Sinless

CHAPTER 3

Glimpses of the Past

Aria’s POV

As I put Sofia into bed, her small fingers clasped around mine, her eyes heavy with sleep but yet carrying a brightness I have always admired. Tonight is cold. As her eyelashes flutter shut, her breathing smoothing out, I brush her hair and feel warmth course through me. All is quiet for a brief period. Just the two of us in a world I have so diligently sought to keep safe.

But my mind is not tranquil. Dante's presence still hangs around, his words resonating in my thoughts. Seeing him once more felt as though I had been startled by a dream I had buried. And now I'm awake, confronting the terrible reality that his return might bring down all I have created.

Sofia is sleeping peacefully, so I leave her room and shut the door, leaning against it briefly to collect myself. Years have passed since I felt like this—that of hunting and cornered behavior. Dante's face—those eyes meant to comfort me now show a storm I cannot overlook. He is not going to let this pass. I can't let him in, though, or let him ruin the delicate planet I have rebuilt.

I head toward the little living area and settle on the couch. Though I prefer not to remember the past, it is right here now. Those years with Dante were passionate, dangerous, filled with love and control as well as peril. And nowadays? I can only count on myself now.

As I make breakfast, Sofia's laughter permeates the flat while the morning light dances over the curtains. Her happiness, her innocence, shields me. I can bear anything as long as she is happy. But I can't get rid of the uncomfortable sensation wriggling in my gut today.

When the door knocks, I hardly get a chance to sit down with her. My heart pauses, and I discover I am holding my breath. Knowing it could be anyone—a neighbor, a delivery—I help the panic subduct.

Still, I do not immediately open the door. I warn Sofia to remain still, then I approach warily, peeping through the peephole. Seeing him—Dante, waiting on the other side, his eyes unreadable—my gut wrenches.

Keeping the door partially closed, I open it as though it will somehow shield me from whatever he is about to say.

"Your desire is what?"My voice is steady, but my heart is racing as I ask.

His eyes squarely meet mine, fierce and relentless. "To talk," he adds, his voice cool but firm. "Aria, I am not here to start problems. Simply put, I want to know.

Surely understand? That term comes out of him almost as ridiculous. He simply wanted to own, to dominate, not to know me. But something in his gaze now makes me stop.

I move aside against better judgment and let him enter. He looks about, appreciating the little, comfortable flat; his eyes linger on Sofia's drawings pinned to the wall, the pictures strewn over the shelves. It is a far cry from the opulent and extravagant life we used to lead. But here is my secure refuge.

Dante looks at me, a flutter of something I cannot quite read in his eyes. She looks like you, he says gently, nodding at a framed picture of Sofia.

I say, folding my arms defensively, "She's her own person." She doesn't need you upsetting her life.

He looks at me, a little smile pulling at his mouth. "Aria, I am not here to cause disturbance. I'm here since I want to share her life. The life of our daughter. .

daughter of ours. The words sting, reminding me that he has a claim on her notwithstanding everything. He cannot, however, simply stroll back into our lives and demand forgiveness.

"What about the risk?My voice is becoming hard, I ask. "Your world, your lifestyle—exactly why I left."

Dante's visage darkens, a trace of remorse over his features. "Things are different now," he continues, but his voice seems hesitant, a shadow indicating he isn't as in charge as he would have liked me to think.

I shake my head, trying to control my feelings. "Dante, I do not believe that. You seem to be exactly the same as you were before. And your whims make me not take any chances regarding Sofia's safety.

He approaches, and for a minute I sense that old pull—that magnetic force—that made saying no to him impossible. Still, I resist, reminding myself of the many evenings I spent afraid, always peering over my shoulder.

"Aria," he murmurs gently, staring straight ahead. "I am aware of my faults. For both of you, though, I am working to right things. I wouldn't want her taken from you. Simply put, I want a chance.

One opportunity. He only wants that, and yet it seems like the largest risk I could possibly take. Every time I try to go ahead, the sharp, jagged edges of our past cut me. But a tiny, sensitive part of me yearns to believe him.

I chew, my voice hardly audible. "You have no idea what you are asking, Dante. Sofia; she is all I have.

"She's all I have too," he says, his voice so strong it surprises me. "I had no idea about Aria. You never let me represent her father.

His comments weigh heavily between us and make me doubt and feel guilty. I cannot afford to waver, though. "This is not only about you," I add, my voice faltering. It's about her. And should even the smallest risk exist—“

His voice sharp, he says, "I would never let anything happen to her." "I would shield her with my life.”

His comments really speak to me; for a minute, the weight of my own anxieties—the doubts and the what-ifs whirl in my head. I am unable to let him see that, though. I must be robust to keep him at arm's distance.

Sofia's voice cuts through the suspense just as I am ready to answer. She walks into the room wiping her eyes and blinking at Dante, curious yet sleepy.

Mother, please?Looking up at me, she asks, "Who's this?"

I stop; my mind is flying. I had not budgeted for this or gotten ready for the occasion when she would see her father for the first time. I look at Dante, who is marveling at her as though he were witnessing a miracle come to pass.

With a barely steady voice, I say, "This is...an old friend."

Dante knelt to her level, a soft smile on his face. Hi, Sofia, he says gently. My name is Dante. Meeting you is interesting.

She glances at him for a minute, examining him with a somber gaze so similar to mine it almost makes me chuckle. She then beams, a brilliant, naive smile that fills the space.

She responds, "Nice to meet you too," and I get a sensation of something I can't quite identify—hope, fear, maybe both.

As they engage, my heart hurts with a range of feelings. I part from her to protect her from the complexity of the past. Another part of me, though, is aware that I cannot permanently hide her from reality.

I see myself relaxing and my defenses failing as they speak. Perhaps, just perhaps, Dante can be in her life without endangering all I have battled for.

But as the idea wanders through my head, I see something out of the corner of my eye—a man hiding in the shadows outside the window. My spine gets cold, and I sense the familiar prickle of anxiety.

I say, "Dante," my voice hardly whispers. He looks up, his face becoming austere as he tracks my direction.

Though the person is gone, the suspense remains a sobering reminder of the threats remaining all around us. My heart races, and I understand that the past finds a way back into the present regardless of how much I wish to believe things can change.

Dante's hand meets mine, and for a minute I experience an unusual comfort and unity. Although we cannot escape our past, perhaps we could face it together.

But I know more than to believe that sentiment to be. Since nothing is ever as straightforward as it sounds on this planet.