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“I am, sweetie, I am, but you need to be calm and rest. You’ve been shot, Lori and you’ve lost a significant amount of blood. It’s a miracle that you’re still alive,” he says, his voice sounding more harsh than I remember.
I try to sift through my hazy memory, recalling the final moments in Marco’s house. All I remember is running to him and then hearing a loud bang. All of the sudden, my consciousness started to fade and pain exploded throughout my core. I remember hearing another gunshot, a roar of anguish leaving Marco as my brothers pulled me from the room and down the hall. I remember seeing blood. So much blood that my memory is now permanently stained red.
“What happened?” I ask, clearing my throat as I look up at the ceiling, the bright, fluorescent lighting hurting my sensitive vision.
My father sighs from beside me, his hand resting over mine as he speaks.
“You ran in front of your brother's target when he fired his gun. Carmelo shot you by accident. Because you tried to save that bastard that fucking took you and did God knows what to you,” he says, hatred filling his voice as I wince at his harsh words.
“What has he done to you, Lori?” He asks when I close my eyes, fear and worry filling me as I think of Marco and Mariella.
Right then, I remember seeing blood on the couch. I remember Marco moving away from me and towards her, a roar of anguish leaving his lips. My eyes snap open and land on my father, tears clogging my throat.
“Mariella, his mother… is she… is she okay?” I ask, his blurry head shaking as she scoffs beside me.
“Why do you care about her?” He asks, even more worry filling me as he evades my question.
“Because she was kind to me!” I cry, hoping to God that it’s not true, that she’s not dead.
He falls silent for a moment, staring at me before he finally shakes his head.
“She’s gone,” he says quietly, a vast amount of sadness filling me as I try to hold back my tears.
“And Marco… what about him?” I whisper, my father’s anger now filling the room.
“He got away. Everyone left in a hurry, worried about you and trying to get you to safety. By the time the men came back, he was gone,” he says, his voice filled with rage as my mind races with thoughts of Marco.
Carmelo almost killed him, but I caught the bullet. I moved without thinking, blocking him as soon as I heard the gun click, not even registering the fact that I could’ve died because of it. I wonder if Mariella would still be alive if I hadn’t moved in front of him. Then again if I hadn’t, my brother would have very well killed him and that thought alone has my heart shattering in my chest.
“What’s happened to you, Lori?” My father asks, holding my hand in his as he speaks. “What did that bastard do you?” He questions, his broken voice shattering me even more as I close my eyes and push the tears back, the pain in my side becoming overwhelming.
“I can’t talk about this right now, papa,” I say, wanting to go back to sleep and wake up, hoping that this all was just some sort of twisted nightmare.
“You can and you will. That bastard is going to pay for what he’s done.” My body flinches in response to his harsh tone.
Something inside of me breaks then and I think it is my reasoning. Only a week ago, I would’ve told my father everything. I would be thankful for this moment and would’ve admitted every dark thing that I went through at the mansion, but that was before I fell in love with my captor. That was before I fell for the man that made love to my body and held me after, the man with thick rimmed glasses that walked me through the garden and bared parts of him that he never had bared to anyone else. Now, I just feel angry. Angry that my father is talking about him in this way, the man that I love.
“Don’t you think he’s already paid enough?” I hiss, looking away from him as I speak.
“Don’t you think that killing his father and now his mother is enough?” I ask, my father’s hand now frozen around mine, his breathing much quieter than it was before.
He looks at me for a while, the room silent and tense.
“Who told you that I killed his father?” he asks.
“He did. It’s why he’s done all of this, why he took me in the first place. He was seeking vengeance, because you murdered his own flesh and blood,” I say, meeting his gaze now as he narrows his eyes.
“Whatever he said to you, Lori. It is a lie. I did not kill Leone De Vico,” he says finally, confusion filling the pit of my stomach now.
“If you didn’t, then who did? And why does he swear that it was you?” I ask, needing to get to the bottom of this.
Apparently, my father does not want me to because he lets go of my hand and stands up, hovering over me as he watches me for what feels like an eternity, his gaze speculative.
“You care for the bastard, don’t you?” He seethes, heavy sounding breathes leaving his flared nostrils as he shakes his head above me.
“That sick and deranged bastard has manipulated you and made you a prime fucking example of Stockholm syndrome!” He shouts, my lip trembling from his outburst.
“It’s not like that, papa. He’s not like that, I swear it—” I try to say, but he cuts me off, his rough hand slapping my arm and clamping down.
