Morana pulled back and put her hand to his jaw, her eyes locking with his in the little light from outside.
“Do you still think about killing me?” she asked point-blank, ready if he did.
He stayed silent for a beat. “No,” he shook his head once.
Morana breathed. “Do you still imagine someone getting to me and killing them?”
“No,” he repeated, his voice sure.
“Do you still think about my smile?”
He watched her for a long moment, his eyes lingering on her mouth, before pushing his face closer to hers, his hand coming around to her neck in a hold her skin knew intimately now.
“I think about a lot of different things now but don’t mistake me for someone soft, Morana. Whispered words in the shadows aren’t who I am. I’m still a monster.”
Morana searched his eyes, feeling his palm resting against her steady pulse, suddenly realizing that was why he always held her neck – to feel her heartbeat under his hands. A slow smile curled her lips, her palms cupping his jaw, stroking it, his scruff scraping over her skin.
“When I was young and alone in my room at night, with a father who didn’t like my existence and no mother and no friends, just my overactive imagination and my brain, you know what I used to think about?” she murmured, never breaking their locked gaze. “When one of my father’s guards sneaked into my room and I had to fight him off -” his hand tightened on her neck in reaction but she continued, “-wallowing in my loneliness and sel-piy, you know what I would dream about?”
He waited for he
r answer, never moving those intense blue eyes from hers.
“A monster,” she whispered between their lips. “My monster. One who could keep me safe and kill the other monsters who wanted to hurt me.”
By the last word, his mouth slammed into hers as he turned her under him.
“You always fucking had him, wildcat.”
And then he ravaged her like the monster he claimed to be.
Walking down the cemetery holding the hand of her man, while pretending to mourn for another man who was in her heart, wasn’t her idea of a great morning. However, given everything Tristan had told her, Morana had appropriately donned a simple black dress and put on some makeup to make her face appear paler. She kept her eyes down behind her glasses, her hand on the inside of Tristan’s arm, impressed with his performance.
He was stoic enough that had she not known him, she would have been convinced that he was hiding some deep sadness and just didn’t want to talk about it. As it was, being the outsider of the Outfit as he was, he hung back during the funeral.
They had done a closed casket ceremony, burying the burned body that was ‘Dante’. Tristan had told her in the car that the body had belonged to one of the traitors who had been close enough in the physique department to Dante to pass off as him.
Dante was completely underground in the meantime.
Morana had tried calling Amara again that morning, just to check up on the other woman and found her number disconnected. Zia had dropped by too, her eyes saddened, and asked Morana about her daughter. And it was really starting to worry Morana.
She stood back at the edge while Tristan went ahead to speak with someone, watching everyone.
Lorenzo Maroni was rigid, understandably, while people paid their respects and offered condolences. She recognized Lorenzo’s cousin, Leo, with Chiara on his arm, her face tear-stained. Whether they were genuine or fake, Morana didn’t know.
Amara’s half-sister Nerea stood in the back next to another soldier, dressed sharply, a lone woman in a man’s world. Morana wondered about her. Other members of the family, children included, stood with sad, confused faces. The rest of the Outfit slowly milled around, most of the men with expressions meant to resemble sadness. There were more people than she’d been expecting, the funeral much grander than she’d realized it would be. But then, Dante Maroni was a brand.
It made her realize she’d never asked Dante about any siblings. She knew through rumors that he had a younger brother but he’d been missing in action for many years. She made a mental note to ask him later.
In the cool breeze on the hill, Morana watched Lorenzo interact with everyone, trying to pinpoint what it was about the man that bugged her so much. It was an eerie thing, the way he looked at her sometimes like he had secrets about her.
The sound of a car door slamming shut brought her attention to the man sauntering down the hill to the gathering, surprise filling her.
Her father was there.
He paused for a second where she stood, his eyes moving over her with hidden disgust before he proceeded to where Maroni stood below. Morana, now removed enough from the man that he didn’t affect her as much, tried to analyze why he reacted to her like that. Tristan watched her father with focus while the older man ignored him and headed straight for the boss.
Morana was too far away to hear what was being said but the men shook hands and then walked a little ways off to talk. If her father was there to talk about her to take her back, he could think again. If he was there for business, it would be curious given the timing of it all. Maybe he was just there to pay his regards but she didn’t believe it.