The car stopped at a red light. Rain ran down the window like veins.
“Why do you have this?” I asked.
Dante’s gaze shifted to the city ahead.
“Because I’ve been investigating Julian Crowe for eight months.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
A faint shadow crossed his expression. Not guilt exactly. Something older.
“My family and the Crowes have history.”
I laughed once, hollow and sharp.
“You mean mafia history?”
The driver’s eyes flicked toward the mirror.
Dante did not.
“Yes.”
The honesty stunned me more than a denial would have.
“And I’m supposed to trust you?”
“No.” He turned toward me. “You’re supposed to trust what you can verify. That is why I gave you the documents.”
The car moved again.
My wedding dress filled the space around my legs like spilled snow. My veil was gone. My diamonds were still locked around my throat, glittering like Julian’s last handprint.
I reached for the clasp, but my fingers slipped.
Dante noticed.
“May I?”
I froze.
No one had asked me that all day.
Slowly, I turned my back to him.
His fingers brushed my neck once. Lightly. Carefully. The clasp opened, and the diamond collar fell into his palm.
I touched the skin where it had been.
The absence felt like air.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Dante placed the necklace on the seat between us as though it were a weapon.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To your brother.”
I looked at him.
His face gave nothing away.
“Julian said Miles would lose treatment if I left.”
“He already moved to do it. Five minutes after you walked out of the cathedral.”
My breath stopped.
Dante lifted his phone and showed me a message.
Crowe order blocked. Hospital director cooperating. Patient secured.
I read it twice.
“You got to Miles?”
“Yes.”
“How?”