THIRTY
With the room too small for more than two people, I followed the nurse in. Paula waited outside, which unsettled me. I was already clinging to her and I hated that.
The chemical sting in the air was somewhat sobering, though.
The nurse worked quickly, her movements fastidious. When she was done, I grunted in acknowledgment, rolling my sleeve back down. ‘Is he awake?’
‘Yes,’ the nurse replied, her tone softening slightly. ‘He’s been asking for you, but he has company, so he isn’t as lonely.’
I jolted at the disclosure. Who the fuck could be visiting Ezio? Here, in Italy?
The walk to his room felt longer than I’d remembered. Paula walked beside me, silent – but I felt her questions.
When we reached the door, the nurse knocked lightly before pushing it open. As we stepped inside, raised voices drifted through the crack.
The words were harsh, fast, and entirely in Italian. I caught enough from the speed of it to piece together the tone: anger, frustration, and a touch of desperation, maybe.
Paula glanced at me, her brow arching in silent question. I gestured for her to follow as we stepped into the room.
The voices stopped abruptly, leaving an almost palpable tension in the air.
Ezio was pulling up to sit in his bed, his bandaged wrists resting on the blanket.
Standing beside him was an old man, younger than Ezio but eerily similar.
Had I not known Ezio was the one in bed, I might’ve mistaken him for the same man.
He had the same strong cheekbones, deep-set blue eyes, and the same Roman nose.
But while Ezio’s frame had wasted away, this man stood tall, his presence as imposing as a statue carved from stone.
‘Cain,’ Ezio said, his voice lighter, a veneer of warmth sliding over the heated exchange we’d just overheard. ‘I see you’ve brought a lovely lady with you.’
I ignored the comment, my gaze shifting to the man standing beside him.
Ezio faltered, quickly recovering. ‘This is my cousin.’
The old man stepped elegantly forward, his stern eyes meeting mine, then Paula’s. ‘Salvatore Moretti,’ he said, his voice deep and smooth, extending a hand towards me.
I stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before shaking it briefly. His grip was strong, his fingers calloused in stark contrast to Ezio’s frail, skeletal hands. The man’s shoulders were broad, his torso wide, suggesting he’d spent his days doing physical labour.
‘You never mentioned we had living relatives here,’ I said flatly as I turned to the monster.
‘We haven’t kept in touch,’ Ezio said, exchanging a hard glance with Salvatore, who’d moved towards Paula.
‘Paula DeLuca.’ She introduced herself and Salvatore kissed the back of her hand, as was customary in his time.
Ezio’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. ‘DeLuca,’ he repeated, as if testing the name. ‘A strong Italian name. Are you here to keep my son in line?’
‘She’s of no concern to you,’ I snapped, the sharpness in my tone silencing whatever smug remark he was about to make.
Ezio’s eyes gleamed with amusement, but he didn’t press further. He gestured towards Salvatore. ‘My dear cousin and I were just catching up. It’s been a while,’ he said in Italian, signalling Salvatore’s discomfort with English.
A muscle ticked in the other man’s jaw, his gaze hardening as he looked at Ezio. ‘Far too long,’ he echoed, his voice colder. ‘If by that you mean running while I cleaned up your mess – then yes, it’s been far too long.’
Ezio chuckled, though the sound lacked any real humour – performance more than emotion. ‘Still holding onto old grudges, are we, Salvatore?’
‘Old grudges? Is that what you call it?’ Salvatore shot back, his voice rising, then glancing at me – almost pointedly.
A strange unease crept over me. I glanced between the two men, their shared animosity so dense it filled the room like a living thing.
‘You chose to stay,’ Ezio said, more sharply. ‘I chose to leave. We all live with the decisions we make.’
Salvatore stepped forward abruptly. ‘Except it wasn’t your decision to make, was it? You took her because you couldn’t bear her choosing me instead.’
The room fell into a tense silence.
Paula shifted her weight, and we exchanged a puzzled glance.
Ezio’s eyes darkened with agitation, but before he could respond, the nurse walked in.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said, her smile tight. ‘Mr Salvatore, I will escort you out at this time. Mr Ezio needs a blood transfusion.’
Salvatore’s eyes lingered on my father for a moment longer before he gave a stiff nod. ‘We’re not done here.’
He turned to me, his gaze lingering for a beat too long before he spoke. ‘I’m glad to have finally met you, Cain.’ He paused, his eyes holding mine. ‘You have your mother’s eyes.’
There was something in his tone. Something I couldn’t place. But before I could dwell on it, he strode out of the room.
As the door clicked shut, I turned to Ezio, my jaw realigning with a question I wasn’t sure I should ask.
He chuckled, his smirk widening.
‘Well, my boy,’ he said, the notes thrumming with mockery. ‘Family is always complicated.’
I flexed my fists, fighting the urge to press further. Whatever we’ve walked in on, it was deeply personal, and it left a sour aftertaste.
Ezio shifted in bed, his bony frame sinking deeper into the pillows. His hand reached out, trembling with a dramatic, near-Herculean effort.
‘Thank you for coming, my boy,’ he rasped, just loud enough to be heard. ‘I know I’ve made mistakes… I know I’ve caused pain… but you’re my boy. My only family.’
I stiffened, my fists clenching at my sides as his melodrama unfolded like a bad stage play.
I glanced at Paula. Her scowl said she wasn’t buying it either – and the tension in my chest eased.
‘You don’t know what it means,’ Ezio droned, voice quivering with exaggerated emotion. ‘To see you here… To know you haven’t forgotten. The Doctor said I don’t have much time. And I don’t want to spend it estranged from my boy.’
I stifled the urge to scream. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of losing it – not again.
‘You’re a piece of work,’ I whispered, my voice cutting through his performance. ‘Spare me the sob story, Ezio. You’re not some fragile old man clinging to life – you’re a scheming bastard, like you’ve always been.’
Ezio flinched, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. ‘Cain…’
‘No,’ I growled, stepped closer to the bed, my presence towering over his frail form. ‘This bullshit ends now. Pull another stunt…’ I leaned in and lowered my voice. ‘And I’ll finish the job. Got it?’
Paula didn’t move a single muscle. She stood shouldering the wall with her arms crossed, observing the spectacle with a seemingly detached expression.
Ezio’s eyes widened, the act slipping for a moment. He exhaled shakily, turning to her with embellished sorrow.
‘Do you see how harsh he is with me?’ he asked her, his voice soft and pitiful. ‘But that’s okay. Every parent endures the anger of their children. It’s a cross we bear.’
Paula raised a brow, as though weighing his words.
‘Did you deserve it?’ she asked calmly. I couldn’t stop the smirk from blooming on my face.
Ezio blinked, taken aback. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Paula took a slow step forward. ‘Do you think you deserve the way he treats you?’
The shift in Ezio’s demeanour was subtle but unmistakable. His eyes narrowed slightly, a sharper glint creeping into them as he regarded her with curiosity and suspicion.
‘I’m not sure I understand the question,’ he said carefully.
Paula’s plump lips curved into a faint smile, though there was no warmth in it. ‘I’m sure you do,’ she replied.
Ezio’s eyes darted between her and me before settling on her again. ‘Do you think any kind of behaviour warrants such treatment from a son to his father?’
Paula held his gaze, unflinching. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree.’
Ezio stared at her, his composure faltering as my heartbeats picked up a frantic pattern,
I watched the gears turning in his mind. For once, it seemed he’d met someone who couldn’t be manipulated easily – and I had to admit, it was satisfying to see him squirm.
A strange warmth stirred in me. Not just satisfaction. Maybe… pride.
Paula had stood up for me in a way no one ever had. She saw through Ezio’s theatrics just like that. She hadn’t flinched, hadn’t let him intimidate her, and the way she held herself – calm, composed, and unapologetic – only made her more captivating.
My attraction to her deepened, laced with an unfamiliar sense of safety.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t facing Ezio’s manipulations by myself.
The door creaked open and the nurse from earlier stepped inside, bringing a welcome gust of fresh air. She glanced between us before addressing me directly.
‘Mr D’Angelo, may I speak with you privately for a moment?’
I hesitated, my gaze flicking to Paula. I wanted to shield her from all things regarding my father, but I didn’t want to face this alone. After this taste of safety, I needed her here.
‘She comes with,’ I said firmly, stepping towards the nurse and out of the room.
Paula followed behind as I led the way into the hallway. The nurse closed the door behind us, her expression carefully neutral when she turned to me.
‘Mr D’Angelo,’ she began quietly, ‘I need to inform you of something regarding the blood sample you provided.’
I crossed my arms, my stomach tightening. ‘What is it?’ The first thing that came to mind was that in my escapades at Obsidian, I’d contracted some crap. Though I didn’t feel any the worse, and I got checked every two months.
The nurse faltered for just a moment before continuing.
‘I am inclined to inform you, that the blood type you provided does not completely match Mr Ezio’s. This means… we aren’t able to use it.’
The nurse’s words echoed in my mind, each syllable cleaving straight through me until my fucking brain split open.
Wait… He’s not my father?
The man who haunted every corner of my life. Who broke my mother. Broke me. Who taught me pain before I even had a name for it. He’d loomed over my life like a fog that refused to lift. Every scar on my body, every ounce of anger I carried, all of it traced back to him.
And now, in this sterile quiet of a hospice hallway, I was being told that none of it should have been my burden to bear. That he wasn’t my blood. That the man who had controlled me, haunted me, wasn’t really my father.
The truth collided with a chaos of emotions I couldn’t untangle.
Relief.
Rage.
Grief.
I clenched my fists, nails digging deep. The man who tore me apart wasn’t even mine to hate. My whole life – my pain, my choices – had been shaped by a lie.
The truth wasn’t freedom. It was a noose.
I couldn’t breathe. My chest locked up and the walls seemed to close in.
Then I felt her touch. Soft. Steady. A warm pressure against my hand that pulled me out of the pit.
Her eyes met mine as I turned to her. In her gaze, I found no pity, no judgment – only understanding. Not sympathy, or rehearsed softness. Just a knowing. The kind you only earn through your own ruin. As if she could see the fractures in my soul and was quietly piecing them together.
Her hand tightened. I exhaled, the weight in my chest easing.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. But the way her eyes held mine said more than words ever could.
The charged attraction we’d danced around before gave way to something else. It wasn’t just desire. It was connection, a shared perception of the wounds you don’t show to the world.
A sound caught in the nurse’s throat, then – hesitant, but professional. ‘Mr D’Angelo, I understand this is a lot to process. If you need a moment—’
‘I’m fine,’ I said gruffly.
Paula’s hand was still in mine, her grip strong but unobtrusive. She didn’t let go, and I didn’t pull away.
The nurse shifted, her professional mask slipping just enough to reveal something more personal – concern, or maybe hesitation. With effort, I centred my attention at her, though every nerve in my body screamed to walk out of this place and never look back.
‘What happens now?’ I asked, my voice tight.
She delayed her answer, glancing briefly at Paula before her gaze settled back on me. ‘We can file for a donation.’
The words hung in the air, and I swallowed hard, nodding despite the knot in my chest. ‘Let’s do that.’
The nurse smiled faintly, but there was an apologetic look in her eyes that grated at my nerves.
Her voice lowered as if the walls themselves might betray her. ‘Mr Moretti had also provided a blood sample, but he isn’t able to donate his blood to Mr D’Angelo, either.’
She gave me a knowing look.
A strange foreboding shrouded me. The pieces clicked into place on their own, an inevitable, horrifying logic that left no room for doubt. Especially after the words exchanged between Salvatore and Ezio, just as we entered the room.
The nurse left us, the soft click of her heels fading into the distance.
I stood frozen, the sterile air folding in on itself, too thin, too sharp to breathe. My heart pounded in my ears, each beat echoing the truth I hadn’t been ready to confront.
Salvatore. Not Ezio.
For the first time since stepping into this godforsaken place, I didn’t have to hold my breath any more.