The silence stretched between them like a blade.
Luciano sat on the couch, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the flickering candle Grace had placed on the table between them. Power still hadn't returned since the storm. Darkness wrapped around the cabin like a second skin.
He hadn't spoken in nearly twenty minutes.
And yet Grace waited.
She didn't pressure him. She didn't move. She just sat across from him, curled in her worn blanket, staring like she could see past his silence and into his bones.
Finally, he spoke. Voice low. Flat. Controlled.
"Dante wasn't just anyone."
Grace said nothing. Let him keep going.
"He was blood. My cousin. My brother, in every way that mattered." His lips curled into something bitter. "We were raised under the same roof. Trained by the same monster. Baptized in violence. He was all I had... until he wasn't."
Grace's throat tightened, but she didn't interrupt.
"We were meant to take over the Moretti family together. Two heads, one empire. I handled the south. He handled the books. We made it work."
His eyes drifted toward the window, into the shadows. "Then money started disappearing. Weapons rerouted. A deal with the Giordano cartel went wrong. People died. People I trusted."
He paused.
"Turns out Dante had been working with them behind my back. Skimming, trading information, building his own little kingdom under mine."
Grace's chest ached for him, though she knew she shouldn't feel anything.
Luciano looked at her now—really looked. "I gave him a choice. Leave with what he'd stolen and disappear. Or I'd put a bullet in him myself."
Her breath hitched. "What did he choose?"
"He smiled... and shot me in the back."
A single beat passed.
"And now," he continued, "I'm a traitor to my own family. Hunted. And if Dante's still breathing, he's not done until I'm buried beneath concrete."
Grace swallowed, then moved to the edge of her seat. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you asked," he said simply. "And because if something happens to you because of me, I won't be able to lie to myself and say you didn't know what I was."
She stared at him, searching for signs of guilt. There were none. Just exhaustion, pain, and something else—emptiness.
"You're not just a sinner, Luciano," she said softly. "You're a man who was betrayed."
He gave a low, humorless laugh. "Same thing in my world."
Grace stood slowly, walking toward him. "You can stay here until you're strong enough to leave. But you better understand something..."
He looked up.
"I don't pity you. I don't trust you. But I'm not scared of you either."
Luciano's eyes narrowed. "You should be."
"No," she said, turning her back on him. "You should be scared of what happens when someone finally sees through you—and chooses to stay anyway."