On the front of the kraft envelope, in a hand I knew too well, was a single line.
It was Dante's writing.
【I will always clear every thorn from the path of your dreams.】
I stared at those words for a long time.
Long enough for my eyes to sting, long enough for a fine, spreading ache to settle in my chest.
For five years I had given up my place running wires for the Family, stepping back from the network that had once feared my instincts, to keep our home together; I had learned to wash and cook and run a household so the Moretti elders would want for nothing at their table; I had swallowed my own hurt so he would never have to be distracted by it.
But every time I heard of my old comrades slipping into some foreign city, working a source through the night, too lit up by a fresh thread to sleep, I still couldn't help the envy.
That had been the work I loved most.
And the life I'd given up with my own hands.
All this time I'd believed Dante simply didn't understand.
Didn't understand how precious a dream was.
Didn't understand what a person who abandoned hers had actually lost.
It was only now that I saw the truth.
He understood all of it.
He just couldn't bear to let Vittoria give hers up.
And had no trouble letting me give up mine.
The thought made me laugh out loud.
And as I laughed, the tears slid down without a sound.
I photographed every picture and receipt inside the envelope to keep, then set each one back exactly where it had been.
Then I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in a long time.
"Renata Conti, it's me."
There was a pause on the other end, then a delighted voice.
"Adriana? What's gotten into you, calling out of nowhere?"
I drew in a deep breath.
"I heard the Family needs someone to run information out of Central Asia, somewhere in the worst of the fighting, and nobody's stepped up."
The line went quiet for a beat. I heard the small tap of a ring against the rim of her cup before she spoke.
"You want to go?"
"Yes."
I looked at the dull gray sky outside the window and said softly,
"If the Family still needs someone, I'll go."
Renata's voice lit up at once.
"Of course we need someone!"
"Back when you asked to step out of the field, I thought it was such a waste."
"You always read a room better than any made man we had."
"That posting is dangerous, cara, no lie. But as long as you come home breathing, a placement like that puts you right back at the top of the network."
"Have you really thought this through?"
I slowly closed my eyes.
Once, for Dante, I had given up my dream.
Now, for myself, I wanted to take it back.
"I've thought it through."
"I'll go."
After I hung up, I started packing.
There was nothing left in this house worth holding on to.
Not the apartment.
Not the union.
And least of all Dante.
But I searched the entire closet and never found that one sweater.
It was the last gift my mother gave me before she died.
When I was little, she always loved knitting sweaters for me.
Later I grew up, and her eyes grew worse and worse, and it hurt me to watch her strain them, so I kept telling her not to bother anymore.
But after I got pregnant, I started getting cold so easily.
She'd promised out loud not to knit, then secretly went and bought the yarn anyway.
By the time the sweater was done, her eyes were red and raw from the late nights.
It hurt so much I cried.
She only laughed, completely unbothered.
"How could anything from a store be as warm as something I made myself?"
"You love the baby in your belly, and I love my baby too."
I'd never been able to bring myself to wear that sweater.
I'd even thought I would put it away carefully, treasure it, once the baby was born.
But now it was gone.
I was about to call Dante when a notification lit up my phone.
The post was Vittoria's.
In the photo, a litter of newborn puppies was curled up in a bed at the back of her social club.
The caption read,
【Hehe, the second I said the babies were cold, a certain someone brought over a sweater~】
【Thank you, Daddy, on the babies' behalf~ And of course, this mama's remodeling skills are pretty amazing too.】
The instant I saw the photo, my breath caught hard.
The so-called "pet clothes" those puppies were wearing were unmistakably cut from the very sweater my mother had left me.
I recognized it in a single glance.
Because at the left cuff there was still that extra ring of stitches my mother had added, afraid I'd be cold.
So that was it.
The last sweater my mother had ruined her eyes knitting for me.
Dante had taken it and put it on Vittoria's dogs.
The hand holding my phone wouldn't stop shaking.
The next second, I turned and walked out.
When I pushed open the glass door of the club, a cheerful birthday song was playing inside.
The air smelled of cream and fresh flowers, a thin sweetness laid over the place like a coat of fresh paint over rot.
Dante and Vittoria stood in front of a cake.
The two of them close together.
Close enough that their shoulders were pressed flush.
They were eating the cake with the same single spoon.
My steps stopped.
And suddenly I remembered that Dante had a severe phobia of anything unclean.
The dishes at home had to be sorted and sterilized.
Serving food meant using the communal spoons, never your own.
He wouldn't even let anyone touch the glass he drank from.
Once I'd cleaned the whole apartment for an entire day, parched and worn out, and absently took a sip from the glass on his desk.
He said nothing at the time.
But that same night, the glass turned up in the trash.
Afterward he'd held me and explained.
Said it was a habit from his work, from the years of keeping a man's blood off everything that mattered.
That it wasn't about me.
So it had never been a habit from the work.
It only depended on the person.
Seeing me appear, Vittoria arched an eyebrow.
A flash of undisguised triumph crossed her eyes.
"Adriana, you're here?"
"Now don't go getting the wrong idea. Dante and I grew up together since we were kids, we've never drawn lines between us."
She deliberately waved the spoon in her hand, her smile heavy with meaning.
Then she turned to Dante.
"Dante, see? What did I tell you?"
"Adriana can't actually bear to sever the union at all."
"After all, a woman who walked away from her own standing, who can only live off her husband's name, how is she supposed to keep herself once she leaves you?"
"And she's got a child to raise, and parents to look after in their old age."
"There you have it. She's even followed you all the way here."
She covered her mouth and laughed.
"Compared to her, I suppose I'm just too thin-skinned, all I can do is lean on my own hard work and build something of my own."
Dante didn't stop her.
If anything, he doted on her, giving the tip of her nose a fond pinch.
"You're the clever one."
"Always full of little schemes, even as a kid."
Only then did he finally lift his head and look at me.
There was no guilt in that gaze.
No shame.
If anything, it carried the helpless air of a man who'd been indulging someone too long.
As if he were looking at a child throwing a senseless tantrum.
As if all it took was for him to be willing to turn back.
And I was supposed to be grateful, and go on standing right where I was, waiting for him.
