Chapter 23 New chapters
Two months of dates that actually feel like dates—dinners with candlelight that don’t end in gunfire, weekend walks through Prospect Park where the only thing following us is the autumn leaves, lazy Sunday mornings with coffee in bed and his arm slung over my waist like it belongs there.
Daniel is golden-retriever energy personified: warm, enthusiastic, endlessly attentive. He remembers the little things—the way I take my coffee (black, no sugar, extra hot), the brand of lip balm I like, that I get quiet when it rains because it reminds me of that last night in Italy. He brings home flowers “just because,” leaves voice notes when he’s stuck in traffic telling me he’s thinking about me, plans trips to the Hudson Valley just to watch the leaves change. He’s good. Steady. Safe.
And I hate that part of me still measures him against a ghost.
Dante is lodged in my head like shrapnel—deep, impossible to dig out without bleeding. I catch myself doing it at the worst times: Daniel’s hand on my lower back as we cross the street, and suddenly I’m remembering Dante’s palm there in the warehouse, shielding me from bullets. Daniel laughing at some stupid joke over brunch, and I hear Dante’s low, rare chuckle—the one he saved for when we were alone. Daniel kissing me goodnight, soft and sweet, and my body remembers Dante’s mouth like it was yesterday—hungry, desperate, like the world was ending and we only had one night left.
I pretend I don’t care what’s happening back in Italy. I tell myself the silence is a gift. That if he wanted to reach me, he would have. That Marco’s last encrypted update six months ago (“Boss is handling business. Stay put.”) was the final word.
But I wonder.
Every time my phone buzzes with an unknown number, my heart stutters. Every time I see a black SUV idling too long outside the office, my pulse spikes. I tell myself it’s paranoia. Trauma response. Normal for someone who once had a price on her head.
I’m lying.
I still check the burner in the back of my sock drawer once a week. Still keep it charged. Still hope—against every rational part of me—that one day it rings and it’s him saying, “It’s done. I’m coming.”
It never does.
So I keep moving forward. Because standing still hurts more.
i still thought of my best friend Sophia, my Sophia not Dante's little girlfriend. I couldn't call because Dante said it's best I don't call anyone for security reasons..
Mara is the only person who knows the full, unfiltered version.
We met six months ago at a rooftop yoga class in Dumbo—both of us terrible at downward dog, both of us laughing too hard at our own lack of balance. She’s thirty-one, a freelance graphic designer with a septum piercing, a laugh like wind chimes, and zero tolerance for bullshit. She calls me out when I deflect, pours wine when I need to talk, and never once judged me for the messy truth I finally spilled after our third coffee hangout.
Tonight we’re at her tiny walk-up in Greenpoint. Fairy lights strung across exposed brick. Takeout Thai containers open on the coffee table. A half-empty bottle of Pinot Grigio between us.
I’m curled on her couch, knees to chest, staring at the ceiling fan like it has answers.
“He texted me good morning with a picture of the sunrise from his run,” I say. “Daniel, I mean. Said he thought of me when he saw the colors.”
Mara nods, swirling her glass. “That’s sweet. Golden retriever behavior, level expert.”
“Yeah.” I pick at the label on the bottle. “And I felt… nothing. Not nothing-nothing. Just… flat. Grateful, sure. But not the way you’re supposed to feel when someone’s trying that hard.”
She watches me. Doesn’t rush to fill the silence.
“I keep waiting for it to click,” I continue. “For the part of me that’s still stuck in Italy to let go. But every time Daniel touches me, I compare. Every time he says he loves me, I hear Dante’s voice saying it first—whispered against my neck like a secret. And I hate myself for it. Daniel doesn’t deserve to be second place to a memory.”
Mara sets her glass down. Leans forward.
“You’re not making him second place. You’re just… grieving. Not the relationship—because it never really ended, it just stopped. You’re grieving the version of you that believed he’d always come back. That love like that doesn’t just vanish into radio silence.”
I swallow. “I don’t even know if he’s alive.”
“You do,” she says gently. “You’d know if he wasn’t. Marco would’ve told you. Or someone would’ve come knocking. The fact that no one has means he’s still out there. Still fighting whatever war he’s fighting.”
I nod. Tears prick, but I blink them back.
“I wonder what he’s doing right now,” I admit. “If he’s sitting in some safe house staring at my picture. If he’s hurt. If he’s forgotten what my voice sounds like.”
Mara reaches over. Squeezes my ankle.
“Or maybe he’s doing exactly what you’re doing—trying to live. Trying not to drag you back into the mess. Maybe the silence is his version of protection. Doesn’t make it hurt less, but it doesn’t make it less real either.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“Daniel asked me to spend Thanksgiving with his family. Upstate. His mom’s making pie from scratch. His sister’s bringing her new baby.”
Mara raises an eyebrow. “That’s big. That’s ‘meet the parents’ territory.”
“I know.” I rub my face. “And I want to say yes. I want to show up with wine and smile and let his mom hug me too long. I want to feel normal. But part of me feels like I’m betraying him—Dante. Like if I let myself be happy here, I’m closing the door on whatever chance we had left.”
She tilts her head. “Do you really believe there’s still a chance? Or are you holding onto the idea of a chance because it’s safer than risking your heart on someone who’s actually here?”
The question lands like a slap. Soft, but accurate.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
Mara scoots closer. Pulls me into a side hug.
“Then sit with not knowing. You don’t have to decide tonight. You don’t have to choose between Daniel and a ghost. You just have to choose yourself. Over and over. If Daniel’s good to you—and he sounds really good—let him be good to you. If Dante shows up tomorrow with a plane ticket and a sorry, then you deal with it then. But right now? Right now you’re allowed to eat pad thai and drink too much wine and let a nice man hold your hand without punishing yourself for it.”
I lean into her. Let the tears come this time—quiet, hot.
“I miss him,” I say. “Even when I’m happy. Even when life is good.”
“I know,” she murmurs. “And that’s okay. Missing someone doesn’t cancel out the life you’re building. It just means you loved hard. And you still do.”
We sit like that for a while. The city hums outside the window. Sirens. Laughter from the street. Normal sounds.
Eventually I wipe my face. Sit up.
“I’m going to say yes to Thanksgiving,” I tell her.
She smiles. “Good. Bring me leftovers.”
I laugh—small, real.
“And I’m going to stop checking the burner every week,” I add. “Not forever. Just… for a while.”
Mara nods. “One step. That’s all it takes.”
I pick up my phone. Open Daniel’s last text: a selfie from his run, sunrise behind him, caption: Thinking of you.
I type back:
Yes to Thanksgiving. Can’t wait to meet your mom’s pie.
I hit send before I can overthink it.
The reply comes almost instantly: 😍 Best news all week. I’ll pick you up Wednesday night?
I smile.
Yes.
Mara raises her glass.
“To new chapters,” she says.
I clink mine against hers.
“To new chapters.”