“You okay, Dandelion?” Amadeo asks.

I wipe away a smear of red on the corner of his mouth. My lipstick. Not blood at least. I nod. “I’m fine.” It’s a lie. But it doesn’t matter if I’m okay or not. Not now. The time for that will come later. After I’ve taken care of all that I need to take care of. “What do I need to do to file for guardianship?”

9

AMADEO

After flying through the night, we have a few hours to rest and change at our hotel before arriving at the Russo Properties & Holdings building in Manhattan, where the will reading will be held. Bastian and I have been watching Vittoria since the previous evening, but she seems more like the woman she was a few days ago before the attack. Although there is still a glint in her eye, that look that tells me she may be on the side of the abyss now, but she’s teetering.

She’s dressed in an elegant black Versace midi dress in a lightweight material. It hugs her figure, the bust gathered and collected at the center of her chest by a gold ring. It comes to just below her knees, and she’s paired it with patent leather high heels and a gold anklet. Her hair is bound in a neat chignon at the nape of her neck. On her ears are gold studs and on her finger is our wedding band. She left the engagement ring locked in a safe at the house. She’s wearing that lipstick again but along with eyeliner and mascara. It looks very different than it did the other night. She looks very different. That could also be the sleep she got after another round of fucking on the flight over.

“You look good, Dandelion,” I tell her as we ride up to the penthouse.

She meets my gaze, and I get that same sense I’ve had with her before. Like she’s so deep in thought, but when she hears you and looks at you, she’s seeing inside you. Nothing is casual with her. No empty words. And I admit she has me hanging on for every last one.

“It’s all the fucking,” she says, not quietly. “I guess you were right. Everyone wants to come.”

One of the two soldiers accompanying us shifts uncomfortably. Bastian chuckles. Bruno pretends to be busy with a text.

Anyone else may have made that comment as a joke but not our Dandelion. She glances from me to Bastian, then straight ahead at her reflection in the mirror, her expression never changing, oblivious to everyone but us.