Chapter 38 The Truce
The walk back to the East Wing was quiet, but the silence wasn't heavy like before. It was the silence of a cease-fire.
Dante walked beside me, his stride shortened to match mine. He held his injured arm stiffly against his side, but the tension in his jaw had relaxed.
When we reached the heavy wooden door of the suite, he hesitated.
"She might be angry," he said quietly.
"She’s five, Dante. She’s not holding a grudge; she’s holding her breath."
I pushed the door open.
Jasmine was exactly where I had left her, sitting on the rug surrounded by pencil shavings. Her head snapped up at the sound of the latch.
Her eyes went wide when she saw him.
"Papa?"
Dante stepped into the room. He didn't hover in the doorway this time. He walked straight to her and dropped to his knees, ignoring the wince of pain that crossed his face.
"Ciao, tesoro," he said softly.
Jasmine didn't hesitate. She scrambled up and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his good shoulder.
"You came back," she mumbled into his shirt.
"I will always come back," Dante said, wrapping his good arm around her and resting his cheek on the top of her head. He closed his eyes, and I saw the last of the "Don" armor melt away.
He looked at me over her head. His grey eyes were soft, grateful.
"I missed lunch," he said to her, pulling back slightly to look at her face. "But Lilith says I am not allowed to work anymore today. So, what should we do?"
Jasmine sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She looked at me, then back at him.
"Can we go outside?" she asked. "The room is too small."
Dante looked at the narrow window, then at the bright Sicilian sun slicing through the glass.
"Yes," he said. "We can go outside."
We didn't go far. There was a walled garden on the south side of the fortress, protected from the wind by high stone ramparts but open to the sun and the sea view.
It was wilder than the manicured gardens in the city.
Lemon trees grew in tangled groves, the air thick with the scent of citrus and dry earth. Wild thyme grew between the flagstones.
Donatello had set up a small table for us under the shade of an ancient olive tree.
It was the strangest lunch I had ever had.
On one side of the table sat the head of the Italian mafia, wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, carefully cutting a pear for his daughter.
On the other side sat me, a captive, wearing borrowed clothes. And between us sat a little girl who seemed determined to pretend that none of the bad things had happened.
"This cheese is weird," Jasmine announced, poking a piece of sharp pecorino.
"It is sheep's cheese," Dante explained. "It is from the village down the mountain. It is better than the plastic stuff you like."
"I like the plastic stuff," she insisted.
"You have terrible taste," Dante said, but he was smiling.
He looked younger here. The harsh Sicilian light suited him. It softened the lines around his eyes and made his skin look golden.
I watched him eat. He ate slowly, tearing off pieces of crusty bread and dipping them in oil. He caught me staring.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said, looking down at my plate. "It's just quiet."
"Sicily is always quiet," he said, looking out at the ocean.
"Time moves slower here. When I was a boy, I used to hate it. I wanted the noise of Rome. The speed of the city."
"And now?"
He took a sip of wine. "Now, I understand why my father built this place. Silence is a luxury."
Jasmine finished her cheese and slid off her chair.
"Can I look for lizards?" she asked.
Dante scanned the garden. It was enclosed. There were two guards by the gate, but they were distant, blending into the stone.
"Stay within the walls," he said. "And don't touch the cactus."
She ran off toward the lemon grove, her laughter bright and jarring in the quiet air.
Dante and I sat alone at the table.
The wind rustled the olive leaves above us. It was peaceful. Seductively peaceful. It was easy to forget that we were hiding. It was easy to forget that I had a plan to destroy him.
"Thank you," Dante said suddenly.
I looked at him. "For what?"
"For forcing me out of the office. She needed this." He paused. "I needed this."
"You're welcome."
He reached for the bottle of wine and poured a little more into my glass.
"You seem... different here," he observed.
"I'm not the one who changed," I said. "You're just not pointing a gun at me today."
He chuckled, a low, dry sound. "Give it time. The day is not over."
It was a joke. A dark one, but a joke.
"Why did your father build this place?" I asked, genuinely curious. "It feels like a fortress against the end of the world."
"It is," Dante said. "The Caravellis have held this rock for three hundred years. We have fought off invaders, pirates, rivals... and sometimes the law. This house stands because it does not yield."
He looked at me, his gaze intense.
"It is like you, Lilith."
My heart skipped a beat.
"I yielded," I said quietly. "I told you about the tunnels."
"You adapted," he corrected. "You survived. That is not yielding."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table.
"I have been thinking about what the intruder said. About the Key."
I stiffened. The peace evaporated slightly.
"I told you, I don't know what he was talking about."
"I believe you," Dante said. And surprisingly, he sounded like he meant it. "But Rinaldi believes it. Which means your father left something behind. Something more than debt."
"He left me nothing."
"Perhaps not intentionally," Dante mused. "But we will figure it out. When the house in the city is secure, we will search it. If there is a clue, we will find it."
"We?"
"Yes," he said firmly. "We."
He looked at Jasmine, who was chasing a small green lizard near the wall.
"You are part of this war now, Lilith. Whether you want to be or not. Rinaldi has made you a target. Which means you are under my protection."
"Is that what I am?" I asked, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. "A protected asset?"
Dante turned his eyes back to me. They lingered on my face, dropping to my lips for a fleeting second before meeting my gaze again.
"You know you are more than that," he said softly.
The air between us charged with electricity again, just like in the library. But this time, there was no knock at the door. There was only the sound of the wind and the sea.
He didn't move to touch me. He just let the words hang there, heavy and terrifying.
"Papa! Look!"
Jasmine came running back, holding a small, terrified lizard in her cupped hands.
Dante sat back, the moment breaking but the warmth remaining.
"Let me see," he said, turning his attention to her.
I watched them. I watched the way the sunlight caught his dark hair. I watched the way he gently touched the lizard's tail so he wouldn't hurt it.
I felt a crack in my chest. A fissure in the hatred I had nursed for so long.
I was supposed to be his downfall. I was supposed to be the poison in his house.
But sitting here, under the olive tree, watching him smile at his daughter... I didn't feel like poison.
I felt like I was home.
And that was the most dangerous feeling of all.