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As we make our way to the front door, I hear soft footsteps behind us. Turning, I see Alina, her eyes red-rimmed but determined.
“Dante,” she calls softly. “Can we talk? Just for a moment?”
I glance at Sal, who nods and hangs back, giving us space. Turning back to Alina, I see the need for closure written plainly on her face.
“Of course,” I say gently.
She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “So, the redhead didn’t die?”
“No. And her name is Adele.”
She nods. “Was she—is she the reason why you couldn’t love me? Like, if . . . if she wasn’t in the picture, do you think . . . maybe it could have worked between us?”
The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I owe her honesty, at the very least.
“Tell me something first. Who did you really want, Nico or me?”
She shrugs. “I’m not sure. I think I loved you since that Thanksgiving you put Paulo—my cousin in the hospital for beating me.”
I furrow my brows, not having the foggiest recollection, although beating up a girl sounds like something Paulo Rinaldi would do.
“The party was right in this house. I was six, you were fourteen, and he was about twenty.” Alina explains when she sees the look on my face
I snort. “Sounds like the fucker deserved it.”
“Anyway, that was the last family gathering your parents let you attend because apparently, Paulo spent three months in the hospital after that. I didn’t see much of you again. I saw Nico instead. And I think I fell for him too.”
“So you would have married Nico if your mother hadn’t interfered?”
“I guess so. You and Nico look so much alike, you know. You’re literally the same people.”
I want to burst out laughing, but I rein it in as a wave of protectiveness surges in me. Nico and I might look identical but we couldn’t be any more different.
“No, Alina.” I finally give her the answer she needs. “We wouldn’t have worked out regardless. I’m pretty sure I would have made you miserable. And so would Nico.”
She nods, a single tear escaping down her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For being honest. I think . . . I think I needed to hear that.”
I reach out, squeezing her shoulder gently. “And I’d like to amend what I said before. If you’re ever asked to marry someone, whether you want to or not, come and talk to me, alright?”
With a final reassuring nod, I turn and walk out of the De Luca mansion.
As I slide into the driver’s seat beside Sal, he breathes, “Hell, poor girl dodged two bullets there.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I say, fighting a smile.
As I merge into traffic, I think about Orlando. I’ve known the man all my life. He’s a tough nut, famous for his near-pathological lack of emotion, and not at all one I’d pick as a father for Addy if it came down to choosing. But the man I saw today seems lightyears away from that person.
Still, I wonder if that’s enough. Does he really want to get to know Addy, or does he just want her because she carries his DNA?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dante
The drive back from De Luca’s is tense despite having succeeded in bringing back Orlando into the fold. Kira’s cell phone is still switched off and hasn’t moved from that spot in Logan Airport. Sal’s voice breaks the silence to beat himself up again.
“Something is wrong. She’s not home, either. She had a gig in Boston. It was supposed to be her first in five weeks, so she really wanted to do it. Fuck. I should have protected her better.”
I glance at Sal. “Did you take her to Boston yourself?”
