By the time we finished, it was well past midnight. The streets outside were nearly empty, the city wrapped in a quiet that felt heavier than usual. Somewhere a few blocks south, the social club's lights would still be on, soldiers finishing their drinks and pretending nothing had happened.
Dante had been drinking, so naturally, I was the one driving. I took the wheel without a word. He slipped into the back seat instead of sitting beside me, putting that familiar, invisible distance between us.
In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of him.
His usually immaculate appearance was gone. His hair, always styled to perfection, was now messy and unkempt. His crisp shirt was wrinkled, the collar torn slightly as if someone had grabbed him in the scuffle. One of his hands rested loosely against his lap, bruised and wrapped in a hastily applied bandage. The signet ring on his right hand caught the passing streetlight, and for once he wasn't rolling it. It just sat there, still against his knuckle.
Dante had always been the type to maintain control over every detail, especially his image. He never allowed himself to appear anything less than flawless. Even among made men, where violence was currency, he carried himself as though the blood never touched him.
And yet, here he was. Disheveled, injured, reduced to this state.
All because of a new courier.
The thought settled heavily in my chest.
Just then, his phone rang, the sound cutting through the silence of the car. He picked it up almost immediately.
"Hello?"
The change in his voice was instant.
Soft. Gentle. Warm in a way I hadn't heard in years.
"It's nothing. Don't worry, I'm fine," he said, his tone soothing, almost tender.
A pause.
"It's late. You should sleep. No need to wait up."
The words themselves were simple, ordinary even. But the affection woven into them was unmistakable, impossible to ignore.
My grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel. My thumb found the small silver rosary bracelet at my wrist and pressed against it, hard.
I lifted my eyes to the rearview mirror, just in time to catch the faint smile that lingered on his lips as he ended the call. It was small, almost unnoticeable, but it was real. Unforced.
Something inside me twisted.
Keeping my voice light, almost casual, I asked, "Was that the fight over Liliana?"