Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SLEEP
We drove to Vermont three days later.
Dante insisted on traveling with me.
I insisted on paying for my own meals.
He looked offended.
I ignored him.
During the drive, I learned more about his past.
He had a younger brother named Luca.
Luca died at twenty-three.
Dante believed Victor Hale had arranged his death after Luca discovered the financial operation.
“Why didn't you stop him?” I asked.
Dante stared through the windshield.
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“I made everything worse.”
He told me about the revenge he'd pursued.
The people he'd threatened.
The businesses he'd destroyed.
The years he'd spent believing violence could erase grief.
“It didn't,” he said quietly.
I looked at him.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I lost my brother. Then I lost myself.”
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, “Is that why you don't sleep?”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“I'm sorry.”
Dante gave a humorless smile.
“Most people don't say that to me.”
“Most people are probably afraid you'll glare at them.”
He looked at me.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Like that.”
For the first time that day, he laughed.
The sound surprised me.
It was warm.
Real.
And it made my heart ache.
Later, when we stopped at a roadside diner, Dante ordered coffee.
I stared at him.
“You told me you don't drink coffee.”
He looked at the cup.
“I lied.”
I laughed.
“Scandalous.”
He smiled.
Then his expression softened.
“Emma, I know I hurt you.”
I looked down.
“Yes.”
“I should have told you the truth.”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid you'd hate me.”
I looked up.
“Dante, you don't get to decide what I can handle.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
I studied him.
Then I said, “But I'm glad you're here.”
His eyes softened.
May you like
“Me too.”
And for the first time since learning the truth, I felt something between us begin to heal.
