“Paolo said plenty, but you’ve fucking done something to him since you’ve been talking. He still hates you, but he’s got it in his head that you love that gardener dude and it’s made you halfway human.”
Dante blinked. He’d always known Paolo was a clever motherfucker, but he couldn’t goddamn fathom how he’d dissected Dante’s entire life from the single phone call they’d shared. “I do love him.”
“Does he know?”
“Who? Sid?”
“No, the other hot gardener you were pretty much naked with when he opened the door.”
Sarcasm didn’t suit Luis. He said what he thought or maintained the kind of silence that frightened Dante into prodding him with a red-hot poker—figuratively, at least. Or maybe he’d changed. Aside from an excruciating prison visit that Dante could hardly remember, this was the realest conversation they’d probably ever had. “I told him,” Dante said.
“Did he believe you?”
“What do you care?”
“If I knew the answer to that, I’d probably still be in London.”
“Why?”
“Because being here is fucking ridiculous. I don’t want to hug you or spend Christmas with you or even talk to you, so it pisses me off that I had to come here and see for myself that you were okay.”
It made more sense than Dante wanted it to. How many times had he made the trip to see their mother, only to come away reminded of the fact that she was a hideous human being?
More than Luis would ever know.
“I am okay, if that helps, though I guess it might make it worse.”
Luis grunted. “I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything for certain except your gardener dude ishot, and he seems sweet as fuck, so if you’re playing him, stop.”
Dante pushed off the tree, sudden anger burning his veins. “I’m not playing him.”
“Sure about that? Paolo told me about his MS and it’s the first thing I thought—that you’d found someone vulnerable to give a shit about you.”
“Like I did to you?”
“No, like Mum did toyou. Martell told me some shit he’d found out about her when he was looking to push you out. Stuff you told a social worker when we were kids.”
“Martell’s a cunt.”
“We all were, back in the day.” Luis stepped closer. “But you’re different now, and so is he.”
“I don’t give a shit about Martell.”
“Why did you write back to him then?”
Dante closed his eyes, picturing the heartfelt letterBenitoMartell had sent to HMP Manchester, begging Dante not to plant landmines beneath the new life he’d built for himself and his family. Remembering the sole emotion that had run through him that day:envy, sharp and cruel. He’d wanted the dream Martell had painted for himself so bad he’d set the note on fire and almost earned himself an extra month inside before Rami and Fen had cornered him and forced him to talk.Answer the question.
He opened his eyes. Luis’s were boring into him, flaying him open in ways they never had before.Maybe I am different.“How do you live there?”
“Where? Back home?”
Dante nodded. “I felt like my soul was on fire the whole time I was there.”
“I thought you didn’t have one, so there’s that.”
Luis cracked a smile.
Dante stared.Am I awake right now?