TWENTY-NINE
My fist clenched against the wooden armrest, the grain digging into my skin as the screen’s pale glow flickered through the dark. The office was silent save for the faint buzz of the monitors.
I rewound the footage again. And again.
I nearly had him. So close. And that fucking woman ruined it.
My gaze slid to the next screen, where her details pulsed like a confession waiting to be condemned.
Gianna Bellini. Daughter of Alessio and Francesca Bellini – eldest of two.
The fucking Bellinis.
Publicly – not criminals, but far from saints. Her father, the detective, had owed favours to the mob in the past, and men like that never really crawled out clean. They just balanced on the knife’s edge between law and rot. His whole family carried that same sickness.
I didn’t like having a Bellini at my venue. Especially not that night. But I couldn’t cleanse that woman either. That would spark interest where it didn’t need sparking.
My fingers brushed the golden cross that hung from my neck – the metal cool, familiar. I closed my eyes for a beat, steadying myself in His purpose before hitting rewind again.
Frame by frame, I watched the fight, savouring every punch I’d landed, every grunt, every ripple of control I’d taken from him.
But then… her bruises came back to me.
I hated that colour on her. That ugly, mottled blue. I preferred her fair and red like blood and snow on the day of our Lord’s birth. The thought of her painted in violence made the beast in me stir again, restless under the skin.
But she needed to understand: the bruises, the pain – they weren’t cruelty. They were a ritual – it was a cleansing.
We all served a purpose here.
So did she.
The knock at the door reverberated through my skull, dragging me out of the spiral. Marco, always knocking three times.
‘Avanti,’ I called.
The door screamed open. ‘Vuole che prenda la macchina, capo?’ he asked in crisp Italian, offering to bring the car around.
I glanced at the clock at the bottom right of the monitor – almost time for Sunday worship.
‘Camminerò,’ I responded flatly – I’ll walk – and got up from my chair with my gaze still glued to the monitors.
I’d been patient long enough. Studying. Praying. But faith without action was akin to putrefaction.
The Lord does not tarry forever. His silence had been my test, His stillness my command. But I had listened long enough. The hour had come to cleanse her – to wash the filth from her soul in the only fluid that truly redeemed.
Blood was the holiest baptism of all.
It was time.
Time to cleanse what was mine.
Before I could say another word, Paula pulled her sunglasses out of her purse and shoved them on, her face set in stone. She turned on her heel and headed for the door, her stride purposeful and unwavering.
For a moment, I just sat there, dumbfounded.
She wanted to come with me. To see Ezio, to step into this twisted mess that I could barely stomach myself. Disbelief, but also gratitude, gnawed at me in equal measure.
Why?
Why would she want to share this with me?
To willingly walk into the dark, tangled mess of my past when she had her own to deal with?
Most people ran in the other direction when they got even a glimpse of the man I used to be – or worse, the man I feared I still was.
And yet here she was, acting like this was just another step in her day.
As though my broken, brutal past didn’t disgust her.
The emotions surged. They were hard to untie – an unfamiliar cocktail of shame and something deeper that I couldn’t comprehend.
As I followed her out of the building, her words echoed in my mind: ‘…figured we could cut down another dragon.’
Another dragon indeed. But I couldn’t tell her just how many there were – one of them in a constantly restless state.
No woman had ever looked at me, knowing the darkness, the damage, the jagged edges, and offered to stand by my side anyway. They all either avoided me or used me.
I wasn’t sure whether to be in awe of this woman – or fucking terrified of her.
I wasn’t sure if I liked it or hated it, either.
I’d stepped into uncharted territory.
The drive to the hospice was quiet at first, the tension between us filling the car like a bothersome third passenger.
I kept my hands firmly on the steering wheel, my eyes fixed on the road ahead, but my mind was a whirlwind of noise: Ezio’s voice, walking out on Scarlett, Paula’s resolve, the tangle of my own emotions – all swirling together into an anarchic blur.
Beside me, Paula sat with her legs crossed, her sunglasses shielding her eyes, but I could feel her presence keenly. She wasn’t the kind of person who disappeared into the background, not even when she was quiet.
‘So,’ she said finally, breaking the silence just as we exited the tumultuous city and the road began to stretch evenly ahead.
Her voice was lighter, almost casual, though I could feel the increasing dose of effort behind it. ‘Is this why you never married?’
The question blindsided me, enough that I glanced at her briefly before turning my eyes back to the road.
‘That’s a bit out of left field, DeLuca,’ I said, aiming for nonchalance.
She shrugged, the gesture barely perceptible. ‘Just making conversation. You seem like the type who would’ve been snatched up by now.’
A humourless chuckle escaped me. ‘Do I?’
She nodded, sinking deeper into the seat. ‘Tall, dark, brooding. I’m sure women love all that tortured soul energy you’ve got going on.’
Her teasing tone made the corner of my mouth twitch, drawing my mind from what awaited at the end of the road. But the question itself – the genuine curiosity – made my heart skip a beat.
‘Most women don’t stick around long enough to love anything about me,’ I said after a pause, keeping my voice even.
Paula angled her head a little, her sunglasses glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windscreen. ‘Why’s that?’
I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. I didn’t want to admit everything, not to her – not to someone who already knew too much about my broken pieces. But I couldn’t brush her off completely. Not when she was sitting here, willingly walking into the darkest corners of my life.
‘Let’s just say,’ I began carefully, ‘most people can’t handle the dark. And I carry a lot of it.’
She didn’t respond right away, and the silence pulsed between us, ponderous but not uncomfortable.
‘You don’t give women enough credit,’ she said finally, her voice softer. ‘Some of us aren’t afraid of the dark, you know.’
The words were there, flaunting their shine in front of me. I knew just how true they were – I witnessed them myself.
And I glanced at her again, the faintest smile playing at the corners of her lips. She didn’t realise she was one in a million for saying that.
‘Maybe not,’ I said quietly, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. ‘But the dark has a way of swallowing everything it touches. Even the strongest people get tired of fighting it eventually.’
Her smile faded, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t push me further, and for that, I was grateful.
‘And what about you?’ I asked – unable to help myself as I fought this uncompromising hunger to know more about her. ‘How come you’re not taken? Travis happened a while back.’
She tilted her head, a faint smirk playing on her lips. ‘Well, apparently, I’m a woman with kinks who writes horror romance and sleeps with a gun under her pillow. Doesn’t exactly scream marriage material, does it?’
I laughed – loud and rough.
‘Fair point,’ I admitted jokingly. ‘But if you want to scare a man properly, you should aim the barrel a little lower next time.’
Now she laughed, soft and genuine, but it faded quickly.
I was never going to let her off the hook for that one.
Shifting in her seat, her playful smirk gave way to something more contemplative.
‘Still,’ she said. ‘I agree with what you said earlier. The dark… it’s too much for most people. And if they stick around long enough, it changes them. And sometimes… makes them want more of it.’
The latter came out in a quiet breath, as though she couldn’t help but say it, yet didn’t want me to hear it. Her words settled over us like a shroud.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, though I had a pretty good idea what the answer was.
She turned her chin to look at me, taking the sunglasses off, her gaze steady and unreadable, that fucking purple stain at her temple making me grip the wheel a little tighter.
‘The dark… it doesn’t just pull you in. It seduces you. Like a drug. It makes you crave things you didn’t even know you wanted. And once you’ve had a taste, you need more. There’s no going back from that.’
The way she said it… calm, certain, like a confession. It did something to me.
‘Why do I feel like we’re not talking about Travis and my dad any more?’ I asked, matching the rhythm of the past. I couldn’t resist the next question. ‘What other kind of darkness did you try?’
Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.
‘I write horror romance for a reason, D’Angelo. The best stories are the ones we survive.’
The words felt like a challenge, one laced with layers of meaning I wasn’t sure I could unpack.
The scenes she’d written suddenly flooded my mind – scenes that spoke of control and punishment and surrender, of boundaries blurred and willingly crossed.
Her writing had felt raw, real, as if pulled from something deeper than sheer imagination.
And just like that, need coiled low in my gut – raw, unwanted, and with a fucked-up timing.
‘You think it’s worth it?’ I glanced at her, meeting her eyes directly. ‘Wallowing in the dark?’
She tilted her head, her gaze flicking to my hands on the steering wheel before meeting mine again. I eased my grip on it, realising the leather was already protesting against the force of my fingers.
‘Only with the right person.’
It cleaved through me. Stirred something right and wrong and damning all the same.
The atmosphere in the car grew heavier, the space between us charged with an energy that felt both dangerous and magnetic.
The more time I spent with Paula – a woman who wasn’t performing a role, someone with real issues, and someone I could connect with on a deeper level – I realised Scarlett had all but evaporated from my thoughts.
I felt guilty for it. But I rationalised it to myself that Scarlett had simply been there for release. And though I wouldn’t mind Paula taking her place, she’d actually become something more. And the recognition cracked through me like lightning splitting stone: I was fucking falling for her.
The hospice loomed in the distance, breaking the tension like a sudden splash of cold water. The sterile, clinical building mocked the weight of the conversation, pulling us back into reality.
‘You ready?’ she asked as I cut the engine.
I exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel tighter for a moment longer before finally letting go.
‘Not really,’ I admitted.
She unbuckled her seatbelt. ‘Good. Let’s kick ass, then.’
Her words carried a strength I wasn’t sure I deserved, but one I desperately needed. I huffed out a breath, stepping out of the car and letting her presence moor me as we walked towards the building together.
The usual set of eyes met me as I entered the hospice – the redhead receptionist who always seemed too chipper for a place like this. Her bright smile faltered the moment she noticed Paula beside me, her demeanour turning more professional, almost guarded.
‘Good afternoon,’ I greeted in Italian, my voice steady. ‘I’m here for—’
‘We know, Mr D’Angelo,’ she interrupted smoothly before I could finish. ‘We’ve been expecting you. Your father will be overjoyed.’
The polite edge and the romantic tone grated on me. I bit down hard, holding back the urge to snap.
They all believed Ezio’s pitiful sob stories, didn’t they? Whatever bullshit he’d spun about us had clearly done the trick, turning these people into his eager little allies.
‘A nurse is on her way to take a sample of your blood before we proceed,’ she continued, gesturing to a clipboard of paperwork. ‘It’s just routine. Please sign the consent form here.’
Paula tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. ‘Don’t you have any blood in storage?’ she asked, her voice calm but laced with suspicion. ‘It’s unusual that you had to call in the next of kin for something like this.’
The receptionist’s eyes cut to Paula’s bruised face. Then to me. And it felt like a blade at my throat.
I realised what it may have looked like. But, before the woman could respond, a nurse approached, her movements brisk and efficient, holding another clipboard laden with more forms.
‘Good afternoon, Mr D’Angelo, thank you for coming so quickly,’ she said with a polite nod. ‘I’ll take over from here.’
Paula wasn’t letting this go. ‘I assume you heard my question,’ she pressed, her tone firm.
I nearly spun and licked those words right off her lips – but the moment didn’t belong to that kind of madness.
The nurse paused, offering Paula a small smile that didn’t quite brighten her face. ‘Of course, Miss—?’
‘DeLuca,’ Paula supplied curtly.
‘Miss DeLuca,’ the nurse continued, her voice sweet but rehearsed.
‘Mr Ezio’s blood type – AB negative – is one of the rarest in the world.
Unfortunately, in our country, we don’t have much of it.
That’s why, in private facilities like ours, it’s faster to reach out to the next of kin for direct donations. ’
I gave a reluctant nod, swallowing down the distaste rising in my chest. Of course, everything about Ezio’s existence had to be special, even his damn blood type.
‘Fine,’ I muttered, rolling up my sleeve. ‘Let’s get this over with.’