as she called out to me. I nodded, wiping my forehead and straightening my tied curls.

I stored my instrument, grabbed my backpack, and dashed out of the room. My mother was talking to Daniel’s uncle, Angelo Wayne. He was a close friend of my parents. From what I knew, they shared business interests and helped each other improve the hospital and the city’s entire healthcare system.

“The meeting is set for Thursday, after midnight. We’ll finalize the terms of the deal and, of course, serve a nice dinner,” I heard her say. “Bring your wife along.”

“I will. We’re also starting Daniel’s integration,” Mr. Wayne replied.

“Oh, that’s great.” My mother glanced at me. “Emília still has a few years to go.”

I smiled briefly, not fully understanding what they were discussing. Mr. Wayne noticed me and patted my hair, which made me uncomfortable. I hated people touching my hair.

“I can’t wait to see you grown up and joining us,” he said.

I had little desire to grow up and attend endless dinners and meetings like my parents. These events were for the elite, and, as expected, my family had been part of that world for decades.

Before my patience wore thin, Angelo bid us farewell with a brief wave. My mother turned to me, her smile widening.

“Why did you come to pick me up, Mom?” I asked, planting a kiss on her cheek.

“I got worried when I didn’t see you at home. I called the school, and they said you were still here.”

“Mom, you didn’t need to.”

“Last week, a three-year-old went missing inside the school. You know how dangerous the city has become. There are cases of disappearances that no one can explain.”

“But I’m not three. I’m thirteen, almost fourteen.”

She laughed and kissed my hair.

“Even if you’re a hundred, I’ll still worry.”

My mother was beautiful. Her dark skin, her curls as tight as mine, her dark eyes, and her small yet full lips were the pinnacle of her beauty. I loved bragging that I had the most beautiful mother. But I always had to endure comments from my classmates saying I wasn’t nearly as pretty as she was.

“Shall we go home? I’ll cook today,” she said cheerfully, grabbing my hand as we headed to the car.

I was excited. I loved it when she cooked for me. My dad and I would sit, eagerly waiting for the dish to be placed on the table so we could devour it like wild animals. They both worked a lot, but we cherished the moments we spent together.

“Actually, Mom, I need to go to Kayleen’s house.”

Olivia Gray raised her eyebrows.

“We have a project to do, but I’ll be back before nine!”

“Okay. Do you want me to take you?”

“No, no. I’ll go on my own.”

I opened the car door and placed my backpack and violin case inside.

“Are you sure?” Olivia asked again, but I was already closing the door and running off.

“No need! But don’t eat everything! I want dinner too.”

I didn’t wait to hear her reply, already dashing toward the park. I pulled my dress up to make it easier to run.

I hope he’s there.

That was the thought I clung to until I reached the park and heard laughter. I immediately recognized Dante’s among the unfamiliar ones.

I headed to the court and saw him among four other boys. Two of them were fighting while the other three, Dante included, simply watched, laughing and shouting.

Terror gripped me. Wasn’t he going to stop the fight? Was he finding this amusing? How could seeing someone else get hurt be funny?

Dante seemed to be the one encouraging the fight the most. Every punch, kick, or block earned louder cheers and laughter from him.

This was the first time I’d seen him react so openly, heard his voice at such volume, and studied his more aggressive, agile movements. But it was also the first time I discovered one of his pastimes: watching boys fight.

I thought about going home and perhaps never speaking to him again. I hated blood and injuries. I couldn’t even watch action movies because, real or not, seeing someone get hurt was unbearable. Dante, on the other hand, seemed fascinated.

Before I could leave, one of the boys accidentally hit Dante. I didn’t suppress the gasp that escaped my lips as he fell to the ground, clutching his bloodied nose.

But the boys didn’t care about him. Instead, every head turned toward me, their expressions confused and questioning as they noticed me standing a few meters from the court.

I locked eyes with Faulkner’s dark, emotionless gaze. Feeling like a fool, I decided to leave as quickly as I’d arrived.

Before I could take a step out of the park, an arm wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me against a body.

A squeal escaped my throat, but a warm laugh bubbled in my ear, accompanied by a pair of words:

“Do you have some sort of obsession with me, Gray?”

Hearing his voice after three weeks since that day sent a shiver down my spine.

Dante released me, and I turned to face him.