What did was that I no longer mistook mercy for obligation, and no longer confused forgiveness with moral superiority.
By the time I reached the end of the street, with the city glowing dimly gold through the falling snow, I understood something that felt dangerous.
I had spent so much of my life being told to stay small, stay good, stay gentle enough to be loved.
But gentleness never saved me.
And perhaps whatever I was becoming now was not broken or cruel or wrong.
Perhaps it was simply powerful.
For the first time, the thought did not frighten me.
It felt like a crown.
CHAPTER 24
PIETRO
Doing the right thing was proving far more unbearable than I anticipated.
Because now I was back home to a mother who tiptoed around me as if I were some wounded animal liable to bolt, and a younger sister who glared at me like I had committed an unforgivable sin. Not murder. Victoria would have found murder at least faintly interesting. Neglecting to bring Emily home for Christmas? That, apparently, was a moral failing she could neither excuse nor overlook, especially since she had already bought a doll specifically for her.
My mother was no better. She had arranged the stockings on the fireplace with enough solemnity to suggest a state funeral, then unboxed the extra one she had ordered, ran her fingers over the stitched Emily, and sighed so deeply I considered whether I ought to call a doctor.
Then she placed it back in the box with the sort of tragic dignity usually reserved for widows in period dramas.
Olivero, meanwhile, made me want to commit violence. Every time I looked at him, he shook his head, and every time he did, I narrowed my eyes and balled my fist hard enough to imagine the feel of his jaw beneath my knuckles.
Yesterday Hoka and Violet arrived with the children, which helped distract Victoria from plotting my murder, and this morning Matteo Genovese and his wife, Elena, had come with two of their five children, notably excluding Niccolo to my father’s great satisfaction and Victoria’s absolute despair.
They were not staying until Christmas, only for two days, though I had my suspicions the visit had less to do with festive goodwill and more to do with the fact that I would soon be taking my place officially as sotto capo.
Still, the visit kept the house occupied enough that I was able to retreat to my room and indulge my misery in private, which at twenty-three felt both ridiculous and entirely justified.
It was my choice, and I was painfully aware of that. Every night when I got into bed, I reminded myself why it was the right one, and every night that conviction did absolutely nothing to lessen the fact that I still ached for her. For the feel of her against me. For the sound of her voice. For the quiet, stupid domestic intimacy of simply knowing where she was in a room.
I lasted a grand total of five days before picking up my phone and calling her sister.
Officially, I told myself it was about the cane design. Sophie needed to tell me what she wanted so I could have it made properly. Unofficially, I wanted to know whether Emily looked as miserable as I felt and, if fate was feeling unusually merciful, perhaps hear her voice somewhere in the background.
Sophie answered on the second ring.
“Pietro!” she said, with the enthusiasm only fourteen-year-old girls and unrepentant extortionists ever managed naturally. “Are you calling me because you miss me?”
Something almost like a smile tried to happen. “Entirely. Though I also need the cane details before you decide on rhinestones and a sword handle.”
“That’s still on the table,” she said seriously. Then, after a beat, “Oh. Emily asked me for the details yesterday. She didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
Sophie went quiet for half a second, which with her felt almost solemn. “Huh. Well. That’s annoying. Maybe she forgot. Or maybe she’s too busy being romanced by you during the Christmas season.”
I forced a laugh. “Yes, that must be it.” But the cold that settled in my chest at the realization had nothing amusing in it. “I’ll try to tone down my devastating effect on the household.”
“No, don’t.” Then, with the complete lack of delicacy unique to little sisters, she added, “But you know, Christmas is a very good season to propose. I’m just saying. I would be an amazing maid of honor.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “That is a remarkably bold request.”