35

ALESSANDRO

“I’m sorry, Ales.”

“What the fuck are you apologizing for? This isn’t my fucking wife. Find her.”

He doesn’t move, not even an inch.

“What are you waiting for? I told you to fucking find her.”

“You already did, Ales.”

I grip him by the collar and haul him against me to peer down his goddamn nonexistent soul.

“Don’t fuck with me, Cesare. I told you this isn’t her, so your job is to nod your fucking head and go find her.”

He clasps my hand, and instead of removing it, he squeezes.

“My job is to tell you hard truths, and the current one is that we were too late. Lorena died in the aftermath of the bombing. I understand that you don’t want to accept that—”

His words are cut off when I slam my fist in his face. He staggers back, barely catching himself before he falls.

“Shut the fuck up. She didn’t die.”

He says nothing, but his gaze falls on the ring I’m still clenching in my hand.