Page 22 of His to Destroy

He doesn’t touch me.

But his presence is weight enough.

When I dance with Luca, it’s the only real moment I have all evening.

He’s giddy. Light. He tells me he wants to dance forever.

“Everyone’s looking, Mama.”

“Let them.”

We spin. We laugh.

For a moment, I forget where I am.

Until Gaspare steps forward.

He holds out his hand.

Luca grins and passes me over like a baton in a race. I bet Gaspare likes that. Likes that the boy doesn’t see him as a monster, but as someone he can trust his momma with.

I take Gaspare’s hand.

His grip is firm. Steady. Gentle.

We dance.

Slow. Silent. Not lovers. Not strangers.

Something in between.

“You’re doing well,” he murmurs.

“You make it sound like I’m on trial.”

“Aren’t we?”

I don’t reply.

By the end of the night, I am crumbling.

The dress is heavy. My feet throb. My smile aches.

Gaspare appears beside me like a shadow.

“Ready?”

I nod.

We walk through the guests like victors. Everyone claps. A few cheer. One man, a rival from another family, raises his glass and smirks.

“May you have many powerful years,” he says.

I want to throw my champagne at him.

The car ride is quiet.

Luca sleeps soundly on my lap, hand clutched in mine.

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