L'Angelo della Morte | A Mafia Romance

♛28 ⥄ ❝ Slealtà ❞

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My feet are on the ground, I swear — but I'm not moving anywhere.

~ Faouzia

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I scrambled off the floor at the sound of a door and bolted to one of the black couches near the windows. I sat down – back straight and hands resting in my lap.

I glanced towards Dante who laid motionless on the floor against the wall, unaware that the night had turned to morning.

"Carlissa," Livio's chipper voice greeted once he stepped out of – I assumed – his bedroom. "I didn't think you'd be up already."

I pressed my thighs together, my hands jammed between my knees to keep them still as he approached.

Livio was dressed in an all-black suit and not a strand of bleached hair was out of place. "How did you sleep, my dear?"

I bowed my head, refusing to meet his void eyes, and murmured, "Fine."

"I'm glad." I flinched. His lips pressed to my cheek, leaving a soft kiss.

Livio strolled towards Rizzo's still body and before I had a chance to warn him, his Italian leather shoe made contact with Rizzo's stomach.

He was flung onto his back and curled up, coughing relentlessly. The chains rattled with every jerk of his body and he let out soft whimpers with each pain-inducing ripple of his muscles.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," Livio chirped, adjusting his dark gray tie. "Don't sleep all day."

My hands gripped the edge of the couch and I leaned forward. It took everything to not run to Dante's side.

Dante didn't speak. His chest rose and fell as he heaved to catch his breath. His eyes were shut tight – eyebrows dipped and teeth gritted.

The swelling of his eyes had gone down, but the bruises had turned a dark purple.

Livio turned back to face me, a bright smile spreading on his face and his voice more cheerful than ever. "Have you eaten, dear?"

I shook my head and lowered my gaze to his shoes. My heart was drumming. I'd be surprised if he couldn't count each beat.

"Grab something from the kitchen. What's mine is yours," he smiled, already steadily approaching the door. "I'll be home soon."

As soon as the door slammed shut, I pushed off the couch. I was kneeling next to Dante before I'd even stopped my momentum, and my knees dug into the floor painfully.

I let out a yelp and bit my lip as tears stung my eyes, my hands pressing against the cold wood to relieve some weight off my knees.

"Careful –" Dante was overcome by a fit of coughs. He curled up, clutching his abdomen.

"I'm okay," I whispered, my hand finding its way to his matted hair. "Don't think about me."

The slashes on his back were jagged, the depth varying greatly, unlike the perfectly straight scars painted across my back and thighs. They were thin in some places and thicker in others. Livio had used a knife.

I combed through his hair the best I could with my fingers, loosening knot after knot. Dried-up blood fell from his hair in tiny flakes – some sticking to my skin.

Dante's coughing had subsided and he laid still in front of me, the rise and fall of his chest the only indicator that he was alive.

"Why would you come back for me?" I whispered. It wasn't a question I expected answered, and the silence that dragged out between us confirmed my thoughts.