This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(60)

But it didn’t.

A ghiotte had taken her hands in that alley, not knowing if he’d survive his desperate gamble to save her. A ghiotte had risked his pride and safety to wrap a ridiculous scarf around his head and hug her when she needed it more than anything in the world.

From the day they’d met, Dante had tried to convince her he was cruel, unkind, and cold, but his actions made his words ring hollow. He was a ghiotte, but he was still Dante. And he hadn’t chosen his fate any more than she had.

She found him trying to scrub her blood from his white linen shirt. At the sound of her footsteps behind him, Dante threw the shirt into the sink and braced his hands on the counter.

“I promise I won’t tell,” she said, with the steady calm of a person soothing a growling dog. “But I have to know something.”

He didn’t turn around.

“The stories say ghiotte are demons disguised as men.” She swallowed. “Is it true? Are you … something else? Underneath?”

“Are you asking if I have horns?”

That was exactly what she was asking, but it seemed best to neither confirm nor deny it.

“No,” he sighed. “No horns. No tail. No claws. This is me.”

The breath whooshed out of her. Not a monster, at least no more than she was. In that instant, she made up her mind.

“No one else has to know.”

Dante looked irritated rather than grateful. “Someone already does. Why do you think I was threatening him? It’s bad enough he knows I’m in the city. All the money in the world won’t keep him quiet if he finds out I’m in the Cittadella. It’s one thing to have your runaway ghiotte wandering free, another to let him sleep on the Finestra’s couch.”

“Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t find out. Dante, please. You can’t go. Not now, when I finally know how much we have in common—”

“Common?” Dante spat out. “What do we have in common?”

“A lot. For one, we both understand what it’s like to be hated and feared. We both have gifts we didn’t ask for.”

“Gift,” he scoffed. “Some gift.”

“You can heal yourself. My gift only kills people.”

His fingers flexed against the porcelain. “Mine has killed plenty.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s why they killed your parents.”

“Yeah. And yours are getting paid extra for birthing the blessed Finestra. Like I said, we have nothing in common. You’re a savior. I’m an abomination. You got a castle, and I got locked in a shed by a man who tried to beat the evil out of me.”

Her stomach roiled.

No, their lives weren’t the same. Not in the obvious ways, but in the hidden, broken, jagged spaces inside them … why couldn’t he see how they were?

“I’m sorry for what happened to you. You didn’t deserve that, and neither did your parents. But…” Alessa clenched her fists, stunned at a possibility. “Maybe your power can help others.”

Dante scoffed. “What? Like being your Fonte? Good luck with that. The only gift you’d get from me is a slower death to watch the world end.”

“No, of course not. But I could practice on you.”

“You mean torture me.”

She flinched. “But not kill you.”

“I’m not invincible. I’ll die if you try hard enough.”

“But you’re closer than anyone else. You keep saying you don’t care about your safety. Is it so different from fighting for money? You could help me save Saverio.”

“What’s Saverio ever done for me?”

“There are children who will die horrible deaths.”

“Children grow up and become cruel like everyone else.”

“I didn’t want this duty either, but at least I’m trying.”

“You’re the savior, not me. I’m the selfish one, remember? This is your problem.”

She wanted to rake her nails down his face, to rip the cold disdain away by force. “Nice try, Dante, but it’s too late. I know you. There’s no way you’re fine with letting thousands of children die when you couldn’t even ignore one kid in trouble.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw you with that beggar girl getting pushed around by one of Ivini’s goons. You stopped him.”

Dante threw his head back. “Don’t make me into some kind of hero because I hate bullies. I am exactly what everyone says I am.”

“I don’t care what the stories say. You’re a good person—”

He threw his hands up. “Stop! You don’t know what kind of person I am. You have no idea what I’ve done, who I’ve hurt.”

“Then tell me. Convince me. Prove you’re evil. I dare you.”

He tore at his hair. “Fine! There was one person who tried to help me after I ran away. Just one. Ever. And I killed her.”





Twenty-Nine


Quando l’amico chiede, non v’è domani.

When a friend asks, there is no tomorrow.

DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 19


Alessa’s blood went cold. “I don’t believe you.” Her words didn’t sound convincing, even to herself.