Safe

IT'S ALMOST ONE IN the morning when I hear footsteps outside my bedroom. I know it can only be one person, and I don't even wait for someone to knock.

I throw the door open and find myself at eye level with a man's ridiculously broad chest.

Tall .

"Hello, Sarica."

The sound of his voice is a lot gentler than I expected.

Familiar, too.

And that's when it hits me.

Sei al sicuro.

The voice that I thought I had only imagined.

That was him .

I finally muster the courage to look up and find myself already the object of his gaze.

You can't exist in our world and not know what Giancarlo Marchetti looks like. He's strikingly attractive but in a way that's not villainous. His presence is commanding, but he doesn't have the same dangerous aura that other powerful mafia billionaires exude.

I guess that's why most people in our world either love him or hate him. You just don't know where one stands with him, and—- oh!

Something catches my eye, and my tactlessness strikes again.

"You have silver hair!"

The words are out before I even realize what I'm saying.

Shit!

I'm already rearing back and expecting the worst. A backhanded slap is my father's favorite way of instilling "discipline", and that's when he's being nice. Other times, he'd shove me to the floor and kick me—-

Oh .

Is that it?

Really?

I blink.

And then I blink again and again.

But nothing else happens.

Giancarlo Marchetti's lips have simply twitched, and now he's answering me in the mildest of tones.

"Yes, I do."

How fucking... weird.

"Francisco says you wanted to speak with me?"

My chin goes up even though I'm not sure what I'm feeling defensive for. "Am I not allowed to?"

"Is that what you wish to speak to me about?"

"If it is?"

"Is it?"

I've never had someone verbally spar with me so smoothly like this, and I suddenly feel like this man will always be one step ahead of me.

"I believe my grandmother has spoken to you earlier, sì ? I know it's a lot to take in, and I'm sorry for that."

His words make me sound like I'm as fragile as glass, and I hate him - and myself - for it.

"Don't you fucking pity me."

"I'm not—-"

"Then why?"

Shame eats me alive when I hear the way my voice trembles.

Fuck.

He's right, after all.

I'm fragile and breakable like glass right now, and I'm scared, dammit.

I'm fucking terrified that all it would take is one word.

Just one damn word, and I'd shatter.

For good.

So, why dammit?

"W-Why did you help me?"

"Because you needed help."

A crazed laugh escapes me. "So you did pity—-"

"It would have been simpler if I did."

A "bad" childhood has always been my license to be snarky and act like I'm way older and wiser than my years. But the moment I hear him speak, there's just something about his tone that makes my pain suddenly feel...negligible.

"I needed to help you, Sarica. I know it's hard to understand, and maybe one day I'll be able to explain it to you...but just know that it was not pity that made me help you. I needed to do it, and I would not have minded if I had to die trying."

Every word he utters cuts me to the core. I can't help but feel I've been acting like a kid who's whining about a little head bump while the person who's saved me is bleeding to death.

"I know you think I'm too old for you. But I had no other choice. Your father was adamant about marrying you off to Martino, and I had to act fast."

I feel like I'm about to drown in shame now.

Why, God?

Why?

After fifteen long years of ignoring God's existence, something inside of me seems to have snapped, and I suddenly can't seem to stop myself from talking and blaming him.

So why, dammit?

Why should I have a father who keeps making me feel like a worthless piece of shit?

Why?

"If it means anything, I also offered your father a choice and have you marry one of my younger brothers instead. They would at least be closer to your marriage."

Great, just fucking great.

"But your father refused. It had to be the firstborn of Nonna 's grandsons or the deal was off. And that's why you're stuck with me."

I know I should be grateful my future husband also happens to be a gentleman, but everything he's said just makes me feel like an even bigger loser than I already am.

Why couldn't he have just called a fucking spade a shovel?

I'm no pedophile, but your asshole of a dad left me no choice.

I couldn't just stand by and do nothing when I knew he planned to marry you off to your almost-rapist.

That's why I'm stuck with you.

If he had said any of those things, I'd at least have some pride left. I could've comforted myself with the knowledge that the man who saved me wasn't perfect.

But with Giancarlo Marchetti being so perfectly nice when he doesn't have to be?

"I owe you my life. I'll never forget that, and I'll do whatever it takes to pay you back. My life is yours to forfeit. But the one thing I'll never do is to marry you."

"Why?"

Because you don't deserve a loser like me.

But since I'm not humble enough to admit the truth out loud—-

My chin goes up even as clichés of every kind flash warningly in my mind.

Pride cometh before a fall, Sarica.

The tallest trees catch the most wind.

So don't cut your nose to spite your face.

It's good and smart shit to heed, but instead, I hear myself say, "Because it's exactly what you said. You're too old for me."

His lips tighten, and my chest tightens.

I think I've hurt him.

Or his pride at least.

But even as I hate myself for it, I'm also glad that I know now of at least one chink in his armor. That I give a shit about his age is a complete lie, but I'll let him think what he thinks.

For his sake.

"I know the gap in our ages may seem...incomprehensible at the moment—-"

"It will always be massive." I don't even know how old he is, but who cares?

"But you may think differently down the line."

"I doubt it."

"We'll talk about this again when you're old enough. But in the meantime—-is there anything else you want to talk about?"

"I won't change my mind. Ever ."

But all he does is smile like he hasn't heard a single word I've said. " Buonanotte , Sari—-"

I slam the door on his face, and my heart jumps to my throat.

What the fuck did I just do?

But instead of Giancarlo pounding on the door like Jack Nicholson turning into a possessed madman in The Shining, all I hear are his footsteps fading as he walks away.

My heartbeat gradually slows down.

And it's only when my whole body starts shaking that I realize I'm crying again.

God, oh God.

Will I ever get used to living this kind of life?

Will the day ever come that I will no longer think one wrong word will earn me a beating?

And will I ever understand why God changed his mind about me?

Why do you have to be so complicated, God?

I want to hate him for giving me a shitty childhood.

But how can I, when he's more than made up for it?

The past is over and done with. The present is terrifyingly beautiful, and I might even have a future to look forward to.

Sei al sicuro.

You're safe now.

Sobs rock my body as the certainty of those words hits me anew. I can't even remember the last time I felt safe. Maybe I never have. Until now. And that's why—-

Please don't take this away from me.

I don't know if I can bear losing this and going back to my old life.

Please.

Please.

I just want this to last forever. I just want to know I'll always be safe. It's not too much to ask, is it?

I swear I won't be greedy, God.

I promise!

I won't ask or even dream of anything else.

I just want to be safe.

Today, tomorrow, and forever more.

I just want to sleep and know that when I wake up—-

I'm safe.