Prologue
PROLOGUE
Tommaso
A s we approach the restaurant's entrance, the air shifts with an ominous weight. I stop and pull Ella back towards me. “What’s wrong now?” her tone is stern. There is a split second of confusion before I am able to respond.
Then, a deafening roar shatters the bustling scene.
I feel the heat and pressure, and then everything goes silent for a heartbeat. The world pauses, and I realize I'm on top of Ella, shielding her from the explosion.
The shockwaves ripple through the air, and I struggle to make sense of the devastation around us. Black smoke clouds the air, making it difficult to breathe. I cough and struggle to regain my bearings. She lies beneath me, and uncertainty settles on my chest like a suffocating shroud.
My hands tremble slightly as I reach for her. Why isn’t she moving? God, no. Please. No.
The choking trail of burning wood and the distant wail of sirens form a jarring opus, drowning out any hope of clarity. I try to wake her up but she remains unresponsive. I look at my phone on the ground. Fuck! The screen’s completely shattered.
I search for Francesco but see nothing past the smoke. “Open your eyes, Ella,’ I pick her up and bring my head closer to her chest. Before I can check her heartbeat, a woman runs out of the wreckage, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her voice gets gargled with the blood oozing from her throat, and she falls at my feet.
I gather Ella into my arms, her minute body light against my chest. The rhythmic thud of sirens merges with the cadence of my racing heart as I carry her away from the remnants of the explosion to the nearest bench. Its surface is cool beneath my fingers. Gently, I lay her down. Her eyes remain closed, a haunting stillness that raises my concern.
“Fuck! FUCK!” I can’t hear my own voice. I gambled with her safety . My heart starts hammering in my chest. And I lost.
“Say something, please.” I press my fingers against the pulse point on her neck, seeking a reassuring throb. Nothing . I hover over her, my gaze fixed on her face.
I cannot name my own feelings.
Despair isn’t even close.
It is as if somebody has ripped my heart out.