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Sylvie is suddenly full of energy, fidgeting the moment she spots her father. She climbs out and rushes over as soon as I open the door. “Daddy, can I help?”

Ettore smiles for her, but I can see the rage in his eyes. It’s not aimed at his daughter. Something has happened. He seems off.

He sweeps her into a hug when she reaches him and kisses her on the head. “Sure, but only for a little while. But you must be tired.”

“Only a bit.”

“Then you can help… only a bit.”

“Anybody want lemonade?”

Ettore looks up at me, sweat dripping down his shirtless body. I quickly look away before my thoughts crash into places they shouldn’t. As I walk away, I hear Ettore say, “Did you have fun at ballet?”

I hope he shows up for the recital. I hope Sylvie gets that memory, bright, sparkly, wonderful with her father.

I take the lemonade out, then place the tray down, smiling when I see Sylvie sleeping in Ettore’s arms.

“Bring her into the shade,” I say softly.

He carries her onto the porch, sitting with her in his lap. Staring at her in wonder. “Sometimes, I look at her, and I wonder how I created somebody so beautiful. So innocent.”

“She has your eyes,” I tell him.

He looks at me sharply, in shock. “You think so?”

I nod. “Is… something wrong?”

He winces. He can’t talk about it in case she can hear.

I take out my phone and navigate to our text thread. My core throbs when I see one of the more recent ones.

Ettore: But if we cross that line, if I claim your perfect body, we won’t be able to stop. Once we truly taste each other.

I don’t let myself look at it for long.

Mara: Something’s wrong. That’s not a question this time.

He cradles his daughter with one hand, reaching into his pocket with another.

Ettore: It’s hell-related, Mara. Someone did something they shouldn’t have. Now, I don’t know who’s an enemy or who’s a friend. Soon, I’ll be forced to take action. The sort of action that will make my daughter hate me one day.

I read the message, chest going tight, then look over at him. He looks full of love and devastation at the same time.

Mara: She could never hate you if you did it for the right reasons.

He reads, then looks at me, shaking his head.

Ettore: Don’t you hate me, Mara? What I am? What I have to be?

Mara: I don’t hate you.

I want to say something stronger. Like,I don’t think I could ever hate you.But I have to hold something back. It’s only been a few weeks, yet family feels far more important to me than it should. I think of Callum, how desperate I was to belong… and how he used it to his advantage. I need to be careful.

Sylvie stirs. “Daddy, can I have a nap?”

Ettore chuckles. “I think you are.”

“You’re all bumpy,” she murmurs, her cheek resting against his chest.