Chapter 32 Beatrice
BEATRICE
The morning air bites at my skin, damp with dew and the faint scent of burning leaves. I push through the last stretch of my jog, heart pounding, breath ragged.
I run like I’m trying to outrun the demons in my mind.
Last night I tried to draw, tried to create—nothing came out. I’m stuck in this suspended state that won’t let me move forward.
“Dammit.” I come to a grinding halt in front of the door, breath sharp, chest tight, forcing myself to stay upright. “Fuck…”
My lungs are on fire. My head feels clamped in a vice. My thoughts are nothing but a churn of fear, uncertainty, and the constant instinct to look over my shoulder, waiting for that monster to appear again.
I cough, and one of the guards by the door steps forward.
“Ma’am.”
I lift a hand, waving him off between breaths. “I’m okay. Just a little out of shape. No need to panic.”
I straighten slowly, taking in a few deep breaths. The sting behind my eyes has been building since I stepped outside, but I blink it back and tilt my face up toward the sky.
Then I turn to the guard, giving him a pointed look.
“My husband doesn’t need to hear about this, does he?”
Matteo’s away on business—something urgent, something he didn’t elaborate on. I didn’t ask. If it has anything to do with Giacomo, he’ll never tell me. He still thinks keeping me in the dark is protecting me.
The guard nods quickly. “Of course, ma’am. Should I call the doctor?”
“No need.” I shake my head. “Just need some rest. Maybe some food.”
Truth is… I’ve been off for weeks. Exhausted. Nauseous. For a moment, I thought maybe—before I shut the thought down completely.
I make my way inside, chest still burning from the run. The mansion feels too big, too quiet, my thoughts echoing off every room. But at least the fog in my mind has lifted a little.
When I walk into the kitchen, I find a very large Italian man sitting at the counter, drinking my expensive coffee like he owns the place. His eyes are fixed on his phone, a small crease between his brows.
Great. Of course Matteo wouldn’t leave me unsupervised.
My shadow has returned.
“Oh, you’re here,” I mutter under my breath.
He glances up. “You look pale as a ghost.”
“Hello to you too,” I say dryly as I peel off my jacket and head straight for the fridge.
He watches me—always watches me. I can feel the weight of his stare along my spine, but I ignore it and focus on finding something to eat before I pass out.
“Are you sick?” He doesn’t even bother with a proper greeting. “Seriously, you look pale, principessa.”
“I’m fine,” I cut him off before he can spiral. “Just tired. Worn out. Why are you in my house?”
“Doesn’t look like just tired.” His eyes narrow. “Should we get the doctor? And come to think of it, you’ve dropped some weight.”
I point a finger at him. “Insulting my looks and my weight—within one minute. Classy, Valerio.”
“My job is to be observant.” He sips his coffee and sets his phone aside. “I notice every detail about you, Beatrice. I even notice when your breathing pattern changes. If you’re offended by a warning sign I picked up on, that’s on you, not me.”
I roll my eyes. “You are annoying, do you know that?”
“So I’ve heard.” His gaze tracks me as I pull out the milk. “I’m calling the doctor. And you can’t have that; you’re lactose intolerant.”
I pause. “How do you know that?”
He shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s my job to know everything about you.”
“Well, I’m fine.” I pull the milk out anyway. “No need to call anyone or report this to my husband. He doesn’t need to worry when he’s off doing—whatever the hell he’s doing. My son won’t tell me a thing, and I didn’t bother asking Matteo because I know I’ll only get lies.”
Valerio clears his throat. Not nervous—his way of saying: drop it.
“Valerio…” I level him with a glare. “Tell me.”
“That’s above your pay grade, I’m afraid.”
Ass.
“You don’t pay me,” I shoot back. “Just tell me what it involves. Can you at least tell me if it has to do with that asshole or not?”
“You know it does.” No hesitation. No softening.
I’m a little shocked he actually admitted it. “So—”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you shit,” he says, tone final. “This isn’t your fight. I’ve been telling you that over and over. You don’t need to worry.”
“All I do is worry,” I bite out. “I stay in this iron fortress unable to move or go anywhere, crippled by fear and anxiety, thinking this man is coming after me. You tell me to let you handle it, and I have—this entire time—and still he slips through the cracks. At this point I feel like I’m just waiting to die. ”
It’s unfair—God, it’s unfair—to throw that at him, but I’m exhausted. Raw. Frayed.
I pour the milk into a glass before taking a sip, my hands trembling slightly. Must be the aftershock of the run. I finish it quickly, hoping it settles in my stomach, hoping it steadies me.
“I’m sorry,” I sigh, walking to the counter. “You don’t deserve that. I’m just a little… high on emotion.”
His eyes soften—well, as much as a man like Valerio ever can.
“It’s okay. I understand. This has gone on longer than any of us anticipated.”
I nod, but my heart still feels caged in concrete.
The glass is cold against my fingers. Too cold. My knees quiver, barely noticeable at first, but then—
What the hell?
“Beatrice?” His voice shifts, low and alert. “Beatrice? You don’t look good at all…”
I try to answer, but the glass slips from my hand. It hits the floor with a sharp crack, the sound splintering through the room as everything tilts. I grab the counter, but the room smears like wet ink. Everything spins—hard—and my legs disappear beneath me.
“Shit…” is all I manage before the floor rushes up.
But I don’t hit it.
Valerio’s arms are there instantly, solid and unyielding. He scoops me up like I weigh nothing—one arm behind my back, the other under my knees. My head drops against his chest, the world narrowing to sound and heat and the thundering panic of his heartbeat.
I try to speak, but my tongue is thick, heavy. My lips move, but no sound follows—like the words dissolve before reaching the air.
“I’m right here. Don’t fade on me.” His voice is distant, muffled, underwater. “Beatrice—”
My vision blurs completely. My breaths turn shallow, thin and trembling. My limbs completely lose their strength… then go numb. I fall forward into him, helpless, fading.
Valerio.
I can feel the rhythm of his heart pounding beneath his shirt, far too fast. His grip tightens, as if he’s trying to tether me to this world with nothing but sheer will.
“You’re okay,” he keeps muttering, more to himself than to me. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Fuck—stay with me, Bea.”
I don’t know when we started moving, but suddenly there’s the slam of doors, footsteps, sharp orders cutting through the air.
One moment I’m suspended in his arms.
The next, I smell expensive leather and my back hits the interior of a car. He lowers me gently, then slides in beside me, lifting my head into his lap.
I blink up at him.
Valerio’s eyes are stripped bare, fear breaking through the armor I thought was permanent. He sweeps my hair back, his hand cupping my cheek with a gentleness that doesn’t belong to the man I know.
“Beatrice—dammit, stay with me. Do you hear me? Don’t do this.”
I want to answer him. I really do. But the words refuse to form. My head swims. My skin burns. The world tilts.
“Go. NOW!” Valerio shouts.
Tires shriek. The car lunges forward. Streetlights strobe behind my eyelids like snapping camera flashes. His voice barks orders—low, sharp, lethal—but I can’t tell who they’re meant for.
“If she’s not in a room the second we arrive, I will break someone’s spine. Are we clear?”
I try to lift my hand toward him, but my fingers won’t obey. There’s a high, piercing ringing in my ears, growing louder with every shallow breath I manage to pull in. My body feels like it’s shutting down piece by piece.
My eyes roll back.
Darkness creeps in from the edges, slow at first, then ravenous.
“Stay awake.” His voice cracks. “Bea, keep your eyes open. Someone call Matteo—fuck!”
The lids of my eyes flutter closed the weight of them too much for me to hold up. I try to fight against it but the darkness is too strong.
“Bea…” he says again, and the desperation in his tone is something I’ve never heard from him—not once.
My eyes close.
Darkness swallows me whole.