“Is that okay?”
A slight smile touched his lips.
“It’s your home, Ellie. That’s the point.”
He seemed different that day, less guarded, more human somehow. He wore casual clothes, dark jeans and a gray sweater that softened his usually intimidating presence.
“Would you like tea?” I asked, unsure why he was there.
“Coffee, if you have it.”
I nodded, moving to the kitchen while he continued to survey my living space. He paused to examine the framed photo of my sister and me that sat on the bookshelf.
As I prepared the coffee, he said, “Marco talks about you constantly. He’s quite attached to you already.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I admitted, handing him a steaming mug. “He’s an amazing kid.”
Dante took a sip of coffee, his blue eyes meeting mine over the rim.
“Thanks to you, he’s happier than I’ve seen him in years. You have a gift with him.”
“It’s easy to care about Marco.”
His expression darkened momentarily.
“Not everyone finds it so. His mother’s family hasn’t attempted to see him since the funeral. Their hatred for me apparently extends to my 6-year-old son.”
The bitterness in his voice was palpable.
I had learned bits and pieces about Sophia from Mrs. Abernathy before she left. She had been beautiful, gentle, from a powerful family that had once been aligned with the Russos.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “That must be hard for both of you.”
He shrugged, a gesture meant to appear casual but failing to mask the tension in his shoulders.
“Marco barely remembers her now. Sometimes I think that’s a mercy.”
“And you?” I asked. “Do you still miss her?”
The question was too personal, crossing the careful boundaries we had established. I regretted it immediately.
Dante was quiet for a long moment, staring out the rain-streaked window.
Finally, he said, “I miss what she represented. Normality. The possibility of a life outside of…”
He gestured vaguely, encompassing the estate, the security, the world he had built.
