This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(98)

“You’re going to let him out, right?” Kaleb winced with every step, his fingers digging into her arm, his free hand white on the railing.

“I can’t. Ivini’s told his supporters to back us instead of fighting us, and it would all fall apart if I align myself with a ghiotte. I can’t take that chance, especially after everyone agreed to let the Marked in. We’re finally united.”

“Yeah,” Kaleb said. “Against someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

“Shocking, I know, but it turns out this whole divine savior thing isn’t quite as fun as they made it sound.”

“Not fun? What part of this isn’t fun?” Kaleb snorted with laughter. “I’m having the time of my life, aren’t you?”

“It’s a party every day.”

“Carnevale from morning to midnight.”

“A birthday that never ends.”

As they slowly made their way down through the Fortezza, they left the smooth walls of the main corridor for older, rougher tunnels, and finally, the catacombs. Kaleb was trembling and sweaty despite the damp cold, and the echoes of his wheezing made it seem as though the thousands of skulls lining the walls were breathing.

Two half-asleep guards stood outside the crypt where every deceased Fonte and Finestra lay in state.

“We’re here to pray for the…” Alessa struggled to get the words out.

“Revoltingly hideous monster,” Kaleb finished for her, speaking far louder than necessary. He grimaced and waved the guards away. “Shoo, will you? It’s bad enough without being gawked at.”

The guards traded irritated glances, but let them pass.

The mausoleum was entirely made of stone, with individual tombs on either side, gated to keep their occupants’ eternal slumber from being disturbed.

When they reached the first empty crypt, which Alessa realized with a lurch might someday be hers, she could make out the lone figure in the dark.

The day she’d met him, Dante had been in a cage, but he’d been magnificent, dominating the space with grace and power. Now he slumped in a corner, his eyes dull and lifeless. And it was her fault.

She might have thrown herself at the bars in a sobbing mess if Kaleb hadn’t shattered the moment.

“You’re not dead,” Kaleb said cheerfully.

Dante stood slowly, as if it took too much effort to move. “Neither are you.”

Kaleb bent close to the bars and spoke in a stage whisper. “Don’t know if you heard, but she tried her very best.”

Dante’s lip curled in a half smile. “She tried to kill me a few times, too.”

“First torture, then she locks you up?” Kaleb shook his head. “Women.”

Alessa rolled her eyes. “Yes, this is obviously a woman thing.”

She could have kissed Kaleb for making light of the situation, though. Dante couldn’t disguise his misery, his every movement jerky with tension, from the unconscious clench of his fingers to the tic in his jaw. It nearly broke her.

“She told you her theory?” Kaleb asked Dante.

After she finished explaining, Dante said nothing at first, merely stared at the wall. Then, “All of them, huh? You couldn’t have figured that out a few weeks ago?”

They laughed for too long, sitting in the dark, with bars between them and marble tombs all around, amidst the scurrying of rats and insects, a few days away from Armageddon.

Kaleb gave them a sheepish grin. “Well, I’m sure you’d like some privacy, but I don’t think I can make it up the stairs without help.” He turned to Alessa. “And you shouldn’t be here alone.”

Dante tensed.

“Relax,” said Kaleb. “I’m not accusing you of anything. Well, I mean—eh, not my business. Actually, I guess it is my business? But I don’t really want it to be, so anyway, there are appearances to keep up, and it needs to look like she hates you, so I’ll just … turn around for a few minutes.”

It was as close as they’d get to being alone, so Alessa put Kaleb from her mind and pressed her face to the bars. Dante met her there, warm skin framed by cold metal. She worked her hands into the stained fabric of his shirt, pulling him as close as she could.

The only sound was his rasping breath.

“Not much longer,” she whispered. “I’ll never let this happen to you again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, luce mia.” Dante kissed her forehead through the bars. “And don’t worry about me. I’ve been through worse. Probably will again.”

Her cheeks grew wet with tears. “How did you survive it for all those years?”

Dante made a low, exhausted sound. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“I want to know everything you’re willing to share with me.” She lifted his hand to trace the lines on his dirt-creased palm, seeking to memorize the feel of every calloused fingertip and taut tendon. Raising it to her mouth, she pressed a kiss to the dark smudge inside his wrist, all that remained of the false tattoo, in silent apology. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Especially now. It’s not the time.”

“I’m in a jail cell. Seems like the perfect time for confessions.” Dante drew her hand through the bars and held it to his rough cheek. “He used to taunt me.”