Chapter 8: Thirty-One Percent
Elena was sitting up in the hospital bed when Dante arrived.
She looked better than she had the night before — less gray, less brittle — but the monitors beside her told a more complicated story.
He had learned to read monitors in the last eighteen hours.
He had read everything Dr.
Reyes had sent him, every number, every range, every clinical term he hadn't known before.
He sat in the chair beside her bed.
"The nephrologist came," Elena said.
"I know.
Reyes called me."
"They want to start dialysis while I wait for the transplant evaluation." She said it matter-of-factly, the way she said most things.
"It could be a long wait."
"It won't be."
She looked at him.
"Dante, transplant lists — "
"I'm being tested tomorrow morning.
So is Nico.
So are two other people I trust." He held her gaze.
"One of us will match."
Elena was quiet for a moment.
"You can't just — "
"I know I can't just.
But I can try.
And while we're trying, you'll be on dialysis, and you'll be here, and the girls will be safe." He paused.
"I took care of Vincent."
Her hands went still on the blanket.
"What does that mean?"
"It means he signed the terms this morning.
His attorney called at seven forty-five." Dante had taken the call in the hotel corridor while Rosa ate breakfast and explained to Mia why horses were better than dogs.
"He's divesting from every shared position.
He's out of Boston by the end of the month.
If he violates any term, the federal documentation goes to the prosecutor."
"He'll find a way around it."
"Maybe.
But he won't find a way around the fact that I know what he did.
And he knows I know.
That's its own kind of consequence for a man like Vincent." Dante looked at her.
"He won't come near you or the girls.
I'll make sure of it."
Elena looked at the window.
The morning light was thin and white.
"I owe you an apology," she said.
"You don't."
"I do.
I should have found a way to tell you.
Even from a distance.
Even a letter with no return address.
Something." Her voice was steady but her hands weren't.
"I told myself it was to protect you.
And it was, partly.
But it was also because I was ashamed.
Of running.
Of being afraid."
"You were twenty-four years old and someone threatened your mother."
"I know.
But you should have known about your children." She turned from the window and looked at him directly.
"I'm sorry, Dante.
For the headstone.
For the years.
For all of it."
He was quiet for a moment.
"I'm sorry I built something that made you a target," he said.
They sat with that for a while.
Neither of them tried to resolve it into something cleaner than it was.
"Rosa told me she gave you a list," Elena said finally.
"Nine items.
Numbered.
Everything spelled correctly."
Something softened in Elena's face.
"She taught herself to read at four.
I didn't even know she was doing it.
I found her one morning with a library book, just — reading." She shook her head slightly.
"I didn't know what to do with her."
"She told me Mia is the kind one and Cora is the quiet one."
"Cora talks constantly.
Just only to people she's decided to trust." Elena paused.
"She talked to you last night."
"She showed me her horses."
"That means she trusts you." Elena's voice was careful now.
"They don't know who you are to them.
I haven't told them."
"I know."
"I'll need to tell them."
"Yes."
"I don't know how."
"We'll figure it out together," Dante said.
"When you're stronger."
Elena looked at him for a long moment.
The careful thing that had lived behind her eyes since she'd opened the door — the seven years of watchfulness, of calculating every risk, of being alone with everything — shifted slightly.
Not gone.
But lighter.
"Together," she said.
Like she was testing the word's weight.
May you like
"Together," he said.
The monitor beside her beeped once, steadily, and the morning light moved across the floor between them.
