ISABELLA
I didn’t want to leave the river. Even when the sky began to lighten, even when the storm softened into a cold drizzle, even when my clothes clung to my skin and my bones felt like ice — I still didn’t want to move. The river kept roaring, as if it were taunting me, as if it knew something I didn’t. As if it had swallowed my husband whole.
Vito stepped in front of me, blocking my view of the broken bridge. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his clothes soaked through, but his eyes were steady.
“Isabella,” he said quietly, “you need to rest.”
“I’m not leaving,” I whispered.
“You have to.” His voice didn’t rise, but it hardened. “You’re exhausted. You haven’t slept. You haven’t eaten. You can barely stand.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
I looked down. He was right. My
