When did things get so complicated? Isabella and I were DeMarcos. We hated the Benedetti family. That was simple. It was black-and-white. But this? This attraction, this pull toward Salvatore? My yielding to him? It didn’t make sense. And my questions about Izzy. About what my father potentially referred to in his letter. About having heard Dominic’s voice in her house late at night.

I was running too fast on unfamiliar terrain and not paying attention, so when I tripped over the exposed root of a large tree and went flying, I shouldn’t have been surprised. But when I tried to stand, I had to haul myself up with my arms. My left ankle was already starting to swell and hum with pain.

“Shit.”

I looked back toward the house, but I’d run too deep into the woods to see any more than the decorative chimney tops. I forced myself to stand, leaning all my weight on my right leg. Holding on to nearby trees, I hobbled toward the house. It wasn’t more than five minutes, though, before I realized I’d never get back there on my own, not with my ankle quickly doubling in size.

Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I unwrapped the earbuds and stuck one in my ear. I then scrolled down to where Salvatore had entered Marco’s number and dialed.

He answered quickly, sounding like my call surprised him. “Lucia?”

“You know how you said to try and not get lost when I’m running?

He chuckled, audibly relaxing. “Are you lost?”

“No, that’s not it. I’m not lost, and I didn’t even have any music blaring, but—”

“What?” he cut me off, his tone anxious. “What is it?”

“I caught my foot on a tree root and fell. I’m trying to get back to the house on my own, but my ankle’s swelling and hurts pretty badly.”

“Get your weight off it, and elevate it if you can. I’m coming. Just pulling into the gates now. Do you know which trail you took?”

“I headed east, same as the morning you ran into me, but I’ve already passed the spot where we stopped last time.”

“Okay, I’m on my way. Just keep talking to me, so I can hear you.”

I heard the sound of stones beneath the car’s tires. He really had just gotten back.

“Where did you go?” I asked, since he said to keep talking.

“To see my brother.”

Could I tell him my suspicions? But he continued talking as he walked—the front door opening, him saying something to Marco, sliding the glass doors open before the sounds of his footsteps crunching on the forest floor reached my ears as he hurried to me.

“My father, Roman, and he were in a meeting. Some days, I question my trust in Roman.”

“You do? Trust him, I mean?”