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Bringing my hand up to my head, I rubbed my forehead, trying to ease the horrendous headache. When I closed my eyes, sudden clipped images of last night crashed behind my close lids.
My nightmare. The hallucinations. Crying. Begging Alessio to make it stop. I remembered him cleaning my arms, telling me there was no blood on them.
My eyes snapped open and I stared at Alessio in shock. He raised an eyebrow in amusement and made a tsking sound. “Ah, so you remember now.” Embarrassment and shame filled me as I tore my eyes away from Alessio’s penetrating gaze. My throat went dry and my body grew cold.
Silence filled the room. Neither of us moved.
After a few minutes filled with tension, I licked my lips nervously and started to move toward the end of the bed. When Alessio didn’t say anything, I kept my eyes down and pushed the comforter away before getting off the bed.
Just walk away, Ayla. Walk away. Get your thoughts together. Make up an excuse.
I locked my knees together and continued toward my escape.
When I reached the door, Alessio’s voice filled the room. I tensed and my hand froze.
“Are you seriously going to leave without saying anything?” he asked, chuckling under his breath.
That was the plan. I thought he wouldn’t say anything, but clearly I was wrong. How naïve of me that I kept thinking of him as the good guy.
He is the good guy, though, I argued with myself.
“Ayla, turn around,” Alessio ordered in a hard, cold voice.
I stiffened at his tone and swiveled around. My head stayed down, and I refused to look at his judging, questioning gaze.
The bed squeaked, and from the corner of my eyes, I saw him getting up. For the first time I noticed that he was in different attire than usual. He wore grey sweatpants and a long black shirt that was tight over his chest.
He moved toward me, his steps fluid and confident.
When he stopped in front of me, my heart stuttered with anxiety and my stomach twisted with tension.
I knew what he was going ask and I didn’t have the answers to his prying questions. They weren’t answers he would want.
He gripped my chin between his fingers, tilting my head up so I was staring at him. His eyes were cold and I saw anger in them.
A shiver went through me and I tightened my hands into fists, my nails biting into the skin of my palm. The slight pain kept me grounded.
“Explain,” he demanded, his eyes turning into slits.
I couldn’t.
“There is nothing to…explain,” I stammered. At my words, his fingers tightened on my chin and anger coursed through his eyes.
“Ayla, I know when you are lying. And I fucking hate it when people lie to me. It will be better for you if you tell me the truth. Explain what happened last night.”
Angry Alessio was scary. His body tensed and his eyes were deadly cold, showing his true character as the heartless mafia boss.
“I’m telling the truth. It was…just a nightmare.”
That was the partial truth. He wouldn’t understand the whole truth. He would only see me as the daughter of his worst enemy, not a victim.
“Damn it,” he growled as he released my chin. “You are lying, Ayla.” When he sent me an intense glare, I cowered back a little and quickly looked down.
But lying was keeping me alive. For now.
“No, I’m telling the truth,” I whispered and unknowingly took a step back. He noticed and took a step forward.
“You had a panic attack. You were having hallucinations about blood on you. You were crying. Totally losing it. That. Was. Not. A. Nightmare,” he said, punctuating each word with fury.
“No.” I shook my head. “It was. I have very vivid nightmares.” I quickly made an excuse, desperately hoping he would believe me. And even if he didn’t, I hoped he would let it go.
But being Alessio, he didn’t let it go.
“Did you witness a murder?” he asked, his tone a little gentler than before, but still hard.
At his question, I just wanted to crumple down and cry. My heart ached at the thought. Yes. Yes, I had witnessed a murder. Not one. Not two. But several murders.
Alberto killed them mercilessly in front of me. He never cared about my screams of terror.
Looking Alessio in the eyes, I shook my head. “No,” I whispered. The lie left a bitter taste in my mouth.
His rigid blue eyes narrowed. The burning hard stare caused me tremble with uneasiness and fear.
“Fuck, did you kill someone? Are you running away? Is that it?” His loud, harsh voice boomed around us.
My eyes widened and I flinched at his assumption. Did he really think that I could kill someone?
“No. No.” I shook my head wildly. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Ayla, you were hallucinating about blood on you. So, either you killed someone or you witnessed a murder. Which is the truth?” He was losing patience.
