Chapter 6 #3
‘Because I’ve waited years to breathe properly, angel,’ he rasps, eyes blazing with unholy light. ‘And for the first time, I think I finally can.’
The room seems to lean towards him. My heart stutters once, twice, like a bird testing the air.
‘Sleep, Benedetta,’ he adds, that almost-smile ghosting his mouth again. ‘In the morning, God can watch while I teach you how to remember.’
* * *
Renzo
I haven’t slept.
How the fuck can I when she’s sleeping next to me?
So damn beautiful I want to weep with joy and rip the world apart at the same time.
I’m not risking her disappearing again. Not on the strength of a locked door and a fragile rosary binding our wrists together. And fuck it, I hate that I’m too weak to be effective if anyone tried. So I listen to her breathing instead.
She sleeps soundly. Almost noiselessly. Like the angel she’s determined to be.
I take consolation in the fact that she didn’t pull away when I asked her to bind us with the beads. Maybe it was obedience. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe something deeper that neither of us wants to admit yet.
But as I lie here, weak as a wet kitten and twice as angry, I begin to resent a whole lot of things.
And at the top of my rapidly growing shit list?
That fucking Madre Superiora.
She has a lot to answer for.
But I’ll get my own answers before I deal with her.
I slide the key to the room under my ass for safekeeping and reach for my phone, careful not to disturb the sleeping angel beside me.
The glow of the screen lights up the room in pale blue, tracing her profile in soft relief.
Shamelessly, I trace the plump curve of her lips, the delicate arch of her brow, the fall of her hair against the pillow I insisted she use.
I stare for too long before I remember why I picked up the phone in the first place.
The device unlocks with a fingerprint, and I start making calls.
Quiet ones. Strategic ones. To people who owe me more than favours and know better than to ask for explanations.
They answer quickly as they always do when a Salvatore calls, and I’ve never been more grateful for the blood that sings through my veins.
I keep my voice low and clipped, giving clear and concise instructions that don’t invite questions. The first two calls are to men who can keep secrets; the third, to a woman who knows how to move paperwork through Vatican bureaucracy without raising flags.
When that’s done, I open the secure app with the owl logo, watch with an irritated pulse ticking at my temple as it takes its time to boot up. I’m pretty sure it used to be faster. Nightowl is fucking with me.
Once the neon-green source code has finished trickling down the screen in showy graphics, I type.
Renzo
All this time, you knew where she was?
A bubble appears almost immediately.
Nightowl
Again… you’re welcome.
I stare at the words for a long second, jaw tight.
Renzo
Why? And why now?
Nightowl
Bomb and Balls
Renzo
This is just a game to you? You know the shit storm this will start, right?
Nightowl
Why I did it. YOU. ARE. WELCOME.
My teeth grind and the pulse doubles until I hear its drumbeat in my skull.
Renzo
Thank you. But you owe me big fucking answers. We’re not done.
There’s no reply this time, just the quiet pulse of the connection closing.
Fucking cunt.
I toss the phone onto the bedside table and rub a hand over my face. Rafa’s going to lose his mind when he finds out the woman he’s been searching for, the woman last seen holding the gun that killed our mother, her hands covered in her blood, is alive and sitting next to my bed in a nun’s habit.
Cesare will probably unhinge right alongside him.
Dante – Christ, Dante will kill me for pulling the shit I’m about to pull while still half-broken.
As for Orazio, who loved my mother like the daughter he never had, who, along with all of us, turned New York City into a blood and gore arena in retribution for her death, and has been waiting for answers just as eagerly.
He’ll flay me so thoroughly, even my ghost will limp.
And… Pops. God, I can’t even think about my father, the man who’s been a very faint shadow of his old self since he buried the love of his life.
Jesus, it’s a motherfucker of clusterfucks.
By rights, I should place a conference call right now, hand Giada over to Salvatore justice. But fuck it, all I’ll be doing is throwing an angel to manic wolves. She won’t survive.
And even if she would…
I won’t.
Because none of that matters.
She’s mine. And I’m not letting her face what’s coming alone.
And the only way I get through what’s coming is if I’m strong enough to fight for it. For her. For the truth.
So I close my eyes.
I force my breathing to match hers.
And for the first time since the crash, I let the darkness come willingly.
* * *
When I wake again, sunlight is bleeding through the shutters in fine, gold threads.
She’s already stirring beside me, blinking herself into wakefulness, her lashes catching the light.
For a moment, she looks peaceful, almost ethereal.
Then I see the panic flicker across her face as she remembers where she is.
Her lips part. She looks from the door to the rosary looped around our wrists, then to me.
I keep my eyes closed, pretending to sleep.
It’s fascinating, watching her debate what to do.
Her brow creases as if she’s calculating how much sin is in simply watching me. Then her gaze softens. She traces the line of my jaw with her eyes, studying the bruises there, the faint scar near my temple.
When her eyes settle on my mouth and her tongue darts out to wet her lips, I nearly groan.
If this is her version of fighting temptation, I’m in deep fucking trouble.
She raises her free hand, hesitates, fingers trembling in the air as though reaching for something she doesn’t understand. The instinct to let her touch me wars with the desire to grab her wrist and make her admit she remembers.
Before either of us can act, a knock sounds at the door, and I fight a thick curse. Whoever it is is going to pay for the interruption.
She startles, snatching her hand back like she’s been burned.
‘Enter,’ I bark, eyes snapping open.
The door handle rattles but nothing happens. I sigh, hand over the key and she goes to unlock it. She’s back by my side when it opens and the doctor steps in, flanked by his junior and two nurses, clipboard already in hand.
‘Good morning, Signore,’ he says carefully. ‘How are we feeling today?’
‘Like I got run over by a British curse disguised as an engine,’ I mutter. ‘What do you want?’
‘Well, you asked me to be here at seven?’
I grunt. It feels like it was five minutes ago. I move in the bed, noting that I’m better rested. That my ribs don’t feel like they’re about to skewer me.
Rock the fuck on, little mercies.
The doctor moves to check the monitors. His tone has the polite but cautious tone of a man handling live ammunition. ‘Your pressure is much improved. With your permission, I’ll take some bloods and run a few tests?’
I catch Giada’s eyes still lingering on my mouth before they flick up to mine. I raise my brow and on cue, her face lights up with a blush. ‘Sure, take my blood.’
The nurses get to work quickly and hightail it out of the room like their asses are on fire.
‘Now, what do you need?’ the doctor asks.
‘I requested certain… personnel. Have they arrived?’
The doctor nods. ‘Sì, nine men arrived this morning. I believe they’re to be your new personal guard?’
‘Yes. I want three stationed outside that door, and three more around the grounds.’
‘Bene.’
I tear my gaze from Giada’s. ‘And let’s do something about this set up. Bring in a small desk and two chairs for your therapy sessions. And organise some food for her. Proper food. Not that monastery slop she’s used to.’
The doctor glances between us. ‘Of course.’ He scribbles a note, clears his throat. ‘And perhaps we can have a cot brought in for the sister, so she might rest. The chair isn’t the place to—’
‘No.’
The single word snaps out, sharp as a whip.
Giada flinches, then she glares at me.
‘Then the… Signorina will be returning to her own quarters?’ the doctor asks.
‘No, she will not. But there will be no cot,’ I say again, slower. ‘She will be staying here in this room. So you will bring me a bigger bed that we can share.’
Benedetta – Giada – makes a soft sound, somewhere between outrage and disbelief. ‘Should I not have a say in this? Or are you two going to keep discussing me like I’m not present?’
I look at her. ‘My trust issues haven’t gone away overnight, angel. But I agree, spending another night in that chair is out of the question. So a bigger bed is the only solution.’
‘I disagree—’
‘Your faith requires you to be mindful of my wellbeing, doesn’t it?’
She frowns. ‘Of course, but it also—’
‘My immediate wellbeing is contingent on whether you’re comfortable or not. And since a cot or a chair isn’t viable, a bigger bed it is.’
‘That’s bare-faced manipulation,’ she accuses.
As the doctor blinks. ‘A… bigger bed.’
I ignore her and answer him. ‘You heard me.’
‘Signore,’ the doctor tries again, ‘it would be—’
I pierce him with the stare Orazio taught Dante and me to perfect on our first day of big school.
It hasn’t failed me since and I watch it drill through them now.
‘Doctor, don’t mistake my physical weakness for indecision,’ I say, cutting him off.
‘Do as I fucking say. Then come back after breakfast and examine her.’
He nods quickly, mutters something to the other doctor, and they retreat.
I exhale, gaze shifting back to her.
She’s staring at me like I’m the devil himself. ‘Why?’ she asks, voice trembling.
‘I told you last night. I’m not losing sight of you again.’
Not when somewhere beyond these walls, I can already feel the world stirring – the distant hum of engines, the whisper of surveillance feeds reconnecting, the faint ripple that means my family’s beginning to catch wind of something.
Let them.
By the time they do, I’ll have what I came for.