30. Rork
30
RORK
G oddammit, I hadn’t meant to fall.
But the world had tilted and spun around me, my vision blurring at the edges as a wave of dizziness washed over me, and then I stumbled and fell.
Damn. I didn’t want to show any weakness in front of Bianca, to let her know how badly I’m hurt.
I can feel the blood soaking through my shirt, the deep gashes in my chest screaming with every labored breath I take. It’s a miracle I was even able to stand and am even still conscious after the beating I just took at the hands of that cougar.
But I won the battle , I think smugly.
I can’t let it show how much I’m in pain. I can’t appear weak, so I grit my teeth and try to ignore the lashings of pain going up and down my body. Instead, I try to focus on the woman in front of me. I want to be angry with her. God damn, do I want to be angry. I want to lash out and make her see just how stupid and reckless she was to run off like that.
But as I look at her and take in the fear and concern etched into every line of her face, all I feel is relief. Relief that I got to her in time, that I was able to save her from a fate worse than death.
And something else, too. Something that twists like a knife in my gut, a sickening sense of guilt and shame that I can’t quite shake.
“You’re just as much of a danger to me as that fucking cougar was. Maybe even more so.”
That hurt. That hurt more than any physical wound ever could. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I’ve never cared what anyone thought of me before—not since Anna—and I never let anyone’s opinions or their judgments get under my skin.
But with Bianca… it’s different. She’s different.
I want to tell her that she’s wrong, that I’m not a monster and that I would never hurt her, but then I would be a hypocrite because I have hurt her.
Maybe not physically, but in every other way that matters. I’ve torn her away from her family, her home, everything she’s ever known and loved. I’ve made her do degrading things and photographed them for my own pleasure.
I don’t like feeling guilty.
My chest heaves with the effort of each labored breath, but a sudden memory flashes through my mind. Bianca’s words, spoken in a moment of raw, unbridled emotion.
“ I still couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”
The words echo in my head, a refrain that makes my heart soar in a way I never thought possible. What does it mean? Could it be that Bianca is actually starting to care for me? That she doesn’t see me as her tormentor and captor?
No. That’s not possible. She just tried to run away from me, for Christ’s sake. She was willing to risk her life, to brave this stupid forest, just to escape me.
But the memory of her words lingers, a tantalizing glimpse of a future that I'd never dared to hope for.
I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of pain and exhaustion that threatens to drag me under. We need to get moving and put as much distance between ourselves and this godforsaken forest as possible.
“Come on,” I say, my voice rough and strained. “We need to get going. It’s not safe out here.”
I try to push myself to my feet, but as soon as I put weight on my legs, a searing pain rips through my body. It’s like a thousand knives stabbing into my flesh, a white-hot agony that nearly steals the breath from my lungs.
I collapse back to the ground, my vision swimming and my head spinning with the shock of it all. For a moment, I’m sure that this is it, that I’m going to bleed out right here, in the middle of nowhere, with no one but Bianca to witness my final moments.
To my surprise, she’s there, kneeling beside me, her face etched with concern and fear.
“Rork? Oh, my God, are you hurt?” Her voice is trembling, her hands shaking as she reaches out to touch my face.
God, that feels so good.
“I’ll survive,” I manage to say, my words coming out in a pained gasp. “Just give me a minute.”
But even as I speak, I know it’s a lie. I’m in bad shape, worse than I want to admit.
With trembling fingers, I peel back the shredded remains of my shirt, trying to get a better look at the damage, and what I see makes my blood run cold.
The gashes in my chest are deep, far deeper than I anticipated. Blood is pouring from the wounds, soaking the ground beneath me in a pool of crimson.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper. “This isn’t good.”
Bianca’s eyes widen, her face going pale as she takes in the sight of my mangled flesh. “We need to get you back to the mansion,” she says, her voice shaking with urgency. “You’re losing too much blood.”
I feel Bianca’s hands on my chest, her touch gentle but urgent as she assesses the damage. Without hesitation, she grips the bottom of her shirt and rips it away, the fabric tearing with a sound that seems to echo through the stillness of the forest.
Despite the agony that courses through my body, I can’t help but notice the way her skin glows in the dappled sunlight, the curve of her waist as she leans over me. Even with my life hanging in the balance, I’m struck by how naturally sexy she is, how effortlessly alluring she is.
There’s no time to dwell on such thoughts. Bianca works quickly, wrapping the makeshift bandage around my chest with deft, practiced movements. She pulls it tight, the pressure sending a fresh wave of pain radiating through my body.
I grit my teeth, trying to breathe through the worst of it. Bianca glances over at my expression and winces. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I manage to get out, unable to breathe.
But as Bianca finishes her work and sits back on her heels, I can see the worry etched into every line of her face. “You need proper medical treatment, Rork,” she says, her voice brooking no argument. “I can’t fix this on my own.”
I want to protest, to insist that I’ll be fine and that I’ve survived worse than this, but deep down, I know she’s right. The blood loss alone is enough to make my head spin, and I can feel the edges of my consciousness starting to fray and unravel.
I nod, allowing Bianca to help me to my feet. She slings my arm around her shoulders, taking on as much of my weight as she can manage. Together, we begin the long, painful trek back to the mansion as I tell her which way to go.
It’s a grueling journey, every step sending fresh shockwaves of agony through my battered body, but Bianca is there, her presence a constant source of comfort and strength.
She talks to me as we walk, her voice low and soothing as she tells me stories from her childhood. Tales of mischief and adventure, of the trouble she and her sisters would get into when their parents weren’t looking.
“One time, when I was about eight, I convinced Chiara that we could fly if we jumped off the roof of the stables,” she says, a hint of laughter in her voice. “She was as skeptical as a six-year-old could be and argued that humans don’t fly. But I managed to convince her. She followed me up there.”
I chuckle, the sound coming out as more of a pained wheeze. “And did you fly?” I ask, my words slurring slightly. It doesn’t surprise me that Bianca was the one to rope her younger sister into doing something dangerous.
Bianca snorts, shaking her head. “Of course not. We both ended up with broken arms and what was supposed to be a lifetime ban from the stables without an escort. I whined and fought my way out of it, but for those few seconds, when we were soaring through the air… it was worth it.”
I smile, the memory of her story helping to take my mind off the pain. As we continue on, Bianca keeps talking, her voice a lifeline that I cling to with all my might.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we emerge from the forest. The sight of the mansion in the distance, its windows glinting in the afternoon sun, is enough to make my knees weak with relief.
Bianca spots a stable hand in the distance, and she calls out to him, her voice high and urgent. “Help! We need help over here!”
I wince, the sound of her shout sending a fresh bolt of pain lancing through my skull. “I’m injured, not deaf,” I mutter, my words coming out as more of a groan. “Stop shouting.”
The stable hand’s eyes widen in shock as he takes in the sight of us, his gaze darting from my bloodied, battered form to Bianca’s torn clothing and dirt-smudged face. For a moment, he seems frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.
But then, with a suddenness that makes me flinch, he’s running and sprinting toward the mansion, his voice raised in a desperate cry for help.
“Somebody come quick! The Boss is hurt! We need help over here!”
Within moments, the grounds are swarming with activity. Guards and servants alike come rushing toward us, their faces etched with worry and fear.
I feel hands on me, gentle but urgent as they lift me from Bianca’s supportive embrace. They start to carry me toward the house, their movements quick and efficient.
Even through the haze of pain, I find myself reaching out and searching for the one thing that has kept me tethered, the one presence that has given me the strength to keep fighting.
“Bi–Bianca…” I try to save her name, but the words come out as little more than a moan. My tongue feels thick and heavy in my mouth, my lips refusing to form the syllables.
But she’s there. I can feel her small hand in mine, her fingers twining with my own in a grip that is both fierce and tender.
“I’m here, Rork. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her voice is like a balm, a soothing whisper that cuts through the chaos and the clamor. As I’m carried into the mansion and laid back on the soft, familiar comfort of my own bed, I cling to that voice. To the promise of her presence, the warmth of her touch.
Dimly, through the fog of pain and exhaustion, I can hear raised voices. Alice, my housekeeper, is arguing with Bianca in tones of mingled worry and frustration.
“You can’t stay in here, Ma’am. The doctor’s on his way, and he’ll need space to work.”
But Bianca is undeterred. Her voice is calm but firm, brooking no argument.
“I can help. I know how to clean a wound and how to prevent infection. Please, Alice. Let me do this.”
How on earth does she know how to clean a wound?
There’s a moment of tense silence, a battle of wills that seems to stretch on for an eternity. But then, finally, I hear Alice sigh, a sound of reluctant acquiescence.
“Very well. But be quick about it. The doctor will be here any moment.”
Bianca’s hand slips from mine, and for a moment, I’m gripped by a sense of panic, a fear that she’ll leave me, that she’ll disappear into the depths of the mansion and never return.
But then she’s back, her arms laden with supplies. Clean water, fresh bandages, a sharp-smelling tincture that makes my nose twitch and my eyes water.
She works quickly, her touch gentle but assured as she cleans the wound on my chest and wipes my face of the cougar’s blood. I can feel the sting of the alcohol, the pressure of the bandages as she wraps them tightly around my torso.
As I try to grit my teeth through the pain and try to breathe through the worst of it, I can’t take my eyes off her beautiful face, of the determined set of her jaw, the fierce, protective light that shines in her eyes.
She’s worried. I can see it in the furrow of her brow, the way her teeth worry at her lower lip as she works.
“The scratches are deep,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “We need to be careful. If they get infected…”
She doesn’t need to finish the thought.
We both know what infection could mean. The fever, the delirium, the slow, agonizing descent into darkness.
I find myself reaching out, and I catch Bianca’s hand in my own. My fingers twine with hers in a grip that is both desperate and tender.
“I trust you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and ragged. “I know you'll take care of me.”
I look up into her face, and I see the flicker of surprise and something else, something warm and soft and achingly familiar…
But then it’s gone as she returns to cleaning my wounds. But I don’t stop looking at her. In fact, I seem to look at her with a newfound sense of clarity. Maybe it’s the blood loss or the near-death experience, but suddenly, I feel a pressing need to confess.
“Bianca,” I begin, my voice hoarse and strained, trying not to hiss as she pats a particularly nasty looking cut. “I–I’m sorry. For the way I’ve been treating you.”
She pauses, her eyes meeting mine again with a look of surprise and wariness. “Rork, you don’t have to?—”
“No,” I interrupt, my hand squeezing hers. “I do. I need to say this before it’s too late.”
I take a deep, shuddering breath, wincing at the pain that lances through my chest. “I’ve been a monster, Bianca. I’ve used you, manipulated you, all in the name of my own selfish desire for revenge. And I’m sorry. Truly, deeply sorry.”
Bianca shakes her head, looking back down at my wounds, at her bloodied hands. “You’ve already done all the damage you can, Rork. My father… he was devastated to let me go, to see me married off to his greatest enemy.”
Her voice is… emotionless, flat. I suddenly wish she would yell at me instead. It would hurt less. Guilt twists in my gut at the pain I’ve caused her. She’s never deserved it. She never should have paid for the sins of her father.
But even now, I can’t let go of my anger and hatred of the man who has caused me so much pain. Bianca deserves to know the truth, though, even if it’ll hurt her.
“I won’t stop,” I say, my voice low and fierce. “Not until the Don is ruined, not until he’s suffered the way I’ve suffered.”
Bianca’s eyes widen, her hand tightening around mine in a grip that is almost painful. “Rork, please. You don’t understand.”
I understand perfectly. I’m driving her father crazy with my plan. It’s been glorious to see.
To my shock, Bianca’s face crumples, tears welling up in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. “He’s dying , Rork!”
The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs and making my head spin. “What?”
She drops my hand, her own curling into a fist as she glares at me. “He has cancer. Terminal cancer. He only has a few months left, at most, and he has to spend them suffering knowing that I’m with you .”
I feel like the world is tilting on its axis, like everything I thought I knew has been turned upside down. Nico, the man I’ve hated for so long, the man I’ve sworn to destroy… is dying?
“I–I didn’t know.” My voice is a little more than a whisper, a breathless gasp of shock and disbelief.
She scoffs, her tears falling faster now, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. “And I bet if you had known, you still would have decided to marry me and torture my father with those pictures .”
I can’t deny that.
“Please, Rork. I’m begging you. Have mercy on him, on my family. Let him live out his final days in peace, without the weight of those demeaning pictures. Please . For me.”
I’m torn, my heart and mind at war with each other. On the one hand, the vengeful part of me—the part that has been driving me for so long—screams out for retribution, for the chance to continue to make Nico Marino suffer the way I have suffered.
But on the other hand… I look at Bianca, at the pain and desperation etched into every line of her face, and I feel the wall that I’ve built around my heart crumble, brick by bitter brick.
Because I realize that my revenge, my hatred… it’s not worth the cost, not if it means causing more pain to the woman who has somehow become the most important thing in my life.
I study her face with a new sense of understanding. Gone is the fiery rebel, the defiant spitfire who has fought me at every turn. In her place is a woman broken by grief.
The change is startling, a stark reminder of the fragility that lies beneath even the strongest of facades. As I see the tears track down her cheeks and the trembling of her lips, I feel something within me shift.
There’s an overwhelming, sudden need to protect her and shield her from the cruelties of the world and from me.
“Okay, Bianca. I’ll stop. I’ll leave your father in peace, for as long as he has left.”
She nods, her eyes shining with a gratitude that makes my heart ache. But I’m not finished, not yet.
My hand reaches up to cup her cheek, my thumb swiping away the tears that fall down the soft skin. “But I need you to promise me something in return.”
Her brow furrows, a flicker of wariness crossing her face even as I swear she leans into my touch. “What is it?”
“I need you to promise that you won’t try to run away again. That you’ll stay here, with me.”