Epilogue

EPILOGUE

TATI

"Hey, baby," Dante says as he comes inside and pulls his boots off.

He brings in the scent of fresh-cut wood and the forest, all normal parts of this quiet cottage in the woods we've made our home. The door shuts.

"Smells good," he calls, as the fresh bread reaches him.

I barely even see his scars anymore, but I rush to put my hands on him because I know it takes the edge off the pain.

"Which one of us are you talking to?" I ask as I cup his cheek with one hand and rock our baby daughter with my other arm.

"Both of you."

She's three months old this Halloween, conceived while her daddy was "ruining" my life. She was born right here in this cabin. The amount of pain and stress I endured without medication went far in convincing Dante he and I would be even eventually, but he was an absolute rock during the pregnancy and delivery. Considering we live off the grid, have no medical care, and pay for everything on stolen credit cards, it was a blessing when she was born healthy, safe, and whole.

"How was your day?" I ask, stepping out of the way and showing him what I made for us. He hunted the meat on our table, and we both grew the vegetables. Our garden has become quite prodigious.

"I went into town." His voice sounds strange now that I'm paying closer attention. There's a slight narrowness around the edge of his mouth.

"You did?"

He never wants to go into town if we can avoid it. He doesn't want people to remember us more than necessary. We'll have to leave here eventually and find similar place to set up.

"I did."

"And?" I ask, wanting to shake him for not just coming out with it, but my tone makes the baby cry.

"You upset her," he says as he pulls her into his good arm and kisses her on the forehead. She settles down so quickly it's criminal—typical daddy's girl.

"What happened in town, Dante?"

He doesn't look at me, just continues staring at Aurora.

"I spoke to someone who used to know me. The real me. I'm not sure what to do about it."

I swallow a couple of times. Before his injury, he was the heir to the Italian mob. He didn't know a lot of good people. Even though he's become more of a man than a monster in the last year, he doesn't have fond feelings for his family.

"Who?"

"My great uncle, he's been posing as the priest at the church I attended when I was a kid for years now."

That isn't what I was expecting, and I grow even more tense.

"I know you don't want your parents to know for sure if you're alive or dead." I've put an end to the tormenting calls to his father. If you're dead, just be dead.

"He won't tell them." His certainty is a heavy weight between us. "He told me something, but I'm not sure I believe him."

He stares at our daughter's face, like he's working through something very painful and his love for her is keeping him whole. I take her out of his arms and walk her over to the crib in the corner and lay her down. Her father's demons are not her responsibility. I take his hands in mine and squeeze them.

"Dante, please…" My heart races.

"He said that when the truck blew up, everyone ran. They all left me alone to burn."

I'm deathly quiet. That's about the way I heard it too after the smoke cleared. I was back at the loading dock where they strapped Dante with all those guns and explosives and got most of my information secondhand at best. I shiver lightly as my guilt threatens to drag me back to that dark place.

"He says the moment they cleared the area, he pulled me out of that truck. He says he took me to get help."

My heart stops, suspicions racing through me. Why would his uncle save him but not tell his family?

"Do you believe him?"

"I'm not sure what to think, but he knew a lot of things, things he shouldn't know if he wasn't the one to bring me to that hospital."

I pull him by the hand and lead him to the couch, then push him down and sit on his lap.

"What did he want?"

"He says I owe him." Strong arms snake around my waist. So what if one is stronger.

"Do you agree?" He has a terribly fair way of thinking, so I hope he doesn't. Good deeds aren't done to be repaid.

"I think if he's not careful I'll kill him. No one tries to force me to do anything."

"What did he try to make you do…" I'm not sure I want the answer.

"He wanted me to finish my revenge and kill my father."

The words hang between us, and I'm glad we've talked about it enough in the last year. He isn't going to hurt his family. They betrayed him, and that's the end of it.

"But the job is done."

"But the job is done," he agrees.