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Her grip tightens on my arm. "No. I can't bear to see you hurt anymore. Please, I just want you to rest here with me!" She looks at me indignantly again.
For a moment, I'm caught in the crossfire of revenge and the love that yearns to break free. “But–”
"Stay with me. Just stay with me," she pleads, her eyes searching mine. She holds my hand and presses it gently. I see a flicker of doubt in her eyes, a reflection of the man I once was. I can’t keep her in any more pain. I relent, sinking back onto the bed. Francesco looks at me waiting for an order.
I instruct him to use any means to get information out of Mauro’s consigliere, the compliance in my voice cutting through the quiet room. As he leaves, the door closing behind him, I turn to Ella, my hand reaching for hers in an admission of guilt.
"I couldn’t keep you safe," I say, my voice heavy with regret. “Look at you…” I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I feel the sorrow settling in me.
"I am safe. With you. I love you," she says, brushing her lips against mine, ever so gently. The pain diminishes for that second. I love you too, baby.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ELLA
The room has grown cold and silent.
But my mind keeps digging through all the fears and worries of what could’ve happened today. To me. To Tommaso. He lies static on the bed, his eyes now closed against the pain that has etched lines of weariness across his attractive face. I sit up beside him, tracing the contours of his hand with my fingers, to reassure him that we are fine.
Time inches forward and I feel my head getting heavy. I touch it ever so lightly but it hurts. I had forgotten all about my own pain, seeing him hurt. I look at his face again and realize how fond I’ve grown of him. He must think that I fell for the villain in my story. My villain.
A fear lingers as I watch over him. His breaths, shallow and strained, echo in the room, and I can't help but feel a sense of helplessness. He got hurt protecting me and I couldn’t do anything to prevent that.
The door creaks open, breaking the stillness, and Francesco steps into the room. His presence reminds me of the issue at hand again. My eyes meet his, pleading for news that won't sink my heart further.
Tommaso shifts in the bed but then opens his eyes. “Francesco?”
"Signore," he begins in a low murmur, "we couldn't get Mauro's whereabouts from the consigliere. But we've got someone else." A surge of both relief and anxiety washes over me. I don’t want that asshole near Tommaso. I tighten my grip on Tommaso's arm, silently imploring for positive news.
"We picked up Mauro's wife from The Ritz-Calton. Seems he was keeping her captive there." My mind instantly tries to imagine another woman held captive by a mafia boss. I was that woman once. But I fell in love and everything changed. She must be suffering. I feel a sense of empathy for her. I imagine her helplessness and her longing to be free. I look at Tommaso, but he remains silent. Francesco's gaze lingers on Tommaso and me. He steps forward, his expression as hard and cold as stone.
"She's downstairs in the office. We need to decide our next move quick, signore," Francesco says, his voice a low murmur.
“I’ll be there,” Tommaso says with closed eyes. Francesco exits the room, leaving Tommaso and me alone again. The quiet is interrupted only by the soft hum of distant city sounds. I glance at him, the lines on his face clearly showing his pain and his tiredness.
He looks somewhat vulnerable in his stillness, a stark contrast to the formidable self he presents to everyone in his clan. I lean in, my lips brushing against his forehead.
"Be easy on yourself. Remember that, although you have been treated, you are still weak."
“I will. Come with me, Ella, I want you to see I can do things without violence.”
The light from the lamp in Tommaso’s office is dim, not too bright, making it hard to make out her features. As I step closer, I see a girl in a cropped top sitting in the corner. She looks messed up, like someone punched hope out of her. Her body is like a canvas of pain, all sorts of nasty bruises and ribs that didn't heal right after a fracture.
My eyes involuntarily scan her body. Each bruise and scar tells a brutal story. The colors on her skin are purple and blue, and it pisses me of, not just at Mauro but at the messed-up world that let this happen.
I can't help but keep staring at her ribs, all messed up and digressed. I shudder as unwanted memories rush to my mind. I know those bruises. I have seen them close up. It triggers memories of my mom. I didn’t understand what was wrong with her when I was a kid. Until one day, I witnessed it, with my own eyes.
The memories of my dad hitting her as I watched from the stairs. And mom wincing in pain on the kitchen floor of our house. “Back to your room, Ella! Now!” My dad’s atrocious voice echoes in my ears and I shake my head violently.
Now, looking at this girl, it's like facing a mirror of my past, a painful reminder that trauma doesn't just vanish with time. I notice the girl’s eyes, once probably full of life, now just tired.
They meet mine for a second, and there's fear and a lack of will to fight. Her hands are shaky, grabbing the chair like it's the only thing keeping her together. She keeps looking around nervously. Poor soul.
The room feels tense and suffocating as I stand in the corner, silently observing Tommaso as he starts to interrogates the young woman. Her eyes, weary and haunted, flicker between Tommaso's stern face and my unwavering gaze.
Tommaso's tone is sharp, his words cutting through the air like a knife. He's harsh, unrelenting, but I notice he never resorts to physical violence. I've seen this side of him before, with me, how he never abused me, never hit me, never even raised his voice at me. But today, there's an edge, a desperation to find Mauro that pushes him to the brink. I close my eyes shut every time he raises his voice. I try not to see my father in him at that moment. And I try not to see my mom in the girl’s weak body.
The young woman, frail and broken, repeats the same refrain, “I can't tell you. Please!” Each time, Tommaso's frustration takes hold of him, his patience wearing thin. I watch as he leans in, his voice a low growl, pressing her to divulge the information they so desperately need.
