This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(104)

She’d spent years wondering if there was something wrong with her, if she was a mistake, a flaw in the divine tapestry of the world, and it had nearly killed her. He’d lived with it his entire life.

Despite a lifetime of misery, Dante had helped a little girl in an alley being bullied by someone stronger and more powerful. He’d chosen to say yes when a scared young woman asked for help.

He’d stayed when he could’ve left, loved when he could have hated, and he’d let himself be locked up to protect people who had no qualms about making him suffer.

They didn’t deserve him.

Josef tiptoed into the bathing room with the tray, nudging it close to the edge so Alessa could reach.

Dante’s eyes were closed, but he drifted in and out of consciousness, occasionally wincing as she dabbed his wounds with a wet cloth.

“Don’t bother. I’ll heal soon enough,” he said.

She reached for a spoon, determined to get some sustenance into him so his powers could work unhindered. “Will you let me take care of you, for once?”

“No one takes care of me,” he slurred.

Tears pricked her eyes. “I do. Now shush.”

The broth, or his powers, revived him enough for a smile to curl his lips. “Aren’t you supposed to kiss injuries to make them better?”

She pressed a kiss to his temple.

“That doesn’t count.”

“If I kiss you like I want to,” she scolded, “you’d drop dead from exertion. Heal yourself, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

His eyes opened. “When is Divorando?”

“Not for another day. Don’t worry about it right now. You need to rest.”

Josef must have been waiting with his ears cocked at the top of the stairs, because he clattered down the moment she called for help. Together, they hauled Dante from the water, wrapped him in towels, and maneuvered him up the stairs.

Josef was adorably mortified about tucking a sleeping ghiotte into his Finestra’s bed.

“Go and be with Nina. She did great.”

Josef beamed at her. “She did, didn’t she? She really is very sorry—”

Alessa stopped him with a hand. “We’ve all made mistakes. She was scared and trying to protect someone she loved. I’ve had enough revenge fantasies tonight to understand that. Besides, I’m going to need all of you on the peak.”

Josef bowed low. “It will be my honor, Finestra.”

Alessa laughed. “After tonight, don’t you think you can bring yourself to use my name?”

“It would be an honor, Miss Paladino.”

She nudged his shoulder. “Good enough for now. We’ll work on it.”

When Josef was gone, she crawled into bed beside Dante.

He groaned and opened one eye. “I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit.”

He wheezed a laugh. “Aw, luce mia. You do know how to make a man’s heart flutter.” He groaned. “Is this what it feels like to die? Should I tell you my name now?”

“You’re not dying. You’re malnourished and not healing at your usual rate. But you can tell me your name.”

“Ha,” he said with a wince. “Nice try. If I’m not dying, you don’t get it until after you save the world.”

“Well, you’re too feeble to run away, so I’ll get it out of you eventually. Now, sleep.”

At some point, his breathing settled, and with it, her last reserves of energy abandoned her.

She clung to him through the night, legs threaded with his, face pressed to his shoulder, counting the hours in the metronome of his heartbeat.

She woke to Dante’s sleep-roughened voice. “Aren’t you supposed to spend this time in worship?”

Alessa threw the covers back, sighing in relief at his lack of bruises. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

He made a low sound of approval as she ran a hand down his chest. “Gotta remember what you’re fighting for, eh? Didn’t you say you’d kiss all my injuries?”

“You had a lot of injuries, but I’ll do my best.”

When hunger finally drove them from bed, Alessa and Dante raided the stash of food left by the kitchen staff before they’d retreated to the safety of the Fortezza. The morning slid by in a flurry of kissing, strategizing, eating—Dante insisted they “fuel for battle,” which apparently meant snacking every hour—and the occasional stretch of stillness when the full impact of what they were about to face knocked the breath from Alessa. In those moments, Dante seemed to sense the shift in her mood before she did, and he’d pull her onto his lap to quiet her fluttering fingers with a squeeze of his hands, holding her until it passed.

During one bout of nervous shivers, he pulled a cloak from the back of the couch and draped it over them.

“What’s this?” He pulled out a bundle of papers, and she took it, untying the string in silence.

“Letters,” she said. “From my mother.” She flipped through the stack, noting the dates written on the top of each, but not reading any further.

“You going to read them?”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t know. I’m overwhelmed just knowing she wrote them at all.”

Dante gave her a peck on the cheek. “I’ll give you a minute to think about it.”