(TRIGGER WARNING: THERE ARE MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM IN THIS CHAPTER.)
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“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” Salvatore questions. I let out a breath; my heart drumming against my chest and beating through my ears.
“I lied.” I gulp. “The Russians were the ones that murdered your family under the command of my father.”
“Your father is dead, Carina. Did someone threaten you to tell me all of this?” He questions, furrowing his eyebrows. I shake my head no, deciding to take a different approach.
“Remember that call you got from the man that wanted revenge on you and your family for what you did?” I ask, and slowly, I watch as the realization dawns on him.
I make it even more clear when I add, “That was my father.”
“Why did you lie to me about all this for so long, Carina?” He questions, hurt echoing through his cracking voice. “You know how much my family meant to me. Especially Gabriella. She was just a kid. She didn't deserve any of what she got.”
“I was tricked. My father told me that if I took the blame on video for the murder of Candle and Natalia in his place— he would set me free but it was a lie.
He threatened me with it and kept me captive.
I had to strike a deal with the Russian Mafia boss in order to be set free and that freedom meant lying to you. I could end up in prison if the Russians discover that I told you. They have the video.” I tell him.
“You should have told me earlier.” He runs a hand into his hair before he unexpectedly wraps his hand around mine. “Next time when something like this happens, tell me.”
I look at him; shocked for the most part as I say, “You trust me?”
“I do. And I need you to trust me, Carina. Tell me what happened from the night you were kidnapped up until now.”
I narrate it all to him from how Candle and Natalia kidnapped me with the help of Isabella.
I narrate how I was left for dead with all those men but dad came to ‘rescue me’.
I narrate how his rescue turn into a kidnap of its own. I narrate it all.
“I knew Candle was bad but I did not think she was that bad.” He tells me. “I am sorry you had to go through all that. Fuck. I am sorry I even defended Candle.”
“It is in the past now.” I tell him and I mean it. “No more secrets.”
He nods before he takes a deep breath and opens up about something. “That woman I was with at the café is my therapist. I want to be better for us, Carina.”
An overwhelming surge of joy comes over me, and without thinking too much about it I say, “I love you, Salvatore. I love you a lot and I am so sick of pretending I do not.”
“I love you more, Carina. I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you.” He tells me before I smile — the widest smile I have ever smiled around him. I let all the walls fall and allow myself to feel loved. And seen and understood.
“Eat up.” He tells me. “The food will become cold.”
We both eat and chat about the most random stuff.
He tells me about his brother and how his brother was Capo. He tells me about how his brother and his wife were brutally murdered, leaving behind Gabriella.
He tells me about how the responsibility of Capo fell on him.
He tells me about how he dropped out of Law School after that incident and pursued IT instead.
He tells me about his complicated relationship with Candle and how it start while in Law School.
“Did it end because of me?” I ask Salvatore. “A lot of people seem to think so.”
“It did not end because of you. You more or less delivered the last blow and that blow would have happened with or without you. Candle and I lost our ‘spark’ over time.” He responds.
“It did not seem like that when I found the both of you wrapped in each others arms moments after you took—” I fail to complete the sentences — embarassed at most. He lets out a breathe.
“She came onto me and I know I should have stopped her but I did not. It will not repeat itself.” He reassures.
“It better not.” I scowl at him.
“It will not.” He reassures once more as his hand reaches across the table for mine. I take it and I think that is it but he stands up — our hands still linked. “Dance with me?”
“Is that even a question?” I smile as I stand up — excited. I never pictured that he would ask me for a dance. He pulls me out of the circle of Candles as the slow dance music enchants the air.
I encircle my arms around his neck while he puts his hands around my waist. We move in that manner — our
eyes locked on each other.
When we sit back down, we have some more wine and chat the night away. When I check the time, I am shocked to see that it is midnight.
“We should leave.” I tell Salvatore. “I have work tomorrow at 8am.”
“You do not need to work. Not when we are together.”
“I do not remember you asking me to be your girlfriend.”
“Why would you be my girlfriend when you could be my wife?”
“Wife?” I chuckle. “That is a step too far.”
“I do not think so. You are 22. You Graduate next month. And we love each other.”
“I know but I just want to enjoy my time with you without having to think about weddings, and children.”
“Fine but I don’t want you working. I have more than enough money to get you whatever you want.”
“I know but I want to be independent of you or anyone else. Otherwise, this relationship won't work.” I tell him. “Now can we get going?”
He does not say anything more about the issue. As we had earlier agreed, he drives us to his house. Somewhere along the way, I doze off and I only realize I did when Salvatore whisks me into his arms when we reach his house.
He carries me into the house and leads me up the stairs. We stop at his bedroom door before he swipes his key card over the sensor. The door slides open before he flicks the light on.
I squint my eyes at the bright light, groaning. He places me onto the bed, taking my heels off. He leaves the rest to me as heads to the bathroom.
I feel the effects of the wine as I battle to sit up. Let alone stand. When I do, I let the dress fall off of me in time for Salvatore to behold when he steps out of the bathroom; his shirt long gone.
He takes no step forward; hesitant despite the fact that he has seen me naked more times than I care to count.
I unhook my bra and let it fall as well. Then I take off my panties before him. The corners of his lips curl up into a smile. Then, in a heart beat, he strides over to me.
He lifts my chin before our looks collide. Then, in a low breath, he asks, “Still want to talk?”
“I want to be fucked.” I tell him before he smashes our lips together. His hands reach around me and cup my butt. I feel him hardening, as he presses me against his body.
Then, he slowly pushes me onto the bed. My back hits the soft, silk sheets, before I look up into his eyes.
I think about whether or not I really want to do this or if I am just caught in a whirlwind of emotion. What if the latter is true, and he leaves me after he is done with me? All these thoughts and more come to mind as he hovers over me.
He notices my distant look, asking, “Are you okay?”
He gets off of me and lays next to me. I turn to him; embarrassed to voice my thoughts out loud. He encourages me. “No secrets, remember?”
“I just feel like you’re going to use me and then leave me as usual.” I bluntly respond.
“I won’t but neither will I make you do anything with me when you're feeling in doubt.” He responds, getting out of bed. For a moment, I think he is going to leave but he walks to his closet and hands me one of his shirts.
I smile. “Thanks. I should freshen up.”
I grab the shirt and head to the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror, sighing. I ruined the moment. I almost feel like screaming but opt to wash my face of the makeup instead.
Once that is done, I slide the shirt over my head. It fits me like a dress; a very comfortable, oversized dress. With it, I head out of the bathroom.
Salvatore has his attention on his phone, typing vigorously when I come out. I wonder who he’s texting. He continues at it before he receives a phone call.
He walks on over to the balcony, shutting the balcony doors and any sound behind him.
I watch as he chuckles beyond the glass and it rubs me the wrong way. Who could he be talking to at this hour?
When he comes back, I make a bold move and ask. Cringing at myself. “Who was that?”
“Vivianne, my therapist.” He responds, sitting on the bed with me. “She called to check up on me.”
“This late?” I raise a brow.
“She is somewhere in the UK as at now.” He vaguely responds. “It is not that late there.”
“OK.” I end in a clipped tone before I slide into the sheets and turn the opposite side.
He turns off the light and lays down next to me in bed. His arms come around me before he kisses my cheek.
“Vivianne is just my therapist, Carina. She is paid to do this.” He tells me, kissing my neck this time.
I push him off, saying, “Does she have to do it at night?”
He lets out a breath before he says, “At night is when most of my—”
He takes another breath. I turn to him. The room is dimly lit, practically dark, but I can faintly see that he has that look that tells me that whatever he wants to say isn’t something he’s comfortable saying.
A rare occurrence, given that the guy talks about death like a casual, everyday thing. I encourage him. “When most of your what?”
“When most of my mental breakdowns, and mental outbursts happen.” He lets out another breath. I do not say anything in response. I simply snug closer into him; tightly wrapping my arms around him.
He runs his fingers through my braids, as he goes on to whisper, “I just never know how to deal with it. It makes me want to hurt someone or myself.”
I do not say much. I let him let it out. And somewhere along the lines, he falls asleep; his arms tightly wrapped around me. He feels warm like home and safe like a Haven.
I never want to leave.
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THIS STORY IS COMING TO AN END FRIENDS. We only have 6 more chapters to go.
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