Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(95)

Les ran to me, but I focused on Emile. I brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, and he stirred in his sleep.

“Lea?” Les asked.

“It’s Emile,” I whispered. “My nephew. Rafeo’s son. They didn’t kill him. They took him.”

I stood and watched him sleep, his breaths coming easily, his fist clenched beside his face.

“They took him,” I said. “To make him a Da Via, to make sure he never remembered being a Saldana.”

I approached the crib. Inside slept an infant girl, a blond thatch of hair crowning her head. Claudia and Matteo’s child. I scanned my memory for her name. Allegra.

I should have hated her. She was a Da Via and the daughter of a brother who had betrayed us all. But I didn’t. She was so beautiful.

“Lea . . . ,” Les started. “What should we do?”

I stepped away. “We’re wasting too much time. We need to keep going or we won’t have time to set the firebombs.”

“But surely this changes everything?”

“Does it?” I tugged on my hair.

“Wait.” Les grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him. “I know you say that Family comes before family, but I don’t believe that. I think family”—he gestured to Emile on the bed—“should come first. And I also believe that family is what you make of it.”

His words sank into me, twisting around my memory of what Safraella had said to me before the resurrection. She’d brought me back, allowed me to resurrect Les in order to kill the Da Vias. But She was a goddess of death. If She wanted them, did she really need me to deliver them?

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered.

“Lea, you’re the best thing in my life, and however long we have left here, I want to spend it with you. I will follow you no matter what you decide. But do you really want to give up what remains of your family just to make the Da Vias pay? If we only have time to save Marcello and the children or carry out your murders, which would your Family pick? Which would Rafeo pick?”

I sagged and Les wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to him.

When Safraella had given me a resurrection, I’d thought about choosing Rafeo. I’d thought about bringing him back. But it would have been a shallow gift, to return him to a life where his son was dead. Nevertheless here slept Emile, alive and whole, and I couldn’t leave him here, couldn’t leave him in the hands of the people who’d murdered his father.

“His son,” I answered.

Family over family, She’d said to me. But maybe She’d meant the opposite. Maybe sometimes murder wasn’t the answer.

Maybe this time I could choose to save a life instead.

I pulled away from Les and wiped my eyes under my mask. I’d spent so long planning to kill the Da Vias for murdering my Family. But they hadn’t killed all of us. This time I could choose family over Family. Vengeance didn’t have to be everything.

And maybe vengeance wasn’t as important as redemption.

“What should we do with that?” Les gestured to the bag that held the firebombs and extra supplies.

I sniffed. “Bring it, just in case. We’ll find Marcello. Then we’ll come here for Emile and we’ll leave. Join the Caffarellis or leave Lovero, I don’t care. As long as we’re together.”

Emile sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes with his fists. “Aunt Lea?”

“Oh.” I rushed over, kneeling in front of him. “Yes, it’s me.”

He reached out for me and I grabbed him, holding him tight, his small arms wrapped around my neck.

He was so exquisite. I didn’t want to ever stop looking at him. He let go of me.

“You went away,” he scolded. “Did you bring my papa?”

My breath escaped me in a whoosh and I reached for him again, but he saw Les over my shoulder and squirmed free of me.

“Papa!” He stumbled to Les. But when he got closer he slowed, perhaps seeing how tall Les was compared to Rafeo.

Les pushed his mask up and smiled at Emile, who stared at him suspiciously.

I scooped up Emile. He tucked his face against my neck, hiding.

“I don’t have your papa.” I rubbed his back. “This is Les.”

“I want my papa.” He pouted.

“Me too.”

I walked him to the bed and set him down. “I want to you to listen to me carefully,” I said. He nodded. “Les and I are going to leave you here—”

“No!” he shouted. I peeked at Allegra’s crib, sure he would wake her. “I want to go with you!”

“You can come with us,” I said. “But only if you’re a big boy and can wait and be quiet.” Before the attack Rafeo had been teaching Emile how to be patient, the first skill any clipper learned. “Can you do that?”

Emile picked at a scab on his arm while he kicked his legs. He nodded.

“Fine, then. You’re going to wait and be quiet in your bed. And if you do a good job, Les and I will come back and find you and you can come with us.”

Emile wrinkled his nose but nodded. I reached into my belt and pulled out the smallest knife I had, a push dagger designed to fit between my knuckles for a punch with a surprise. I handed it to Emile, and his eyes lit up.

“Be careful with it,” I said. “You remember the rules?”