Chapter 15 - The Healing
|
The aftermath of the war was chaotic, but the compound was secure.
Christopher’s loyalists had fortified the perimeter, and a private doctor had been smuggled in to bind my bruised ribs and re-stitch Christopher’s shoulder. We were sitting in his massive, dimly lit master bedroom, the adrenaline finally crashing, leaving us both exhausted and raw.
I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, wearing one of Christopher’s oversized dress shirts. He sat in a leather chair opposite me, shirtless, a fresh white bandage stark against his tattooed chest. He was staring at the floor, a heavy, suffocating guilt radiating from him.
“You shouldn't have seen that tonight,” Christopher finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “You shouldn't have seen what I am capable of.”
“I saw a man keeping his promise,” I replied quietly, pulling my knees to my chest.
He looked up at me, his dark eyes tormented. “I am my father, Emily. The violence, the control. I tried to convince myself I was better than him, but tonight… I enjoyed tearing them apart because they touched you.”
“You aren't your father,” I said firmly, sliding off the bed and walking over to him. I knelt on the floor between his knees, looking up into his tortured face. “Your father used violence to cage your mother. You used it to set me free.”
He let out a ragged breath, leaning forward to rest his forehead against mine. His good hand tangled in my hair, gripping me like a lifeline.
“I can't let you go,” he whispered, a desperate confession. “I know I should. I know my world is poison. But if you leave me, Emily, I won't survive the silence.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised, pressing a soft kiss to his jawline.
I stood up, taking his hand, and gently pulled him toward the bed. He followed willingly, the exhaustion finally overtaking him.
We lay down together in the dark. He wrapped his arm securely around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest, burying his face in my hair. I could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, a rhythmic lullaby that finally chased the terror of the warehouse away.
For the first time since my grandmother died, I didn't feel alone in the dark.
May you like
But as I lay there, listening to the quiet breathing of the mafia boss holding me, my mind drifted back to the library. To the third box of letters we had abandoned when the attack happened.
The Mancusos had been defeated, but the mystery of Maria’s letters wasn't over. I had a feeling the deepest secrets were still buried in those pages.
