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That’s what does it. That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. This time, when I curl up facing the wall, there’s no way to keep the tears from flowing.
20
LUCA
I didn’t mean to fall asleep.
My plan was to stay awake, waiting, going from one heartbeat to the next. Barely breathing, able to think about nothing but Emilia. What she’s going through, whether she believes I’ll find her, whether she is losing hope. If she’s hurt, bleeding, maybe dying…
How can I sleep at a time like this? No matter how Mama pestered me or Guilia tearfully urged me to get something to eat, I’m not interested. I wasn’t exactly gentle when I told them so.
Yet sleep caught up to me anyway. By the time I rise with a start, the ornate clock on my father’s desk tells me I was out for two hours. What might’ve happened since then? What if I missed something?
The pounding of feet in the hall and raised voices are what woke me. I run to the door and throw it open not a moment before Dante shoves his way into the room. He’s holding the corner of a manilla envelope between two fingers. “This came in just now. They’re reviewing the security footage down at the guard house, hoping to get a look at the plates.” He’s out of breath like he’s been running.
“Someone left it here?” I ask, wondering what it means and what it has to do with Emilia.
“Threw it from a passing van.” He thrusts it my way, and now I see my name scrawled in block letters across the front, etched in black marker.
“We should wait for Papa,” Dante urges, but I’m already bending the metal prongs holding the envelope shot. His hand wraps around my wrist in a death grip, stopping me. “It might not be safe.”
Considering the envelope weighs nothing, I can’t imagine anything inside could harm us. A box would be a different story. I might hesitate to open it.
“There’s nothing dangerous inside,” I insist, freeing my wrist. “Feel free to run away if you’re scared.” He scowls but doesn’t move.
Flipping back the flap, I ease the envelope open and peer inside. At first, I don’t know what I’m looking at. “What is it?” Dante demands.
I shake my head, going to the window to get a better look. It can’t be what it looks like. I’m seeing things. Yet when I hold the envelope open in the light, it’s obvious.
“Oh my God. Oh God.” That’s all I can say, the only words my mouth will form as I stare blankly into the envelope and study its contents.
“What is it?” Dante tries to tear the envelope from my hands, but I only tighten my grip, squeezing it in my fist when blank rage sweeps over me. Something falls out and drifts to the floor, and he picks it up, studying it.
“Hair?” he asks, almost laughing at the absurdity. “They sent you hair?”
“It’s hers. It’s her hair,” I choke out, looking inside again. Something is sitting at the bottom of the envelope. I pull out the folded paper when I do, a small photograph falls out.
I feel Dante beside me when I turn it over.
I can barely make it out, but it’s her. Pale, roughed up, with her hand covered in blood. Oh God, I feel physically ill. What have they fucking done to my beautiful angel?
My eyes reluctantly peel away from her photograph to the note.
Imagine what I’ll cut off next time.
Guilt folds me in half, leaving me bent over and gasping for air before my knees give out. I fall to them because now it’s real. Now, I’m holding the evidence in my hands. He’s hurt her. He’s made a mockery of her, all for the sake of breaking me.
At the moment, it feels like he has. “Luca,” Dante murmurs, reminding me he’s in the room.
“I was going to propose.” Reaching into the envelope, I take a handful of the silky locks I ran my hands through while she slept in my arms in front of the fire only yesterday when everything was different. When all I knew was hope.
“What?” He comes closer, touching a hand on my shoulder. “What are you saying?”
“Last night. I was going to ask her to marry me.” I hold the hair to my cheek and close my eyes. It still smells like her. Wasn’t I going to buy her a lifetime supply of whatever they used on it at the salon? I’m losing it, finally.
“Fuck.” His grip tightens slightly before he lets go. “I didn’t know that.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” I mutter, choking back tears. When was the last time I cried? No idea. Maybe when I broke my arm when I was a kid.
