Chapter 42
Ibite back a sigh as I finish cleaning what I now consider to be my area of the kitchen. The staff still side-eye me, but at least they no longer seem to be contemplating kicking me out. It’s one of the few joys I have left.
Really, it can be summed up in two, sometimes three, things: baking, Emilio…
and sometimes Cristian. My emotions are a tangled weave when I think of him, never quite sure where I stand.
Still, as much as I’m struggling, I know he’s hurting far worse.
With that in mind, I throw the dishcloth in a hamper and go in search of him.
He’s in the first place I check, and my heart sinks with that realization. He’s pacing outside the medical wing. Both of us exist like wraiths inside this mansion. Unwanted. Hated. Ignored. At least, I’ve been finding my way back to Emilio, but Cristian exists even more on the fringes than I do.
“Dolce Cuore,” I interrupt, deliberately using a foolish, nonsensical translation that will bring a smile to his face.
It’s weak, although it disappears so rapidly that I want to explode…
but at what? We’re the makers of our own misery, suffering the results of our actions.
Both of us should have been punished with death, and we know it.
I, at least, have found scraps of myself.
My poor Cristian lives less than a half-life.
“Yes, Cuore Mio?” he asks tonelessly.
Touching his arm gently, I respond, “Have you been outside lately? I was just going to take in some sunshine in the backyard. Do you want to join me for a bit?”
He hesitates, staring wistfully toward the medical wing, where his son is currently. I don’t rush him. It’s not like I have anywhere to be right now. Finally, his shoulders slump and he gives a sharp nod. We fall in line with each other as we head toward the back door.
Neither of us says a word as we walk. Sometimes words are useless things.
There’s none I can give him that will bring his marriage back or mend his relationship with his son.
Carter is happy with his life, and for Keegan and Marcus’s sake, I’m glad they found their missing piece.
But for my Sweetheart? I know the devastation of the heart, and the guilt tears at me.
We survived being kidnapped, only to be tossed into a new world, left unmoored, and we found what we thought was our footing through toxicity that merely poisoned what was left of our lives. How do we come back from that? How do we learn to move on when the world we knew is nothing but ashes?
Stepping outside, I take a deep breath before guiding Cristian over to the patio chairs, gently nudging him into a seat. I take a spot next to him and reach over to grasp his hand, holding onto it tightly so he knows I’m here.
For a while, we soak in the peace. I focus on my breathing, mindfulness, and just…
living. No longer having any real pressure still feels wrong.
It’s strange not being in charge—hell, not being involved in the family at all…
I’m firmly on the outside looking in. It's foreign to me, and while I’m working on finding myself, my friend is…
stagnant. And I’m not sure what to do. What support can someone be when they've thrown everything good away?
I have no answers. No magic words. The loneliness that eats at him, I also live with it every day.
Soon there’s a break in the random chirps of birds, the silence shattered by a soft cry that turns to sobs as the hand holding mine tightens in its grip.
The breath rushes out of me, and I half stand, half lurch over to him, closing even the smallest gap so I can wrap my free arm around him and pull him into a hug.
“Ti amo, Dolce Cuore. Sei forte, grintosa, e ce la farai. Ce la faremo. Insieme. Un passo alla volta, insieme,” I croon, letting his tears soak into my shirt. “Insieme. Sempre.”
The sobs ruin me, and my own tears break through.
We stay there, cuddling, huddled together, with the beating of our pain, loneliness, and fucking fear surrounding us.
Two men, once known for our strength, torn to shreds, in pieces, left with nothing but emotions we were never taught to feel, much less survive.
I’d give everything for a way to fix this, to go back to before, but at the same time…
I’m so proud of Emilio and the Boys. For finding their place in this life.
For leading a revolution. For being who they were always meant to be, even if Cristian and I are the casualties of a war we didn’t mean to start.
So here I’ll stay, with no answers. And no fucking way to find them…
Bound to a man I love, even though I can’t decide what type of love that is, because who am I to say what love is anymore?
All I know is that when he hurts, I hurt too.
When he cries, I will cry with him. And when he can’t cope, well, fuck, I’ll tear it all down so he can find that safe place. With me. Always.