Page 86 of When Sinners Fall
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Hours slide together, and I’ve done nothing but sit. No amount of thinking, replaying, internal examination or, well, anything helps me to make sense of everything.
But, I know one thing. I’ve got to fix this with Dante.
We need to figure something out, so we don’t kill each other. I can tell he’s not acting how he wants to with me. He’s holding back, which means he’s pissed.
And so am I.
There’s one thing that doesn’t change, no matter how many times I go over it. No matter what I think, his worst was in defence of me. He came for me.
I asked for all in. He delivered.
And now I’m living with the consequences.
Everything has changed since moving back here. What started off as a darker fantasy world that I was having fun in has morphed into something so unrecognisable it’s scary. And no matter what, I can’t undo or change what I know.
Images flash up the memory of Dante standing in front of me, defending me when we were kids. I think of Abel and the other brother, Knox, I guess, at the warehouse. Family is everything to him. And I’m a part of that now.
My spine ignites with pins and needles, sending a shiver through me.
The door shutting has me leaping from my chair, and I see Dante stalk back in. His expression is covered in a scowl.
Maybe the time away hasn’t helped him calm down.
“Calmed down?” I ask, needing to test the water.
He looks at me with the same scowl on his face.
“Okay, how’s Abel?” It’s an olive-branch of a question.
“Fine,” he gruffs in response.
I look at him, and my head tilts to the side, confused as to his bad mood. “What’s the problem?”
“Ortega. But I can fill you in later. First, we should go over what I want to do regarding you.”
“Can we not argue?” I start.
“Depends on what you say. I’m not going to have you question things, Wren.”
I don’t respond because I can see this spiralling into an argument again. I need to be the stronger person here. Dante is my choice. This is my life. But, if these past few days have taught me one thing, it’s that there is no way I want to know everything.
“Okay, but actually, I don’t want to know about Ortega.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because…” I stop, but I feel emotion bubbling up. I can feel my frustration and anxiety grow, and I’ve been fighting it down. So, I spit it out. “I’ve seen it, Dante. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and I don’t want to know about it all. I thought I did. I thought I’d need to understand what you do, but way-hey,” I shake my hands about dramatically to get my point across. “I don’t.”
“There’s no going back, Wren. You wanted all in. You’ve got it. You can’t pick and choose what parts.”
“Like hell I can’t,” I yell back at him.
“You don’t get any choices, Wren.”
