“Mia vita.” The reverence in Dante’s tone takes me by surprise, and even though I don’t know what he’s said, he says it with such devotion and admiration that it’s almost jarring. Gone are the harsh lines around his lips, and there’s a softness in his eyes that I wouldn’t have thought him capable of. It’s like looking at a completely different Dante to the one I’ve been forced to put up with for the last forty-eight hours.
