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The shock of the fall, the sight of my own blood, it all compounds the fear and doubt that’s been simmering inside me. I burst into uncontrollable tears.
Alessandro is at my side in an instant, his concern palpable. He examines my knee with gentle hands, his brow furrowed. “We need to get this cleaned up,” he says, the worry in his voice clear. “Let’s go to the hospital, just to be safe.”
I want to protest, to say it’s nothing, just a scrape, but the truth is, I’m grateful for the distraction. The concern for my physical well-being gives me a reprieve from the turmoil of my thoughts, a legitimate reason for the distress I can no longer hide.
As we make our way to the hospital, I lean on Alessandro, both physically and emotionally, the reality of our situation settling heavily on my shoulders.
This man, who my father claims is using me in a dangerous game, shows nothing but care and concern for me. The dichotomy between the Alessandro I know and love and the one painted by my father’s words is jarring.
The trip to the hospital blurs into a series of antiseptic smells and sterile hallways, but through it all, Alessandro is a constant presence by my side.
Yet, beneath the comfort his touch brings, the seed of doubt planted by my father’s call continues to grow. I want him to hold me but who is he? My husband or a monster? I know what he’s capable of, I’ve seen him kill already.
As he fusses over the paperwork, his brow creased in concern, I’m torn between the warmth his worry kindles in my heart and the cold dread seeded by my father’s words. The contradiction is maddening, leaving me feeling stranded at a crossroads of trust and suspicion.
“I’m fine, really,” I attempt to reassure him, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. They’re a lie, a facade I maintain because the alternative—confronting him with my fears, accusing him of betrayal—is too harrowing to contemplate. The idea that he might be using me claws at me with sharp, insidious fingers.
What if my father is right? The thought is a poison, tainting every memory, every tender moment shared with Alessandro.
It turns the affection I see in his eyes into potential deceit, his protectiveness into manipulation. I’m caught in a web of doubt, every thread pulling tighter the more I struggle against it.
Alessandro notices my distant gaze, his hand finding mine with a tenderness that fractures my resolve. “Is everything okay?” he asks, his voice laced with an undertone of worry that suggests he senses the tumult within me.
I’m at the edge, teetering between confession and silence. The words hover on my lips, the questions, the doubts, the fears. But I swallow them down, locking them away.
“I’m just tired,” I lie, the cowardice of the evasion stinging bitterly. The truth is, I’m terrified—terrified of the answers he might give, terrified of shattering the fragile peace we’ve built.
He nods, accepting my explanation too easily, and I hate myself for it. I hate the doubt that’s taken root in my heart, the fear that’s caged my voice.
It would be so like him, wouldn’t it? To manipulate, to control. That’s the man I was warned about, the man I thought he was behind the loving gaze and the gentle touches.
Yet, as he leads me gently through the sterile corridors towards the treatment room, his concern evident in every line of his body, I can’t help but question my own judgment.
Is it possible I’m wrong? That the love I’ve felt from him, the connection that’s seemed so real, is nothing but a well-crafted lie?
In the privacy of the examination room, with the clinical coldness enveloping us, Alessandro’s steady presence is both a comfort and a curse.
His hand rests lightly on my shoulder, grounding, yet it’s a reminder of the power he holds, the power I fear.
And when he finally senses something amiss, asking once more if I’m okay, I plaster on a fake smile, a mask of normalcy.
“It’s nothing,” I assure him whenever he asks, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside. The pathetic cowardice of my evasion tastes like bile. I should confront him, demand the truth, but the fear of his potential response paralyzes me.
Could the man who has shown me nothing but love and protection really be the monster my father claims? The internal battle rages, leaving me exhausted, emotionally battered.
I’m trapped in a limbo of my own making, too scared to seek the truth, too in love to let go without a fight. Do I let him go to his death or tell him not to go, risk him demanding to know why he shouldn’t?
When the doctor tells me I’m free to leave, I want to stay. Anything to stop this ball from rolling. But I have to return to the villa sooner or later.
During the drive back, I don’t say a word. Alessandro glances at me, as if he feels like he should say something. But then he looks away, leaving me to my thoughts.
SIXTEEN
Alessandro
The next morning…
Lucas and Matteo stand a discreet distance away, their postures relaxed but alert, waiting for my command. The tension in the room is palpable. Jess glares at me as I pack the last of my things.
