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A cool rag hits my neck as a strong hand holds my hair from my face. I sigh in relief as I feel the coolness.
“You okay,mia amata?” he asks as he crouches down beside me.
I sag against him, completely spent and thankfully no longer wanting to wretch.
“What happened?” he asks gently as he helps me to my feet.
I take the washcloth from him and clean up, brushing my teeth softly, not wanting to set my stomach off again, nor do I want to hit my gag reflex.
“Nightmare,” I whisper once I’m finished cleaning up.
He lifts me into his arms. I rest my head against his shoulder and relax into him. It’s been three months since the men who were after me were killed. I never did ask Elio what happened. I didn’t want to know the details. I was just relieved that the men couldn’t harm anyone else.
Over the past three months, a lot has changed. Portia’s living in Jefferson City. We speak every day, whether it be through texts, phone calls, or video calls. It’s so good to see her happy and thriving. I’m so proud of her. She’s done amazing to get her life on track.
Elio walks with me in his arms into our bedroom. My body’s exhausted. The nightmare has really taken it out of me. Even though we’re back in Indianapolis, I’m carrying on my sessions with Lena. In fact, the poor woman actually has her office base here in Indianapolis and Elio paid her to come to Chicago.
I love that he thought ahead, that when we came back here, he knew that I’d want the same doctor. He’s lucky that Lena was on maternity leave and he paid her enough that she could afford for her husband to take time off too. He even paid for them to stay in Chicago while we were. He really did think of everything.
“Talk to me,mia amata. What was the nightmare about?” he asks softly as he climbs into bed with me, keeping his arms tight around me.
In the past three months, I’ve been opening up more. I’ve told Lena the majority of what happened in the Dirty Demons clubhouse, but also what went down between Elio and I. After speaking with Lena, Elio, Portia, and Jade, I decided to try medication and see if it would help.
Since I started taking them, I have seen a difference. I have more energy, I’m eating more, I’m sleeping more, and my mood is more content than before. It took a while for it to take effect. The first four weeks or so were a little uneasy. I was feeling really weird and not at all like myself, but with the help of Lena and Elio, I was able to continue, and I’m truly glad that I did. I feel as though I’m doing better. That I can see a light at the end of the tunnel.
“Mia amata,” he whispers, his lips pressing against my head. “Talk to me, baby.”
I can’t deny him. I don’t think I ever could. Elio’s had a hold over me since the moment I met him. There’s something about him that makes me feel things in ways I never thought possible.
I turn in his arms and press my face against his chest. He stiffens, as he does every time I do this. I haven’t gathered the courage to touch his scars with my hands. The red, jagged scars are deeper than the cigarette burns. I hate that he has these. I wish I could take them from him, but I can't. I press a kiss against the jaggiest of them and start to whisper to him, telling him about my dream.
My voice is void of emotion as I recount every detail. I’m not sure that this is a good idea, but he’s been asking me for weeks about my dreams, and I keep brushing him off. He’s more than earned my trust since that fateful night when I reached my breaking point.
His arms convulse around me as I speak. His body is tense, and I swallow hard. I need to push through it. I need to open up to him.
I look up at the man I love and see the fierceness and sorrow in those beautiful brown eyes.
I just pray that after he finds out, he won’t think of me as anything other than his wife.
THIRTY
ELIO
Listening to everything my wife says is like a knife to my heart. Those fucking bastards hurt her. They destroyed her, and when she came to me, I broke her. I’ll never forgive myself for doing that to her.
I never took the time to actually get to know her. I didn’t care. I was so fucking focused on revenge that I had no time for anything else, and I broke her. I’m a fucking bastard. I don’t deserve her forgiveness, but Christ, somehow, I have managed to get it. She’s lying in my arms, whispering her deepest secrets to me. She trusts me enough to give them to me.
The doctor was right. I had to let her lead the way, show her that I was here but not push her. I’ve given her time, and slowly, she’s started to trust me.
“Don’t hate me,” she whispers as she looks up at me, those gray eyes of hers filled with desperation.
“Mia amata,” I say as I frame her face. “Never,” I vow. “I could never hate you. You are safe with me. Nothing or no one will hurt you again.”
She presses a kiss against my chest as her eyes shutter closed. I tense at the action, my jaw clenching. She’s touching my fucking chest. The one that’s scarred to hell and back. It’s been months since it happened, and I still get the phantom pains of burning. Fuck, sometimes I can even smell the burning of flesh. Having her touch me is a cleansing feeling, but as soon as the softness of her lips touch me, anger hits me. She shouldn’t have to be kissing the violence away. She’s dealt and seen enough to last her a lifetime. I don’t want my shit tainting her.
“I don’t want you to see me as dirty or to hate me because of what they did,” she says so low that I almost didn’t hear it.
“You’re not dirty. What those animals did was on them, baby, not you. I don’t fucking hate you.” She doesn’t say anything, her breathing soft against my chest. I press a kiss against her head and whisper in Italian, “Sono in soggezione di te, piccola. Sei così fottutamente preziosa per me. Non dubitarne mai. Ti amo.” I know that she can’t understand me, but she loves when I speak the language. (I’m in awe of you, baby. You are so fucking precious to me. Never doubt that. I love you.)
