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"Yes, capo."

Luca moves past us without coming close. The space he leaves feels almost insulting, except I don't think he means it that way. He goes into the hall to make a call.

The suitcase pulls my eyes back to the door. Valentino hasn't moved from it.

"He won't look at me."

"No."

"You told him not to."

"I told him to drive you to the airport and put you on the plane."

"Valentino."

His mouth pulls like it might smile, then doesn't.

"I told him not to look at you. Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I'm sending you away," he says. "And right now, even another man looking at you feels like something else I have to give up."

I don't have a response to that.

My mouth opens, then closes. He notices.

"It's not about him," he says. "If I didn't trust Luca, he wouldn't be here. I chose him because he'll get you on that plane no matter what happens after you walk out this door."

"He isn't going to do anything."

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Because I'm already giving up too much today." His voice stays even, but barely. "I don't have enough left in me to be reasonable about another man looking at you."

"He literally can't look at my face."

"I know."

"It's ridiculous."

"I know."

I am not going to fight him on this. Not today. Not on the last day.

From the hall, Luca says something in Italian, short, to someone on the phone.

Valentino steps close to me. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back.

Valentino

I look down at her. Her hair is in a knot at the back of her neck. Her eyes are red and shining. And my chest hurts.

Not metaphorically. A real pain, low and deep behind my ribs.

I breathe in through it. Breathe out.