Chapter 30 Breathe Through The Pain
Breathe Through The Pain
I found one of your t-shirts in my closet today. If I breathe deep enough, I swear it still smells like you. —Izzy
Izzy
“Come find me when you’re done,” Enzo murmurs, kissing me softly before pulling away. He slips out of the office, shutting the door behind him.
It’s my first session with Dr. Morgan—the therapist he arranged. I fought him on it at first, but… I’m glad he won.
The join meeting button glares at me, mocking me. I click it.
A warm smile fills my screen. Sleek brown hair brushes just past her shoulders, framing honey-colored eyes that feel immediately kind.
“Hi,” she says. “You must be Izzy.”
“Hi. Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m Dr. Morgan. Enzo didn’t give me many—actually, any—details about why you’re here. I’ll run through how my sessions usually work, and then you can tell me what you’re dealing with. Sound good?”
I nod, already feeling more at ease.
She explains talking therapy, what her patients often gain.
“Finally, I usually say not to disclose crimes, especially anything you plan in the future, because legally I’d be obligated to report if I thought you were a danger to yourself or others…” She pauses, smiling faintly. “But this is completely off the record, so…” She shrugs.
I like her.
“How about we start with what brought you here?” she asks gently, raising a brow but giving me time to gather my words.
I exhale hard. “I guess I should start at the beginning.”
“Wherever you’re comfortable.”
“I married my husband to get intel. I can’t give you details—that part’s not important here. What matters is that on our wedding night, he and his friends raped me until I was almost dead.”
She doesn’t interrupt. She knows I’m not finished.
“I was doing better. Really. But then two of them caught me while I tried to run. They raped me again.” My voice hardens. “I don’t feel sad. I’m angry. I want to kill them—like I killed the other two.”
The silence stretches a beat, deliberate, as if she’s waiting to see if there’s more.
“Okay,” she says at last. “First of all—thank you for trusting me with something so painful. What you went through was traumatic, and the anger you feel is completely valid. Obviously, I don’t recommend murder as a form of therapy.
But we can work on how you process that anger and help you find a way forward. ”
I nod slowly. “I’m probably still going to kill them. But yeah… that sounds good.”
“How did it go?” Enzo asks as I close the office door behind me.
I pause.
I feel lighter.
“Good, actually.”
He raises his eyebrows knowingly.
“Thank you,” I add, sticking my tongue out at him.
I shuffle over to where he’s waiting—leaning against the wall, arms folded across his broad chest, muscles straining against a fitted T-shirt. He’s in black sweatpants, not a suit in sight since before I got shot.
When I reach him, I bury my face in his chest and inhale his rosemary scent. His arms circle my waist, anchoring me to him.
The pain in my shoulder has faded to a dull ache, though I still don’t have full range of motion.
I smile up at him, taking in the sharp lines of his stubbled jaw, the way his eyes soften when they land on me.
“Tell me again?” I ask, grinning.
He rolls his eyes, but tightens his hold on my waist. “I love you, Isolde. I’m in love with you.”
I sigh and close my eyes. “Good.”
He growls, a deep rumbling sound in the back of his throat. “Good?”
“Mhm.” I step back. “Yeah, it’s good.”
For the past few weeks, I’ve asked him to say it over and over.
Somehow, hearing those words now—despite having heard them a million times—hits deeper.
Perhaps it's the near-death experience, perhaps it’s just knowing that he means it in a way I never thought possible.
Whatever it is, I never want to stop hearing it.
He stalks toward me, a predatory gleam in his eyes, dangerous and delicious, though I know he’d never hurt me. He leans in, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, and whispers, “If you weren’t still recovering, I’d take you over my knee until your ass was raw.”
He starts to pull away, but I catch him by the back of the neck, drag my tongue slowly up his cheek, and murmur, “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
His pupils dilate and he groans.
The tension is broken by the sound of the elevator pinging.
We both head to the hall, finding Doc there with his signature warm smile crinkling his face. Enzo gave him keycard access while he’s monitoring my care which means he can come in whenever he wants without needing to be buzzed in.
“How’s my favorite woman?” he asks, coming over to ruffle my hair.
Enzo growls at him—though it’s more playful than actual jealousy.
“Relax. She’s about twenty years too young for me,” Doc laughs.
The three of us head into the living room where I take a seat and slip my top off over my head so Doc can check my wound. It’s become normal for him to see me in such a state it doesn’t even bother me anymore. He doesn’t look at me with anything other than professional care.
I hiss as he prods it, pain radiating down my arm.
Doc leans back after his exam. “Alright, it’s looking good—healing nicely. Keep movement minimal, but you do want to start moving it more, even with the pain, to help with recovery.”
He leaves not long after. He was staying in one of the lower apartments, but he’s heading back to his house in Albany, where his daughter lives. I give him a quick hug goodbye before he’s gone.
Enzo cooks dinner for us, which we eat in bed because I’m already finding it hard to keep my eyes open—between the residual pain and the therapy session today, I’m wiped.
It doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep, and when I wake next, it’s to find Enzo staring at me, a peaceful expression on his face.
“What?” I mumble, self-conscious.
He reaches over, smoothing a hand over my uninjured shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”
Flames dance over my skin. “It’s you that’s beautiful.”
He blinks at me. “I like to think I’m more ruggedly handsome than beautiful.”
“So modest,” I laugh.
Stretching, wincing as I do, I swing my legs off the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“To pee. Is that okay?” I snark.
Enzo hums but let’s me go—alone thankfully.
Once I’m done in the bathroom, I don’t head back to his room, instead I make my way to the couch, curling up under a blanket.
Enzo growls, finding me there a few moments later just as my eyes start closing again.
I yawn, snuggling into the cushions. “Go away, I’m resting.”
“Okay, Iz.” He presses a kiss to my hair. “I’ve gotta go out for a few hours. Rafael will be stationed outside should anything happen.”
I’m too tired to argue, so I just murmur something resembling an “okay” then promptly fall back to sleep.
I jolt awake, heart racing.
What—
The sound of glass breaking has my spine straightening, eyes darting around.
Footsteps.
Quietly—slowly—I pry myself off the couch, shuffling back away from the noise.
Listening, I note two sets of feet moving, coming from the kitchen.
Crap.
I can’t go back towards the bedroom; it would take me past them. My only option is to move toward the hallway and the elevator.
Heart racing, I walk backwards slowly.
I’m almost out of the room when the back of my knee hits a side table. My legs buckle and I fall, pain lancing through my shoulder as I catch myself.
A cry escapes my lips.
Fuck.
Scrambling, ignoring the pain, I push upward, intending to run.
But then I’m being shoved back down. Hard.
Blinking, I stare at a ski mask.
He leans down, gripping my arm and yanking me to him. My shoulder screams, the healing wound tearing.
Breathe.
Breathe through the pain, Izzy.
Gritting my teeth, I kick out, catching him off guard enough for me to throw my weight forward and run.
The elevator door dings.
Enzo’s smile dies the second he walks in, seeing the carnage.
“Get down,” he shouts.
I don’t think. Just do as he says.
Two shots are fired.
Then Enzo’s scooping me into his arms, running his hands over me as if making sure I’m okay.
The safety I feel in his arms has my eyelids drooping, fatigue pressing down on my skull. My head throbs.
“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”
I pass out.