𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞

11 | Arrivederci

D A N T E

 I shouldn't be doing this.

Every instinct told me to turn the car around, lock the doors, and tell her she wasn't going anywhere. 

That she was staying. That she had to stay.

But instead, my hands gripped the wheel, knuckles white, and my eyes stared out into the night road stretched before me.

The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was heavy. Like grief. Isabella sat curled in the passenger seat, her legs drawn up loosely, arms tucked close to her chest. 

She was wearing my hoodie. The same one I'd given her when she showed up at my door in the middle of the night a few days ago. The hoodie sagged on her figure, big, sleeves of the hoodie swallowed her hands.

She hadn't taken them off. And for some reason, that made my chest ache even more.

The engine hummed, soft and steady, matching the rhythm of my thoughts. 

She shouldn't be leaving. Not like this.

I flicked my eyes toward her. Her profile was lit by the passing streetlights—eyes fixed ahead, jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. 

She hadn't said much since they left. Just handed me a slip of paper with an address scrawled in her rushed handwriting. She didn't look at me when she gave it. Just quietly asked, "Can you take me there?"

I should've said no. But I didn't.

Now I was halfway to letting go.

The city gave way to darker streets, trees crowding in around the road.

I slowed a little, headlights slicing through the quiet suburban shadow. The address was coming up. My stomach twisted like someone had punched me right in the gut.

She moved slightly, leaning forward to squint at the street signs. "That's it. Right up here."

I turned in silence. 

The driveway was small, a single porch light casting a dull glow over the front steps. I pulled up slowly and put the car in park. 

She didn't move right away. Neither did I.

And then she exhaled, long and tired, and reached for the door handle.

"Angioletta," the word tumbled out of me sharper than intended.

She paused, hand resting on the door.

My throat tightened. I tried again, quieter. "Wait."

She turned her head just enough to look back at me, eyes glassy but unreadable.

In my hoodie, she looked smaller than she really was. More vulnerable. Like the girl who had once fallen asleep on his couch, legs tucked under her, hair spilling across his pillow.

"Don't," I said, but even I didn't know what I was asking. 

Don't leave? Don't go to wherever this is? 

Her expression didn't change. She looked tired. Not physically. Soul-tired. Like she'd already been carrying too much, and I was one more weight she couldn't afford to hold on to.

"I have to," she said quietly, gulping. "You know that."

I hated that I knew that.

Without another word, she opened the door and stepped out into the cool air. Her shoes scuffed the gravel. The door clicked shut. And that was supposed to be it.

But something in me rebelled.

I shoved my door open, got out fast, and crossed the space between us before she could take another step.

"Wait," I said again, voice low but urgent this time. 

She turned, startled, as I grabbed her by the arm—not hard, just enough to stop her.

And then I pulled her into my chest, hugging her.

The hug was rough at first. Desperate. I wrapped my arms around her and didn't care that I was holding her too tight. I didn't care that she went stiff in surprise before melting slowly into my embrace, her arms sliding up to grip my back. 

A mixture of warmth and ache spread across my chest. 

My hoodie smelled like her now, and it killed me a little.

"Take care of yourself," he murmured into her hair. "Please."

She didn't say anything. Just held on a second longer, then let go.

I almost didn't. But I forced myself to loosen my arms, fingers reluctant to leave her.

She stepped back, eyes glinting with something unspoken. Regret? Grief? Gratitude? I couldn't tell.

"You'll be okay?' I asked, voice hoarse.

She nodded. "Yes, Dante." 

Hearing my name from her lips made my heart flutter, my stomach twisted knowing that this would be the last time I'll probably ever hear her.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, fingers curling into fists so I wouldn't reach for her again. "You could call me. If anything goes wrong. Or even if it doesn't,"

"I will." She smiled faintly, sad and small. "And Thank you... for everything."

I nodded once, my lips curling into a faint smile.

"Goodbye, Dante" She said, before standing on her tiptoes and pressing her soft luscious lips to my cheek.

"arrivederci, angioletta mio" I forced the words out, my hands itched to pull her back into my arms.. (Goodbye, my little angel.)

She turned and walked toward the house.

I watched her until the door closed behind her and the porch light flicked off. Then I stood there in the cold for another minute, like a fool, staring at a door that wasn't going to open again.

I didn't know how long I stood there before finally getting back in the car.

The silence wrapped around me like a second skin as I drove away, and for the first time in a long time, I felt completely, bitterly alone.

The car felt cold, empty without her. Her laughter echoing in my mind, the faint smell of her only made my heart ache more.

I miss her.

WORD COUNT-1230

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love you darlings<3