iting cramped, like her father had written it in a h

atore De

did cannot be forgiven, and I do not ask for it. I only ask that you let this end with me, and not be carried onto a son who

ton

name *Salvatore* turning over i

go, between two men who were now both gone from the equation in different ways -

t the pieces into something that made sense. Her father had begged forgiveness from Luca's father. Isabella De Santis had died in a fir

e enough that her father still

-

tion, and she found herself sitting across from Luca in the back of a private dining room at a hotel that probably cost more

samples away. "You're forcing me into a marriage and n

r in front of him. "People will be watching this wedding clo

t is it,

ind his eyes - not quite amusement, not quite i

're honest ab

th. "I'm honest about most things, Elena

he carried himself here, away from his men, away from her father's nervous hovering - less

he asked quietly. "I've noticed it. Every time

ing still against the paper. For a moment

tead. "The gardens or the b

not an

y one you're

couldn't quite name, something that looked almost like he wanted to say more and didn't trust himsel

for photographs. People should belie

he'd made a decision with her comfort in mind instead of hi

-

ange hour she'd spent across from him, when her phone

to voicemail. Somet

el

then a voice - distorted, mechanically altered

De Santis if you w

went cold. "

e click

st the sudden roaring silence of the house around her, every instinct screaming that the wed