Journal Entry

They shouldn't have anything in common.

Or at least that was how it seemed at first glance.

But the more time I spend with him, the more I realize...

The world couldn't be more wrong about him.

LORENZO WALKED OUT of the mausoleum, and she followed his lead without a single murmur of protest. It was almost unnerving, the way she was so quietly composed. All the rumors about the youngest Marchetti clearly couldn't be more wrong.

And yet...

He knew he had not imagined what he had seen earlier.

A flash of pain in her eyes right after she had said 'hello'.

A split-second glimpse of what she was really thinking.

That was all the time he had to see the truth, but it had been enough.

He had known right away that her heart was in agony, and he alone could keep it breaking.

He had seen she needed him, and instead of calculating his every move like he always did—-

Hello, wife.

He had done - said - something impulsive.

Dammit.

Silence - and not words - had always been his weapon of choice.

But the moment he saw she needed him—-

This girl whom he had not thought about even in the two years she was his for the taking—-

It was as if something else had seized control of his body.

His heart.

And even his fucking mind.

It was as if every part of him was suddenly convinced of one thing.

Whatever she needs...

He would do everything in his power to provide.

But why that was, he had no fucking idea.

Temporary insanity, perhaps?

Such an excuse might be plausible for some.

But not for him.

People in need was something he had seen every damn day of his life. Because it was his father who had tortured them. And later on, because of the years he had spent incarcerated.

But he had never been moved to help them impulsively.

It was one of the most painful lessons he had learned early on as a child, and he had witnessed his first murder.

To understand and accept that he was just a boy—-

And that he would only end up helping no one if he were to act like he was everyone's savior.

You can't save everyone.

And yet with this girl...

Why was she different?

He had not even paused for a single second to weigh his alternatives like he usually did.

The moment he had seen the flash of pain in her eyes—-

He had claimed her as his wife.

Wife.

It was as if he had lost his fucking mind.

Since when did claiming a woman had become a way of comfort?

He had never acted impulsive or foolish.

Until her.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He was suddenly and violently tempted to shove her away and be done with her.

She was an enigma that represented chaos.

And he had an ominous feeling that life would never be the same again the moment he took her home.

Walk away from her.

The insidious voice in his mind came out of nowhere, tempting him like the fucking devil.

Do it now...before it's too late.

His car came up at the entrance as the temptation to get rid of her grew.

One of his bodyguards opened the door for them, but instead of getting inside, she glanced up at him in askance.

Do I get in or not?

And for those who were not of their world, this would have meant nothing.

But for them who were famiglia ?

Danger was ever-present if one were to let his guard down, and stepping inside a car, regardless of who owned it, was always a matter of trust.

Always.

And so for her to simply glance at him in askance was already Gazelle placing her trust in him.

No turning back now.

Because with that one glance, the voice inside his head was effectively silenced.

He was the Beast of New York, whom everyone else feared and ran away from.

Even when all he desired was to help—-

People often choose to trust the devil over him.

But she was different.

This girl who was the wife he had ignored for two years—-

She trusted him, and it was the most fucking precious gift anyone could have given him.