Chapter 3

Dante appeared from the shadows of the garden just as the ripples on the water were fading into stillness. He looked from Sofia's bare finger to me, his expression curdling into something dark and volatile.

"Where is the ring?" he demanded.

Sofia let out a dramatic gasp, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. "Oh, Dante! I was showing it to Elena, and she... she slapped my hand! She said a murderer deserves it more than I do!"

It was a lie so clumsy, so theatrically fragile, that it should have fallen apart under the slightest scrutiny. But Dante turned his gaze on me, and I saw the monster behind his eyes stir from its slumber. He didn't care about the truth. He only wanted a reason to punish me.

"Is that true?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

I looked at the black water. The ring was worth thousands. If I found it, maybe I could sell it. Maybe I could leave sooner.

"It fell," I said simply.

"You threw it," he corrected, stepping closer until his chest brushed mine, looming over me like a storm front. "You jealous, spiteful creature. That ring is worth more than your life."

He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. "Get it back."

"The water is freezing, Dante," I whispered.

"I don't care if it burns your skin off. Find it."

Then, he shoved me.

I stumbled backward, my heels catching in the yielding mud, and fell into the lake. The cold was a physical blow, a violent shock that punched the air from my lungs and sent needles of pain shooting through my limbs. The water was murky, opaque, and smelled of ancient decay.

I gasped, surfacing, my teeth chattering instantly. Dante stood on the bank, his arm around Sofia, watching me struggle with cold indifference.

"Don't come out until you have it," he ordered.

He turned and walked away, taking the warmth of the world with him.

I searched for hours. My hands went numb, then painful, then numb again. I dove repeatedly into the silt, my fingers clawing through the sludge blindly. Sometime near dawn, my fingers brushed against cold metal. I clutched the ring, my body shaking so violently I could barely stand.

I crawled onto the bank, coughing up lake water. I left the ring on the patio table and collapsed in the servant's quarters, darkness taking me before I hit the floor.

Two days later, the explosion happened.

I was in the kitchen, scouring pots, when the ground shook beneath my feet. A deafening boom shattered the windows, sending glass flying like shrapnel. The alarm wailed. Fire.

I ran outside. The east wing of the estate-the master suite-was engulfed in flames. Soldiers were running, shouting, but the heat was pushing them back.

"Dante!" I screamed.

"He's inside!" someone yelled over the roar. "The roof collapsed!"

I didn't think. I didn't breathe. I grabbed a wet tablecloth from a banquet cart, threw it over my head, and ran into the inferno.

The heat was a physical wall, trying to force me back. The smoke stung my eyes, blinding me with tears. I knew this house better than my own veins. I navigated by memory, crawling low beneath the billowing smoke.

"Dante!"

I found him in the hallway. He was unconscious, a heavy beam pinning his leg. The fire roared around us like a living, ravenous beast. I shoved the beam with every ounce of strength I had left. My muscles screamed in protest. The cancer pain in my gut was nothing compared to the absolute terror of losing him.

I dragged him. Inch by inch. The smoke was suffocating, filling my lungs with ash.

A piece of the ceiling gave way above me. I threw my body over his head to shield him. A burning timber struck my back.

I screamed, the smell of searing flesh filling my nose. My skin sizzled. The pain was white-hot, blinding, absolute. But I didn't let go. I hauled him through the flames, out onto the balcony, and heaved us both over the railing to the soft grass below.

I rolled away from him, gasping, my back on fire.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Through the haze of pain, I saw Sofia running across the lawn, her hair perfectly styled, untouched by the chaos. She saw Dante stirring. She saw me, burned and broken in the shadows.

She threw herself onto Dante's chest just as his eyes fluttered open.

"Oh, my God, Dante! I've got you! I pulled you out!"

I lay in the darkness, clutching the grass to keep from screaming. He looked up at her, coughing, his eyes hazy and confused.

"Sofia?" he rasped.

"I saved you, baby," she sobbed, her performance flawless. "I saved you."

I dragged myself backward into the bushes, hiding my burns, hiding my truth. If he knew I saved him, he would feel indebted. He would hate himself for owing his life to his mother's killer.

It was better this way. Let him love the hero. Let me be the coward who ran.