“I don’t. I said it before I thought about it, but it feels... I don’t know. It feels like it came from your head.”
Sid’s fingers dug of their own accord into Dante’s warm body. He sucked in a shaky breath, wobbly from the heat of Dante’s stare more than the stress on his equilibrium. “You’re so fucking perceptive, it’s scary.”
“I’d have made a good assassin,” Dante said. “If I’d had the balls to go through with it.”
“See? Not a murderer.”
“It’s still murder if you coerce someone else into doing it.”
“And did you?”
Dante stood abruptly, taking Sid with him.
The change in altitude was nothing, but to Sid it was too much and too fast. He gripped Dante harder and felt his eyes flutter. “Fuck. Warn a dude, would ya?”
Dante rubbed Sid’s back. “Sorry, I didn’t think.”
“You always think. What were you ruminating about instead of pandering to my shitty balance?”
Sid’s focus was still off. He couldn’t see Dante’s face. But he sensed the darkness shadowing his expression all the same. And there was no avoiding the heavy silence.Get back in the room. Sid fought for his place in the upright world Dante had yanked him to. He found it as Dante was sliding his gaze away.No. Sid caught his chin and forced Dante to look at him again. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Imply shit, then slide away without defining it. My imagination is too good at filling in the blanks.”
Dante pried Sid’s fingers from his chin. It was the first time he’d ever shied away from Sid’s touch. “Let it fill in the blanks,” he said flatly. “Can’t be worse than the truth.”
He stepped away but left his arm within Sid’s reach.Because you’re such a selfish bastard, right?
Frustration rattled Sid’s soul. He glowered at Dante’s back, then turned his anger on himself.Leave him alone. How can he leave the past behind if you keep bringing it up every ten minutes?
Logic told him that Dante had been the one to bring up killing people, but as Sid watched him stop in front of a different patch of foxgloves, it was hard to blame him for just about anything.Even murder.
Sid trailed Dante to the new foxgloves, lilac this time, and two metres tall. “The rest of the folklore is about it being both medicinal and poisonous. According to history, it can kill the living and raise the dead.”
Dante took a slow breath, and Sid realised he wasn’t looking at the foxgloves at all. “I told him to kill someone,” he whispered.
Sid rubbed the sudden chill from his bare arms. “Who?”
“Luis—my brother. I forced him into an armed robbery, and when it all went wrong, I tried to make him kill someone so we could get away.” Dante spoke almost absently, his unseeing gaze still trained on the deadly, life-preserving blooms in front of them. “He didn’t kill them, though. He was too good, even then.”
“So are you now. You wouldn’t do that to him again, would you?”
Dante shook his head. “He wouldn’t let me even if I would. He’s stronger than ever. Being happy suits him.”
“Happy with Paolo? Who wrote you the letter?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you write back?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you stuffed it in a drawer and tried to forget about it, but you can’t.”
“Now who’s perceptive?” Dante stepped away from the foxgloves and turned to face Sid. “I don’t understand why he would do that when he knows all the nasty shit I did to Luis. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.”
Sid offered Dante his arm, reversing their positions for once, and coaxed him to keep walking. “Does it need to make sense? Maybe he knows Luis still loves you and he wants to build bridges.”