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Ilayonmybed, feeling the familiar sting and burn across my back.
Andrea, my doctor and a trusted friend, worked diligently at my bedside. As he applied a salve to ease the pain and minimize the scarring, the familiar scent of the ointment mingled with the sterile air of the penthouse.
In this vast room, a haunting silence enveloped us, broken only by Andrea's voice. He spoke with a hint of anguish, asking the question that danced on the edges of everyone's minds but remained unspoken.
"How long are you going to endure this, Emilio? How long will you continue to bear the whip from your father?"
I flinched slightly at his words, not from the pain on my back but from the truth they carried. The icy coldness of the salve slowly replaced the fiery sensation, and my thoughts drifted to my father.
My back was a tapestry of scars, each one telling a different story of my father's wrath. It wasn't the first time I'd been whipped, and unfortunately, it wouldn't be the last. My allegiance to the family was a double-edged sword, a life of privilege tainted by the cruel expectations that came with it.
Andrea, a witness to my suffering and a confidant in my life, muttered his disapproval. "What kind of father inflicts such pain on his blood?"
I remained silent, allowing the words to hang in the air. The truth was, I didn't have an answer. The world I was a part of had its twisted logic, its warped sense of family loyalty. Breaking free from those chains was a constant battle between my duty and my desire for a life beyond the shadows.
As Andrea continued to work on my back, the pain began to ebb, allowing a sigh of relief to escape my lips.
"I've made up my mind," I confessed quietly to Andrea. "I plan to leave the mafia life behind, but I can't do it just yet. The Mancinis pose a significant threat, and I need to ensure they're dealt with before I can truly break free. Otherwise, they won't stop coming after me."
"Finally," Andrea whispered heavily, expressing both relief and concern.
"Credi che tuo padre ti permetterà semplicemente di andartene, Emilio?(Do you think your father will allow you to leave, Emilio?)" Andrea’s voice was tinged with doubt. "Considering the lengths he's gone to, I don't believe he'll let you walk away easily. At this point, I even fear that he won't let you live."
A thick, heavy silence hung in the air, the weight of Andrea's words settling over me. The truth was undeniable. My father was not a man to be trifled with, and escaping the mafia would be an uphill battle.
As the bedroom door creaked open, I turned my head, hissing in pain as I moved too quickly, tugging at my wounds. Andrea gave a disapproving tut, chastising me to calm down, as it was just Enzo. Enzo and
Andrea exchanged greetings, but I couldn't see them clearly as my face was turned towards the wall. Slowly, I rotated my head, being careful not to aggravate my injuries.
Seeing Enzo, I recalled what I had sent him to do and wasted no time in asking for any news. Enzo, though, appeared visibly irritated, questioning why I couldn't worry about myself first. Not in the mood for an argument, I called his name again.
Enzo rolled his eyes. “She’s safe.”
A different sort of relief washed over me compared to when Andrea had applied the salve to my back. Andrea's hands stopped moving on my wounds. "She? Who is she?"
Oh. They still had no idea about her.
Enzo chimed in, his tone dry, "Yeah, I'm clueless too."
I took a deep breath and began to recount my recent encounters with Griselda.
They must have seen the worry etched on my face because Enzo asked, "You're still worried about her, aren't you?"
I nodded silently. The burden of worry hadn't fully lifted because I knew what my rival, Crino Mancini, was capable of. The Mancini family was relentless, and they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted.
Andrea added, "Wow, Emilio, you must like who Griselda is."
A smile tugged at my lips.
Enzo leaned against the door frame and asked, "So, what's your plan?"
I sighed, considering the best course of action.
"She needs to be warned of the dangers lurking around her. We might even have to devise a strategy to keep her safe. Perhaps I could arrange a discreet meeting and ensure she understood the gravity of the situation."
Andrea snorted from the bedside table, shaking his head. "Non puoi essere serio(You can't be serious)," he said incredulously.
I frowned, "What do you mean?"
