Page 82 of Obsession & Oath

“Sei una figlia per me.” You are a daughter to me.

A quiet, shuddering breath leaves me.

I never had a mother to hold me like this. To say words like that.

Slowly, painfully, I pull away.

Evelina cups my face, stroking my cheek one last time before she lets her hands drop to her sides, her expression unreadable but for the sheen of tears in her dark eyes.

“Ask me,principessa. Ask me for your favor.”

I swallow hard and step back.

Dante still hasn’t moved, hasn’t looked at her, at either of us. Silently allowing us these precious moments. Silently allowing our lives to be dictated by others. Silent and unwilling to fight for us.

He’s made his decision. There’s nothing left to fight for.

“Evelina,” I say softly. “Matriarch of the Grasso di Ferro. I call in my favor.”

She’s already turning to her son, anger on her tongue. But I cut in before she has a chance to unleash whatever hell she intends to reign down on him.

“Let me go.” I turn away before I can break, sliding into the car, the door slamming shut behind me.

As we pull away from the castle, I glance out the window.

Evelina stands on the steps, hands clasped to her chest, tears slipping down her cheeks.

She watches until we’re gone.

I don’t realize I’m crying until the car hits a bump in the road, and a tear slips from my cheek onto my hand.

I blink down at it, almost surprised.

Dante stares straight ahead, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white. His jaw is locked, his expression unreadable, but I know him well enough to recognize the tension in his shoulders, the way his breaths come slower, heavier.

I press the sleeve of my sweater against my cheeks, inhaling sharply. Enough. It’s done. There’s no turning back now.

I force my voice to be steady. “What happens now?”

“We get on a plane.” Dante doesn’t look at me. “We land in Brooklyn. You go back to your father.”

It’s a clean answer. A professional one. The kind of response that makes it seem like this is nothing more than a transaction.

I swallow against the ache in my throat. “And why now?”

Dante exhales through his nose, gripping the wheel even tighter. “Amos finally agreed to trade you for one of the Guild’s valuable assets.”

Something about the way he says it—low and tight, with something dangerously close to anger in his tone—makes my stomach twist.

I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t.

Instead, his fingers flex against the leather, and his mouth curls in something that isn’t quite a smile. “You can finally go home.”

A cold sort of bitterness seeps into my chest.

Home.

The word should bring relief, but all it does is hollow me out from the inside.

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