It wasn’t the most peaceful night she’d had but it wasn’t the worst either.
The worst had been a long time ago in her father’s mansion when one of his men had sneaked into her bedroom. She had been young, yes, but not defenseless. She had smashed his nose with her foot before smashing the lamp on his head. Scared by the fight in her and the noise she was making, he had escaped. To her relief, her father had found out and punished him. To her disappointment, it hadn’t been for trying to assault his daughter but for daring to defy his authority under his roof. That had been the first night Morana had put a weapon beside her pillow and every night since then, she had slept with a weapon within easy reach, knowing how unsafe she had been.
The most peaceful night, much to her surprise had been in the penthouse of the man who’d sworn to kill her. It had been the night after her father had shattered her hopes at the bottom of the staircase, the night she had unknowingly sought out comfort and safety in the territory of the one man who should have terrified her but didn’t. It had been the night Dante had weaved his way a little into her heart and Tristan had made her feel safety the likes of which she had never experienced in her life. She had slept that night – vulnerable, exposed, hurt and weaponless – with the utter knowledge that she wouldn’t come to any harm, not at the hands of anyone, not while Tristan was there.
Tristan.
Morana smiled a bit, the warm feeling in her chest still lingering from last night. He had asked her to call him so, and so she did. Not just verbally but in her own mind. For some bizarre reason, she’d never thought of him as just Tristan. Maybe it had been too personal; maybe it allowed for an intimacy she hadn’t been willing to admit to. But he had addressed it last night in clear terms, broken a barrier she had created intellectually between them. The barrier lay broken now, the stamp of his claiming bare on her skin for anyone to see, the sound of his whiskey-and-sin voice demanding his name in her voice.
Tristan.
He was Tristan now.
Her Tristan.
The warmth expanded.
Morana sat on the edge of the window, looking out at the property. The sun was playing hide-and-seek with the clouds, much as the moon had last night. The light shone brightly upon the lush green lawns, the shadows created by the woods at the edge dark. In the distance, the clear water of the lake shimmered, a lone little house standing on its edge, hidden behind the line of trees creating a visible divide between the in and the out. She understood what Dante had meant – Tristan had been on the inside for outsiders but on the outside for those on the inside, essentially belonging nowhere but with himself. She understood why he had that penthouse on top of a building now, where he could see everyone with those beautiful, giant windows but no one could see him, no one that he didn’t explicitly invite into his territory. Layered with that knowledge, their first night against the window became even more beautiful to her, the shift in their relationship even more pivotal.
Men patrolled the property, much like they did at her father’s house, but much less ostentatious. These men were skilled, sleek. It was evident simply from the way they moved, the ease with which they held their guns. Morana observed them for a long minute before movement drew her eyes to the house at the edge of the lake. She could make out the tiny form of Tristan walking out of the house to stand at the edge of the lake, his hands in his pockets as he stared into the distance. Fascinated by the chance to observe him without his knowledge, Morana simply watched, unable to remove her eyes from his form.
He stood still, almost unnaturally still, so much so he could have been a statue from such a distance and no one would have known. That stillness of his, even as he stood alone, made her realize how non-still he was with her. Since the beginning, there had been an energy about him, an energy that had wrapped itself around her time and again. Even when his physical form had been still, his energy had always been in motion – pushing, pulling, circling, holding, attaching itself to her. She didn’t know if that had been deliberate on his part or something he hadn’t been able to control (though she suspected the latter from his level of frustration with her in the beginning), but scrutinizing him at that moment contrasted.
She saw Dante’s huge form walk with agile grace towards Tristan’s still one from the trees. She wondered where his wing was as the man joined Tristan. They stood side by side, brothers, in a way their world couldn’t understand, and Dante bought out another cigarette from his pocket. She saw Tristan flick a glance at the cigarette before looking forward again. And then they talked about whatever they talked about. All she could glean from their body language was a big, fat nothing. Tristan stayed the way he was, Dante relaxed in his form. The sun shone brightly on them for a long time in the early morning, the chill in the wind drifting inside the window to her arms.
Morana snuggled tighter into her blanket, shifting on the window seat.
The action seemed to distract the men because Tristan turned his head suddenly, looking straight at her window. She knew he couldn’t see her any better than she could see him but she felt the heat of that gaze warming her better than her blanket did. A shiver coiling down her spine, the muscles between her legs still throbbed with the ghost memory of last night, clenching with the memory of his flesh snug inside them.
Dante turned to look at her as well. He raised the hand not holding the cigarette in greeting to her. Morana grinned at the gesture, giving him a slight wave back.
Her phone vibrated.
Tristan: *sent an image*
Morana stared at the image of his card, his name, and details clearly visible to her. Confused, she typed out the reply.
Morana: ???
She looked up at his figure, seeing his face turned down to the phone in his hand, the other hand in his pocket as he typed out the response with one thumb. He must have hit ‘send’ because a second later, her phone vibrated again.
Tristan: Buy yourself whatever you need. You either don’t have your card or access to your account or you would’ve done it before Amara gave you clothes.
Morana stared at the message, emotions conflicting inside her. He wasn’t entirely wrong. She did have her cards but it had been the paranoid computer hacker inside her who hadn’t wanted to order anything from his penthouse while she had been there and risk alerting her father. Back then, she had still cared. Now, since Maroni had very kindly informed her father already, she didn’t have two shits to give.
Morana: Thank you. This is very thoughtful of you. But I’ll use my own card to buy myself what I need.
She saw him look down at the phone again and from what she could tell, he exhaled or sighed. Then he typed.
Tristan: Whichever suits you. Yours or mine, doesn’t matter. As long as no more clothes need to be destroyed.
Well, when he put it that way. Morana felt her lips tilting at the implication.
Morana: I might just have to accept more clothes from Maroni just to have you rip them off, in that case. I enjoyed that.
She looked up slowly to see his gaze back on the window, on her. Her heart started to pound, just seeing his reaction after that message, seeing the way his eyes didn’t move away for a long time. And then he turned to his phone again.
Morana let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding, feeling her phone vibrate in her hand again.
Tristan: Buy.
Morana sighed, slightly deflated by the anti-climactic response. She’d been expecting a text more along the lines of “Me, Tarzan; You, Jane”. Her phone vibrated again and she looked down quickly. Surprisingly, the text came from another man.
Dante: Dear Morana, whatever you just told Tristan, kindly don’t again. He is just itching to go punch my father in the face and that would be very inconvenient for our plans. I don’t want to get in between whatever you two have going on but please don’t egg him on right now. I need him focused. Thank you. Dante.
A huff of laughter left Morana at the way Dante had phrased the text, the amusement in his tone evident along with the exasperation she could just imagine in his expression. It also restored the warm wave she’d been riding to know that what Tristan wrote and what he felt were very, very different. She wondered how many times she’d “egged” him on, as Dante so eloquently put it. Well, since she was egging…
Morana: Dear Dante, of course. I completely understand. If he knew you were telling that to me, I imagine there’s another Maroni he would want to punch. But that’s not relevant. By the way, could you please forward me Amara’s number? I want to talk to her. Thank you. Morana.
She had Amara’s number. Of course, she did. It was about making a point.
Dante: He wants to punch me every five minutes. I want to punch him every four. And I know you have Amara’s number. Say hi to her for me. Thanks.
Morana grinned.
Morana: I admire how much self-restraint you men have.
Morana: And I don’t want to get in between whatever the two of you have going on.
Dante: Touche.
Energized, and truly happy for the first time to have an unconventional relationship where she could be herself and not worry about it, to have a friendship where she could sass and be sassed in return, Morana felt liberated in a way she couldn’t explain. Shaking off her thoughts, her plans for the day materializing, she sent another message to Dante.
Morana: Since you offered me to come to your wing when I needed, I have three questions. A. Is it tapped for audio or video? B. Is there a kitchen? C. Does it have WiFi?
She saw Dante’s figure talk about something to Tristan. Tristan nodded and Dante typed. Interesting.
Dante: A. No, there is no audio/visual invasion of privacy. There are security cameras outside the door but none on the inside.
Dante: B. Yes, there is a kitchen with a fully-stocked fridge so you can eat. You can also order something from the house and one of the staff will deliver it to you.
Dante: C. And yes, of course, there is WiFi. I’m assuming you want to come and work there?
Morana: Yes, if that’s okay with you. I’d like to catch up on the trail of the codes. With everything that’s been happening, it’s time to get back on it. So, A. That’s great. I’d be more comfortable making calls and working where I knew nobody was listening or watching. B. I’d be more comfortable eating there than order something at the house. Best case, someone spit in it; worst case, it’d be poisoned. C. I’ll bring my equipment.
Dante: It’s good. No one will bother you there. Make yourself comfortable and let me know if you need anything else.
Morana looked at the simple message, her eyes misting. Blinking the surprising moisture away, she typed.
Morana: Thank you. I just need directions there.
Dante: I’ll send someone to escort you.
Morana: Thanks.
Slipping away from the window, Morana quickly dressed into a comfortable pair of jeans and a t-shirt, pushing her feet into flats, glad she’d be able to order her stuff today. Brushing her hair and popping a bright shade on pink on her lips, she put her glasses on and picked up the blade from beside her pillow. Taking her laptop bag from one of the shelves, Morana collected everything important and everything she needed for the day, placed the knife in one of the pockets in the lining of the bag, and zipped it up. Hitching the bag up over her shoulder, she picked up her phone from the bed and headed to the door, seeing the message light flashing again.
Unlocking it, she saw another message from Tristan.
Tristan: Dante and I are heading out for the day. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t head to the main house until we’re back.
Morana raised her eyebrow at the tone of the text, shaking her head.
Morana: Yes, Mr. Caine. Of course, Mr. Caine. Anything else, Mr. Caine?
There were a few seconds before his reply came on.
Tristan: I’ll see how cheeky you are tonight.
Morana felt her breath catch.
Morana: What’s tonight?
Tristan: Something that’s long overdue.
Morana: Which is?
Tristan: Your mouth, wildcat.
Oh my.
Morana brought her free hand up to fan her face, the cool wind doing absolutely nothing for her escalated heartbeats or her heated cheeks incited by two words. Two damn words. Her mouth. What with her mouth? What would he do with her mouth? Would he trace her mouth with his fingers? Eat at her lips with his own? Tangle his tongue with hers? Or would it be more primal? Would he let her mouth taste his flesh? Explore him? Explore the muscles on his chest, trail over his pecs, lick at his scars, kiss his abs, trace lower and lower and lower…
Oh my.
Morana could feel her entire body humming with the heat those thoughts infused in her blood, rushing, pulsing, throbbing everywhere. Shaking off her musings, she inhaled deeply and tried to center her thoughts back on track. After a few seconds of deep breathing, when her skin felt like it wasn’t on fire anymore, she pocketed her phone and exited her room. Thankfully, she didn’t see anyone lurking outside the door.
Locking her room (as though that would make any difference in the Maroni household), she headed to the stairs and went down, anxious to be out and away from the house as soon as possible and into Dante’s wing. She had stuff to do today, the least of which involved ordering her clothes and calling Amara. What she’d told Dante had been right. Over the past few days, with everything happening the way it had between Tristan and her, the entire reason for their meeting in the first place had gotten sidelined.
There was still a set of dangerous codes out there, missing. There was still a nefarious someone who was trying to frame Tristan. There was still a mysterious someone well-versed with computers who was sending her random information. And now, there was also something else she knew she was going to look into, without telling anyone – the disappearance of girls twenty years ago. Regardless of her relationship or dynamic with Tristan, the truth that she had been abducted and returned, that there had been other girls who went missing never to be found again, troubled her. She needed to uncover those buried secrets. And if there was any chance of finding Luna, she would. But she could never, not until she had concrete evidence of something, let him know about it.
Lost in her head, she didn’t see Maroni coming out of the living room just as she headed towards the main door.
“Morana.”
His voice brought her up short. Morana turned to see the man walk towards her, that smile on his face that always sent eerie chills down her spine. She braced herself, her grip tightening on the strap of her bag.
“Mr. Maroni,” she greeted in a calm, composed voice.
Maroni stopped just short of her personal space, tilting his head to the side, his dark eyes scrutinizing her. “You know I’ve tried to reach Tristan for years. Last night was the first time I saw him react.”
Morana stayed silent, letting the man speak and observe her, keeping her face clean of every emotion.
Maroni smiled. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? The things I’ve done to that boy. Twenty years, I tried to break him. The more I tried, the stronger he became.’ He sighed. Morana felt her blood simmer as she stayed silent. ‘Torture, murder. He never flinched. I had begun to believe he was the perfect killing machine. Until last night, when I saw it with my own eyes. I believe I have, at last, found his Achilles’ heel. So, thank you for that, Morana.”
The venom she felt in her heart for the man reached another level. The smile on his face at the thought of bringing down the man she had come to care for made her instincts rage in a way they never had. How a man like Dante could’ve come out from this monster was a wonder. Bottling it all up, Morana smiled softly at Maroni.
She saw with some satisfaction that his smile faltered, just slightly, under his neat beard.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Maroni,” she spoke quietly, her tone soft. “You assume, with your limited mind women only make two good things – wives and whores. I’m neither. What I am is a woman who has been freed from the shackles men like you had bound me to. What I am is a woman who knows that freedom thanks to two good men who’ve made me believe again.”
Maroni opened his mouth to speak but Morana put up her hand, not done, the fire inside her raging now. She leaned forward, staring the man much taller than her down, her voice menacing.
“I’m not a victim. I’m vengeance,” she ground out. “Mark my words, Mr. Maroni. I am going to make you pay – for every single scar you’ve put on Tristan; for every little hurt you inflicted on Dante; for banishing Amara from her home. And for all the girls who went missing.”
She saw his eyes widen slightly at the last bit and nodded. “Oh yes. I know you’re involved. I just don’t know how. But when I do, you will pay.”
“You assume you’ll live that long,” Maroni threatened, all veneer of civility gone from his face.
Morana chuckled mirthlessly. “You say you’ve never seen Tristan react until last night. Try killing me and then see what you’ll unleash on yourself. Just try it. I fucking dare you.”
Maroni’s hand came up to her neck at her insolence, hovered mid-air, inches from her skin. Morana watched the hand, then looked back at him, staring him down, unwavering.
“You have no idea what you’ve just done, little girl,” Maroni whispered, his eyes lethal. Morana should have been terrified. This was the man who made grown men shake in their pants. But she had witnessed eyes with far more death, far more rage than his.
“I told you not to threaten me,” she stated in an equally quiet voice. “You just did. Now, watch as the dominoes fall.”
‘Respect, little girl,’ Maroni spat out.
Morana raised an eyebrow. ‘Long live the king. The king is dead.’
Without another word, she simply turned on her heels and walked out the main door, into the beautiful, warm sunlight. Adrenaline still coursed through her body, churning in her gut with the poison of seeing that man breathe after everything he had done. She knew in her bones he had a hand in the missing girls, somehow. He wasn’t invincible and she was going to prove it to him.
The silent figure of Vin standing near one of the pillars outside made her halt. Just as he was when he had escorted her to her room, he was quiet.
“Are you my escort to Dante’s place?” she asked him, half-expecting him not to respond. He surprised her by saying a simple “yes” in a quiet voice, taking out his dark shades from the pocket of his dark suit and gesturing for her to walk beside him.
Morana fell into step as they walked west on the property as she observed everything around them. Men she’d from her window still flanked the property. Long stretches of grass lay between the house and the line of trees at the north, segregating the lake and beyond. Towards the west, she could see two different wings, one painted white and the other not painted but simply red-bricked, set almost at two different corners of the property. The white one was huge, set farther back than the red house. It had a flat roof above the third floor and black, wrought-iron railing on its balconies. The red-bricked house was much smaller in comparison, and had a slanting roof on one side above the first floor, with a simple wraparound porch.
They were headed to the red one.
“The one on the right is Dante’s,” Vin broke their silent walk, indicating the red-bricked house. Morana was surprised by the fact that A- he offered the information, and B- he called Dante by his first name. Filing that away for later, Morana took the opportunity to get more info.
“And the white one behind that to the left?” she asked, keeping pace with his brisk steps.
“That’s the staff building,” Vin informed. “They have apartments inside.”
Morana nodded, curious. “And the training center?”
Vin’s step faltered for a split second before he picked it up again, cutting her a glance from behind his shades. Morana kept her face innocent.
After a long moment, in which she thought he wouldn’t answer, he spoke. “That’s in the opposite direction. I would advise you to keep as far away from there as possible.”
Noted.
“Why did you give me the knife yesterday?” Morana asked the question that had been bugging her since she saw him. “Not that I’m not grateful, which I am. But I don’t understand the motives.”
Shutting her mouth, Morana blinked, surprised at herself. She babbled in her head, sure. All the time. But this was the first time she’d slipped into it outside of her mind. She had to be more careful, much more careful.
Vin shrugged. And stayed silent.
Not good enough.
“Seriously,” she prodded. “I need to know if you’re one of the good guys.”
Vin cut another glance at her. “None of the guys here are good, miss. But will I put a bullet in your head? Not unless you don’t cross me personally. Who else you cross or don’t doesn’t matter to me or my gun.”
Okay, that was good enough.
Morana nodded, glad to have that equation cleared. They arrived at Dante’s place and Vin knocked on the door once sharply. A few seconds later, the door was opened by an older woman with greying hair, a kind, wrinkled face, and Amara’s stunning green eyes. The woman couldn’t be anyone but Amara’s mother. And the fact that Dante had brought Amara’s mother to his wing as staff told her a lot more about the man.
Vin nodded at her and Amara’s mother and left without a word. The older woman’s face had split into a large, dimpled smile upon seeing Morana. Surprising the fuck out of her, the woman extended her hands hardened by years of hard work and took Morana’s, her eyes misting with tears.
“My baby told me you are her friend,” the woman told her in an accented voice. “She does not have friends, you see. I thank you.”
The purity of the woman’s heart touched something inside Morana she’d thought dead a long time ago – the proof of a parent’s universal love. Squeezing back the woman’s hands with all the emotions rumbling in her, Morana spoke softly, “Your daughter is the kindest, most generous spirit I have ever known. She’s been a true and strong friend to me. And she misses you very much.”
The woman smiled through her tears and pulled back her hands to wipe them. Opening the door wider, she invited Morana inside.
“Come in, child,” she said affectionately, locking the door after Morana entered and leading the way inside. The house was warm – its walls, its drapes, its wooden furniture, the browns and reds and creams just wrapping Morana up in its warmth. The smell of eggs and coffee and patchouli somehow mixed intricately together, the open windows bringing in the soft breeze, the sounds of wind chimes tinkling outside. It felt unlike any place she had ever been in. Warm. Cozy. Inviting.
“Dante told me you would be here,” the older woman continued, guiding Morana towards a cozy, plush brown couch and making her sit. Morana sank into the cushion. “Make yourself at home. Have you had breakfast?”
Morana shook her head, overwhelmed by all the emotions. The woman smiled. “I will bring some food and coffee for you. You like coffee, yes?”
Morana nodded. The woman stroked her head softly, in the manner a parent did to their child mindlessly as she had done it countless times before. It was the first time in Morana’s memory. She felt her chin tremble.
“Do your work, and if you need anything, call me,” the woman turned to leave.
“What do I call you?” Morana asked abruptly.
The woman grinned, her face lighting up and wrinkling. “Zia, of course. That is what Dante calls me.”
Morana smiled as she watched the woman go and exhaled. More shaken by the simple encounter than she’d expected to be, Morana saw the tremble in her hands as she pulled out her laptop and other equipment she needed from her bag. Slowly, as she set up on the table in front of her, Morana folded her legs under her and settled in.
The older woman came out with a tray of some delicious looking omelet, slices of toasts and fresh fruit and coffee. Morana thanked her as she placed the tray on her lap and exited, shutting the door behind her, giving Morana privacy. Hearing her stomach grumble because she hadn’t eaten properly at dinner, Morana dug into the breakfast with relish. Within minutes, everything was cleaned off the plates and her stomach was happy.
Placing the tray on the floor beside her, Morana sipped her coffee and first things first, did her shopping online. Usually, it didn’t take her a long time to shop. She knew her style and knew what she liked to wear. But that morning, she took her sweet time picking outfits that went from the scale of “comfortable enough to veg out in” to “uncomfortable but classy as hell”. Zia came in took the tray away with another smile, which Morana returned. Then, Morana ordered herself lingerie. Good, sexy lingerie with a particular someone and his tendency to rip her clothes in mind. Shoes and make-up went next. Then, accessories. By the time everything was done, it was afternoon. She had spent a lot of hours and dollars but damn, it felt good. Putting the delivery on for the next day, she put in the address for the mansion and stood up.
Stretching, Morana walked towards the window in the living room and looked out at the property from the different vantage. From there, she could see that beast of a mansion uphill in all its glory, and the lawns, and the gates. What she could also see from there was the lake farther downhill and the house on its edge. Though it was still very far, it was closer than the window. She could see it was a brown cottage, see it had one level above the ground but nothing more than that.
Keeping her eyes on the house, Morana brought her phone out from her pocket and dialed the number of the woman she was now starting to consider her friend. It rang twice before connecting.
“Morana,” Amara’s low husky voice greeted her. Had Morana not known Amara’s ugly history and seen the terrible scar that slit across her throat and damaged her vocal cords, Morana would’ve said she had a voice made for sex. But anything that brutal could not be associated with something beautiful. Or could it?
Shaking off her thoughts, Morana replied will all the fuzzy feelings she felt. “I’ve had two wonderful greetings here, thanks to you.”
Amara chuckled. “That place is a trap. We girls gotta have each other’s backs. So, I just thought you might need all the people on your side you can get.”
“I appreciate that,” Morana smiled. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Anytime, Morana,” Amara’s soft voice came through. After a second of silence, Amara asked. “So, how’s Tenebrae?”
Morana huffed a laugh. “The weather has been good so far. The people surprising.”
“How so?”
“Well,” Morana planted her ass on the edge of the window, playing with the edge, “as mentioned, your half-sister surprised me. Your mom as well.”
“I wouldn’t trust Nerea entirely if I were you,” Amara warned about her half-sister, surprising Morana. “I mean she’s always been good to me, loves me a lot. But you’re a stranger and she’s also harsh. I have put in a good word for you but I honestly doubt you’ll see her much. She mostly travels out of the city.”
Everything inside Morana thawed at Amara’s honesty. “I will. She seemed okay so far but I’ll be careful. Your mother, by the way, told me to call her Zia. Is that her name or does it mean something?”
Morana could hear Amara’s smile in her voice. “It means aunt.”
Aunt. A strange woman she’d never met before had asked her to call her aunt simply because she’d been good to her daughter. She’d never had an aunt. Especially one who stroked her hair lovingly and fed her. The knot in her throat tightened.
“She’s a wonderful woman,” Amara’s voice broke into her emotional musing. “But don’t tell her your secrets because she’ll tell them all to Dante. She loves that man something fierce.”
“Is that because you love him?” Morana asked, before suddenly realizing maybe she shouldn’t have said that.
Much to her relief, Amara laughed, her voice strained due to the stress on her cords. “No. Maybe. Who knows? Ma’s always loved Dante, even back when my infatuation with him had been secret. I think she just felt motherly towards him after his mother passed.”
Morana wanted to ask more about it but didn’t, knowing Amara wouldn’t share anything related to Dante with her. After a slight pause, the other woman finally asked, “How is he?”
Morana couldn’t help her lips from twitching. “Good. He’s had my back on multiple occasions now with his father.”
Amara exhaled. “That’s good. I’m happy to hear that.”
Morana hesitated. “Do you know if you can ever return home?”
“No. At least not until either Maroni leaves the throne or Dante marries elsewhere.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” Morana asked.
Amara’s voice turned soft. “It used to. Not anymore. He can be with whomever he wishes.”
Changing the topic, knowing she was digging into old wounds, Morana shifted on the window ledge. “By the way, do you know anything about Tristan and Chiara Mancini?”
Silence. For a long second. Then Amara sighed. “He was her first extramarital affair after she came to Tenebrae. She chose him because sleeping with him would hurt her husband’s and Lorenzo’s egos the most. Tristan slept with her for that exact same reason I believe.”
Morana swallowed. “She implied she was his constant for a long time.”
Amara scoffed immediately. “Oh, puhleez! That woman’s a reptile.’ Dante had called her something similar. Interesting. ‘She wanted you to believe that because she’s the kind of woman who is immediately threatened by any other woman. Smarter, prettier, doesn’t matter. And anyway, if there was any woman who was a constant in Tristan’s life, it was you, even in your absence.”
That, in a twisted way, warmed her. She let out a breath of relief. Hearing her exhale, Amara continued in a firm tone.
“Don’t let her or anyone else get to you, Morana. I meant what I said. I have never seen Tristan as alive as I do with you. I truly believe you both have the possibility of building something good. Don’t let anything ruin that, especially in that place. That house is crawling with people who would love nothing more than to see Tristan burn. So, be strong for both your sake.”
Morana took a deep breath. “I will. Thank you, Amara.”
“As I said, anytime,” Amara replied in her soft, husky voice. “You need any inside information, or just to talk girl talk, I’m here. I’d like for us to continue this friendship, regardless of what happens with Tristan or Dante.”
Morana picked at her top, smiling. “So would I.”
“Good. I’m going to go now but we’ll talk later, okay?”
“Okay,” Morana looked up at the sky, a weight lifted off her chest. After saying their goodbyes and planning another call, Morana kept her phone aside and watched the clouds dancing in the blue sky, the grays and whites merging, creating something magical. And she marveled at it. She marveled at everything and everyone she had gained in a few weeks. In the span of such a short time, she had friends, relationships. She had people who would give a shit if something happened to her and she had people she wanted to protect.
It was such an odd thing, this new emotion inside her chest. She grabbed on to it, held on to it, cherished it.
It mattered.
