Sunlight fell across Vito's face, but it gave him no warmth at all.
His expression was cold and unreadable. His brows were drawn tight, and his long dark lashes hid whatever was moving behind his eyes. He still wore his white wedding shirt, neat and sharp, with a dark red bow tie at his throat. But dried blood stained the fabric, and dust clung to him like proof of how long he had been running without rest.
I used to think his smile was unsettling. It never reached his eyes, never felt real. But now, standing there without any smile at all, he looked even more tragic. He seemed wrapped in some lonely, icy light, like a man standing under the shadow of the moon, cut off from the rest of the world.
Before Whitney could collapse, Vito dropped to his knees and caught her in his arms.
