Chapter 47 - Marcello
Marcello
I’d found her in pieces.
She had been fractured in ways the world didn’t see. Unseen damage that lived under the skin and surfaced when the room went still, when the lights dimmed, when there was nothing left to distract from it.
I had known it the moment I looked at her. Not because she told me. Because she didn’t. She didn’t have to.
And from that moment—I had wanted one thing.
To give her a world where she didn’t have to look over her shoulder. Where she didn’t have to brace herself for what came next. Where the past didn’t get to follow her through every doorway and sit at the edge of her bed like it owned her.
I wanted to give her something safe. Something sacred and untouched. Something that belonged only to her.
And now—I could.
The men who had shaped her fear were gone. Erased. Buried. The ghosts she had carried for years had nowhere left to stand. All that remained—was her. And what we chose to build from here.
The house was louder than usual when I walked in. Not in a chaotic way, but it was alive.
Voices carried from the living room—soft laughter, the low murmur of a film playing in the background, the kind of easy noise that had never belonged in my home.
I paused just inside the doorway. Listened. Then I stepped in.
The room came into view slowly—Mikayla curled into the corner of the couch, Neve stretched out opposite her, Tone sprawled like she owned every inch of space she occupied.
Samira was half-turned toward the screen, something softer in her posture than I’d ever seen before. Less guarded. Less… braced. Alive.
Her head turned. Our eyes met. Everything else fell away.
She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t second guess her actions. She just ran.
The sound of her bare feet hitting the floor was light, quick, almost unsteady—but she didn’t slow. Not even when she reached me.
She collided into my chest with enough force to make me take a step back, her arms wrapping around me like she needed to prove I was real. Like I might disappear if she didn’t hold on tight enough.
“Hey,” I murmured, my hands coming up instinctively, settling against her back, pulling her closer.
She buried her face against me.
“I thought—” she started, then stopped, her voice catching somewhere between fear and relief.
“I’m here.”
My voice was hoarse. Her fingers tightened in the fabric of my shirt.
“You left,” she whispered.
“I came back.”
That seemed to matter more.
Her breath stuttered out against my chest, her body pressing closer like she could anchor herself there.
I let her. For a long moment, I let her.
My chin dipped slightly, brushing the top of her head as I held her there, grounding her the only way I knew how.
Behind us, I felt the shift in the room.
The girls had gone quiet, aware of this moment.
Tone caught my eye and asked a silent question.
I gave her a small nod.
She understood.
“Come on,” I murmured softly against Samira’s hair. “Let’s get you out of here.”
She pulled back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were bright. But there was something else in them now. Something steadier.
I took her hand. Didn’t let go.
The hallway was darker. More intimate.
By the time we reached my room, the weight of everything we hadn’t said sat heavy between us.
I closed the door behind us. Turned.
She was watching me… waiting.
I stepped closer. Slow and steady. Giving her space to pull back if she needed it. She didn’t.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
The question felt insufficient. Too small for everything it carried.
She nodded. Then shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Honest. Raw. I respected that more than anything else.
I reached for her again, my hands settling lightly at her waist this time, holding her steady but not trapping her.
“You’re home,” I said.
Her breath hitched slightly.
“I’ve never had that before,” she whispered.
Something in my chest tightened.
“You do now.”
She searched my face like she was trying to decide if she believed me. If she trusted it. If she trusted me.
“I was scared when I woke and you weren’t here.”
“I know.”
“I thought…” She swallowed. “I thought maybe I’d imagined it. All of it. You. This. Like it would just… disappear.”
I shook my head.
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“How does it work?”
I held her gaze.
“Like this.”
Simple. Direct. No room for doubt.
“I leave,” I continued, “and I come back. Every time.”
Her lips parted slightly.
“Even when it’s hard?”
“Especially then.”
Silence stretched between us.
“There’s something I need you to understand,” I added after a moment.
She stilled. Listening intently.
“Everything that could reach you from your past—everything that had a hand in putting you where I found you—it’s gone.”
Her brows pulled together slightly.
“What do you mean?”
I didn’t soften it.
“They can’t touch you anymore,” I told her.
Her breath caught.
“Marcello…”
“They’re gone.”
Understanding hit slowly. Then all at once. Her eyes widened.
“You—”
“Yes.”
She stepped back slightly, not pulling away—but creating space. Processing.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did.”
“No—”
“I did,” I repeated, more firmly.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly.
“That’s not your burden to carry.”
“It’s no longer anyone’s burden.”
She shook her head, conflicted.
“That’s not how—”
“That’s exactly how this works,” I cut in, not harsh—but unyielding. “No one who hurt you gets to keep breathing like it didn’t matter.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“You don’t even know all of it,” she whispered.
“I know enough.”
Her hand came up slowly. Hesitated. Then rested against my chest. Right over my heart.
I wrapped my arms around her.
Held her there.
And for the first time since I’d found her—it didn’t feel like I was holding something broken. It felt like I was holding something being rebuilt from the ground up.