And it wasn’t enough. I needed to be closer to him; I needed to forget myself. I lifted my head and he brought his hands to my face, his thumbs gently wiping the tears from under my eyes.
‘It’s going to be OK,’ he murmured, the pads of his fingers warm against my skin. He touched his forehead to mine. ‘I won’t let him hurt you again.’
My breath hitched in my throat. I gripped the collar of his T-shirt and lifted my chin. His lips brushed against mine.
‘Sophie,’ he breathed. ‘We can’t—’
‘Please,’ I said, moving my hands around his neck. ‘I need this.’ Whatever he was about to say got lost between us, because suddenly I was crushing my lips against his and he was twining his fingers in my hair, kissing me so hard it knocked the breath from me. This. This was what I needed. I pressed my body against him and dragged my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, breathing him in. He groaned as he pushed his tongue into my mouth, deepening the kiss and gripping my waist as he spun me around. His hands found mine, our fingers splaying together as he lifted them above my head and pinned them against the wardrobe. He leant against me as he sealed every last inch of space between us with his body and took all the bad memories away.
He gasped for air against my lips, and I smiled as all the pain and darkness burnt away inside our kiss. He made me dizzy. He made me forget.
It ended too quickly. Suddenly, he was pulling away from me and panting, his hand clutching his chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, eyes wide. ‘Cazzo. I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘I did it,’ I said, heaving an unsteady breath as I unstuck myself from the wardrobe. ‘It was me.’
‘I can’t do this.’ He backed up. ‘It’s not right.’
I backed away too. What was I thinking? What was I doing? I looked a mess, was a mess. I hadn’t slept properly in days. ‘You don’t want to,’ I said, feeling the pain resurface sharply, grief and anger mingling in a cocktail of embarrassment and regret. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Of course I want to,’ he said, his voice spiking. ‘I want to more than anything. I always want to. That’s the problem.’
I forced myself to look up at him.
His expression was pained. ‘I won’t take advantage of your grief, Sophie. I’m not that guy.’
I nodded, feeling the numbing effects of his kiss melt away. Memories charged back into my head and the clouds regathered, heavy and unyielding inside me. I was too wrung out to fight it.
Luca was still talking. My body was shaking.
I could see my mother’s face, her sprawled legs, her glazed expression. And I hated it. I hated him and his family and everything they had done to me and he was holding me again and I realized I was crying more tears even though I shouldn’t have had any left and his arms were too strong for me to move and I felt like I was suffocating and that made me want to hurt him and yell at him and tell him to get away from me. And I knew it wasn’t about Luca and I wanted to tell him that too but in the end I couldn’t tell him anything. I pushed away from him, stumbling backwards and falling in a heap on my bed.
‘Sophie.’ His voice was gruff. I could sense him pacing by the bed, though I wouldn’t look up at him.
‘Go away,’ I pleaded. ‘Just go away. Please. I need to be by myself. I need some time.’
‘OK,’ he relented finally. ‘If you need anything—’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I said hastily.
Luca pulled his switchblade from his back pocket and laid it on the bed beside me. ‘Just in case,’ he murmured.
I fingered the engraving, the swooping letters that I knew so well. Gianluca. ‘A Falcone switchblade for a Marino girl,’ I whispered. ‘Is this really what your grandfather would have wanted?’
He pulled something from his back pocket. ‘I’m not my grandfather.’ He held his hand out between us, and my gaze settled on Evelina’s ruby ring, resting in his palm. ‘And you are not your father.’
I glanced at the empty bedside table. He must have picked the ring up when I was sulking. God. He knew. He knew.
‘Life has dealt you a rough hand already,’ he said quietly, closing his fingers around the ring. ‘You don’t have to pay for his mistakes as well, Sophie.’ He moved to the door, pausing on the other side of it. ‘When you’re ready, come to us. We’ll give you Sanctuary. I’ll vouch for you, to the family and to my brother.’ He touched his head against the frame, and smiling sadly, he added, ‘Don’t forget, I still owe you that grand gesture, Marino Girl.’