He’s guarded, wrapped in cold steel. Meanwhile, my hot, slick insides are ready to spill onto the floor. I say his name in my mind until I see over his head, where the smoked dome of the camera reflects the light above me.

“Massimo turned off the cameras.”

He looks over his shoulder, at the ceiling, then back with an expression only slightly less wary. “Take that dress off.”

“Dario, I—”

“I need to know if you’re wearing a wire.”

“I’m not.”

“Do it,” he growls. “Now.”

He won’t talk to me unless he knows I’m clean.

Fine.

The mourning dress buttons from neck to sweep. I step away and start at the top, exposing the yellowing finger marks on my throat.

“I’ll kill him for touching you.”

“I know.”

“No arguments? You’re done trying to save my soul?”

“Virtue is for the free.” I get two buttons past the waist. “The rest of us do what we have to do.”

I shrug off the shoulders and slide my hands from the sleeves, exposing my black cotton bra and underwear. The skirt hangs low on my hips.

Dario’s fingertips push the glass and his eyes eat me alive as if he’s never seen my body before. Moving as close to the glass as possible, I put my fingertips against his. When he slides them upward, to the open space, mine follow, pushing through the emptiness at exactly the same time.

We don’t have all day, and there are so many things we need to tell each other. Not the pain or the grief, but the plans. The practicalities. The how and when, not the what or why.

But when our fingers touch, we pause as the warmth of our bodies passes between us. Nothing is practical. There is no sense or meaning in the world. There’s just us, and an intimacy so tiny only the electricity that rouses our hearts to beat can fit inside it. We stay still in this touch as if more is too much. Then at the same time, and with a ferocity that no will or intention can contain, we hook our fingers together in that little space.

“I can’t be here. I can’t be without you.” If I could turn into light, I could get through this barrier. If I could put my soul into my lungs, I could breathe myself into that cell with him.

“Don’t give up.”

“I’m weak. I’m stupid.”

“Prima, no.”

His command fogs the glass. My lips move against the other side. He’s close enough to feel, but impossible to touch.

“I’m scared.”

“You need to get out. Leave me here and find Willa.”

The idea shocks me back to reality. I’m not here to wish myself into a puff of air or beam of light. “Never—”