My Tragic Mafia Life | ✔️

69

Josephine could hear hours later. But she didn't speak.

Dante's chest rose and fell for the hundredth time. He was resting, his shoulder nicely bandaged and cleaned up. It was only a flesh wound, Beatriz told her. It would be a couple of months before it was fully healed. He would live.

But Valentina would not.

Ever.

She could still remember her face.

She had not moved, barely spoken, since she came. When she realized that Dante had gone awry from the wound, she called Camillo—barely knowing if he understood her voice raw from screaming. She did not remember who moved her or when she came to Camillo's apartment. Who walked in first on the gruesome sight. But alone in a spare room, she did not think. She tried to not feel. She didn't know if it was working.

Her mind was on a loop, only interrupted by a stir in Dante's sleep. She watched him until he settled, losing her beguiling guilt until it was blurred by the chaos she'd endured. The life she did not save.

It hurt. It hurt so much she wanted to scream. To fill the entire room with an ear-splitting howl. But she couldn't. She had done enough of that in front of Valentina's body until her throat felt raw. All that was left of her was a shell.

The apartment was silent. Valentina's death had affected everyone. Grief was private, leaving everyone to wallow alone. Some moments, she could hear Isla's cry from the walls. Minutes past then it was gone, only to return a while later. She assumed Houston was there with her, soothing her pain.

Josephine flinched when Dante jolted from his sleep, awakening. He lurched when he pressed some weight on the bandages unknowingly, sitting upright. His eyes looked heavy, squinting against the lack of light. She had shut the blinds completely. She wanted to feel numb in the dark.

He said, "Josephine?"

She forced herself to speak. "Hello. It's...been a couple of hours." The words were weak, quiet. She was unsure of what else to say. Josephine spared the chiming clock a short glance before returning to him. Beatriz had come in an hour earlier to find something to eat. Some of it had been for Josephine, but she left the meal untouched. Doing anything felt wrong for her. Even eating.

Dante said, "It's over. After a year we finally—" He caught his breath. Josephine saw in that moment what it meant. For both of them.

She didn't need to be his spy. She was not his to command anymore.

His eyes turned distant, if only to consider that possibility. A future without her, without any more murder.

She said, "Valentina is dead."

Dante froze. His eyes widened.

After a year, Hugo was redeemed. The victim and the killer both ended in the same way: a bullet through the head. It must have felt like a great burden was lifted off of him. Dante should have been happy. He should be glad.

After beats of silence, he said, "I thought she was going to kill you."

Josephine went completely still.

"I thought you were going to die." She confessed. Her hands were once covered in his blood.

Dante looked away.

She said, "You killed Valentina." To protect her. To save her.

Not to redeem his brother.

"She was going to shoot you. Then she was going to shoot me. " Dante looked battered enough. "How is Camillo?"