ELENA’S POV
Luca falls asleep with his fingers still curled around Dante’s.
It happens slowly.
His grip loosens by degrees, breath evening out against my chest, the small weight of him settling deeper into me like he finally believes the world will hold.
Dante doesn’t move.
He sits there as if shifting might break something fragile and irreplaceable.
I study his face in the dim light.
This man who commands fear without raising his voice.
This man whose name makes powerful men choose their words carefully.
This man who has blood on his hands and ghosts in his past.
Right now, he looks… undone.
Not weak.
Never weak.
But changed.
Softened in a place he probably thought was long dead.
Luca’s fingers finally slip free. They fall against Dante’s palm before dropping gently to his
