Chapter Twenty-Three
Elio
The penthouse was easy to navigate, and from the number of rooms and the interior decor, I knew a lot of money had been used to reserve this place for a month. I understood why she brought me here.
She was trying to save me and do what she thought was right, even if she did it wrong. I understood that we all made mistakes, but I failed to understand why she would not open up to me as I had done for her.
I needed to know—truly know the woman I had fallen for.
My heart felt so heavy, and I needed to leave.
There were no guards in the house, and as I moved to the elevator, I brought my wrist to my view, aiming to check the time, but my watch wasn’t around my wrist.
Then it clicked in my head, what exactly I had forgotten to put on.
“Fuck.”
My wristwatch. It was still on the bedside table.
I turned and walked back in the direction of the room. Reaching it, I hesitated for a few seconds before pushing the door open, letting out a sigh of relief when I didn’t find her in the position I’d left her, which only meant she’d gone to the bathroom again.
I locked the door behind me, spotting my wristwatch where I had last seen it, and then proceeded to fetch it—putting it around my wrist and noting that it was 5 AM, almost dawn. It gave me enough time to figure out what to do about Casmiro and Angelo.
I could not let this slide.
Their subordinates would handle their duties.
I did not want them in the compound. They were too close to me to consider a permanent solution to their defiance, and honestly, I did not care enough to exact dire punishments.
They did, indirectly, try to save my life, but that didn’t excuse the fact that they’d carried out something significant because they thought I would not care to know.
Of course, I wouldn’t have cared to know, most likely I would’ve ignored it, but still.
I would insist they leave the compound until I thought it necessary for them to come back.
It was an order that would not sit well with them; they would hate it, and so it was the perfect punishment, giving them limited access to me—and giving myself the space to get to work without them watching me.
Clipping the wristwatch in place, I made my way back to the door, but the moment I placed my hand on the knob, a soft sound came from behind the bathroom door.
It made me halt, frown, and listen; I didn’t hear myself breathe for a second. It seemed as though I’d stopped my heart from beating to make sure what I heard wasn’t my mind playing tricks.
It came again, a small sniff, a soft sob, uneven breathing—crying.
The frown fell from my face, and my hand slowly and softly dropped from the knob, detesting what I was hearing.
Fuck—it cut me. The sounds of her crying—it cut me deep, and to know I was responsible for that … I did not like it. Not one bit. I walked quietly to stand in front of the bathroom door, her crying much more audible.
I placed my hand on the door handle, wanting to push it open and stop those sounds. Stop her crying because it was odd. Zahra never cried—this was the last thing I expected.
I ground my teeth together so hard the clenching hurt my jaw.
Resigned, I swiftly kicked off my shoes and softly knocked on the door. “Zahra. ?Qué estás haciendo?” I said softly. “Hm?”
“Zahra. What are you doing?”
The soul-torturing sounds didn’t stop.
I sighed, dropping my forehead against the hard surface of the door, closing my eyes, and swallowing as emotions moved through me, decisions falling and shattering, my mind discarding affirmations, and taking a back seat again, allowing this stupid heart to lead again.
I was so gone.
“Zahra,” I called again, pulling my eyes back open, but only her crying met my ears.
It was melting my resolve—it had already melted my resolve; I could barely remember why I had left this room, ending us.
“I’m coming in, okay?” I said, waiting a few seconds before I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
She was leaning against the sink in front of the mirror, hands covering her face, shoulders heaving as each sob left her.
She was crying like she had been spending months holding a lot of things in and had only just decided to let them out through tears.
Closing the door behind me, my throat worked again, and I walked over to her, seeing the wet streaks flow down the visible parts of her cheeks, falling onto my sweater.
I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to comfort her. I’d never been put in a position like this, and it didn’t help that it tore me up to witness this—I was seeing a part of this woman I never knew I would hate to see. It seemed as though she just became even more human than she once was.
I took another step closer until we were toe to toe, and one of my arms curled around her waist, pulling her flush against my body, while the other went to the side of her head, caressing her neck beneath her ear before my fingers disappeared into the depths of her hair, settling on the back of her head as I lured her to rest her head gently against my chest, while I caressed her scalp.
“Deja de llorar, por favor,” I told her softly before adding, “Seeing you like this is breaking my heart, querida.”
Stop crying, please.
Her hands broke free between us as she put them around me, letting me hold her while she held me, trying to tame the tears.
Her body shook in my arms, and I knew then and there that I might just be a small part of the reasons why she was crying.
Something else was making my woman unravel like this before me.
No filter. No barrier.
I tightened my hold around her. “Is this about what I said?”
No response, just more tears while she held me.
I sighed. “I am sorry about tonight.” I let the words flow out. “I am sorry I hurt you that way; I should not have touched you while I was angry.”
Her grip tightened around me. “I am sorry too.” Her voice was heavy with tears. “For drugging you. That was stupid. I should have told you—everything.”
“I know. I know you’re sorry.”
She sniffed, trying to calm down. “It’s just—everything—everything I had to do and see today just took, took so much from me. And knowing I would be with you at the end of the day—it made me feel relief. But I—I fucked that up too.”
I shook my head. “You didn’t know, and I didn’t mean most of the things I said.
I am very comfortable with you,” I assured her, caressing her scalp.
“I just needed you to see that it was okay to trust me, even if you feel like I would ignore you. I know I have my days, but when have I ever ignored anything you truly wanted from me?”
She shook her head, calming down.
“See, next time, just talk to me. Do not take matters into your own hands. And this is not just for me alone, but for anyone at all. For your team, what you did was wrong, and I am positive that if you had told them you needed them off the ship immediately, they would have listened without question because they trust you. But you drugging them might have taken that away.”
She shivered in the aftereffects from her tears. “I know now, I was just—I’m not used to—I stopped asking for things years ago. I get what I want because asking always—for me—comes with consequences, but I’m trying to be better. I am.”
“I know,” I responded. “I also know I am not without fault. I should not have pushed you to tell me what you were clearly uncomfortable with.”
She pulled away softly, shaking her head, letting me see her flushed cheeks and swollen eyes as she wiped her tears. “No, no, you’re right. It’s … I … Today I—I lost someone.”
I frowned. “What?”
“Her name was Daiyu. We knew each other when we were kids, and today I watched—” She swallowed. “Today she died.” Her fingers fidgeted with the sleeves of my sweater.
“Zahra, we don’t have to—”
“No, I have to. If we want to take this any further, then you should know—you should know me.” She met my gaze firmly.
“I trust you. I do. And I want this to work. I want us to work because I really, really care about you.” She pursed her lips.
“And I might lose my eyes, so I gotta lock it in before you can run.”
I frowned again, confused. “What?”
“I cried … over you, and I once said I would stab myself in both eyes the day I cried over a guy, so…”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” She sniffed, smiling sadly as her hand covered mine. “Come on,” she said, pulling me with her as we made our way out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom’s warmth. “I’m glad you realized your wristwatch was still here.”
My frown deepened. Of course she had noticed.
Zahra settled on the bed, and I settled beside her.
“Why didn’t you tell me I left my watch while I was leaving?”
“It was expensive,” she stated. “I thought I would have a good cry and, tomorrow, find a buyer. Get some cash. No regrets.”
I scoffed. “Greedy thief.”
“Psycho killer,” she said with a small smile.
Silence befell us, but it was not awkward. I waited patiently for her to tell me what she wanted to reveal.
She cleared her throat, unable to meet my gaze as her voice filled the space between us.
“You pretty much know the basics. I was born in Saudi Arabia, but almost immediately, I was carted off here to the headquarters for Italy.”
“Headquarters?”
She nodded. “There’s this organization; it’s secret.
I don’t know how they operate or who runs the show, but they make children—based on customer orders, as I learned early on,” she said, and a sick feeling twisted my stomach.
“They call those children Plants. It’s a trafficking ring—children are being made to—to pleasure adults, and then later, when they turn fourteen, they graduate into more …
sex trafficking, and all the crazed shit that comes with it.
” She sneaked a glance at me. “That, um—that’s how I’m here.
I am one of the Plants. Not many of us get lucky enough to leave without either dying or running away and then being found and dying later. ”