Chapter 25

CHIARA

R io sat across me, hands splayed on either side of the couch he occupied the center of.

One ankle crossed over his muscled knee.

Feet bare, thighs enveloped in slim black jeans, chest encased in a thin white tee.

Lethal, yet so enticingly sexy.

My gaze flitted to his pale eyes.

Cold as a serpent.

On me.

I quivered.

My initial gut feeling about him from the first time I’d met him resurfaced.

This man was a wolf. One who lived and died for his pack, his protection relentless and unyielding.

Like a predator guarding its territory, he would fight with savage intensity when provoked, his calculated nature driven by pure instinct, sharp and unforgiving.

He was the embodiment of cunning and strength, patience and ferocity.

I was now at his mercy.

I turned my eyes to the guesthouse, where the lights flickered on. Mauri had just left the main house, and I almost wanted to call him back.

Somehow, sensing he was the lesser of two evils, I stared at the man glowering before me.

Rio leaned forward, nabbing the whiskey glass on my coffee table.

He sipped and reclined back, his sinewed arms rippling as he stretched out again.

I squirmed on the loveseat, waiting. Heart pounding.

When he spoke, it was without warning. It was also quiet as a whisper, yet growling with thunder.

‘My name is Valerio Calibrese. Together with my brothers, we are the so-called Kings of Omertà, the Sons of Honor, who enforce the sacrosanct code for several influential Mafia clans across Italy. Our renown is extensive and far-reaching from Europe to North America and even the southern hemisphere. We exist in utter secrecy, and the only ones allowed to share our identity are those intimate with us.’

I blinked at his hoarse rasp, believing every word given the iciness with which he delivered the words.

He went on, his voice stripped of all warmth. ‘Eight years ago, our parents were killed in a car bombing in Naples. A man known as Carlo Abrazzio ordered the hit. Carlo and his brother Ricco, as well as most of their family, are now all dead at the hands of my brothers and me. So is the famiglia of a man called Franco Conti, who started the rumors that led to my loved ones’ deaths. The man who built the bomb and detonated it was one Olivio Tirone. Your father.’

I jolted with fear, panic, and deep sorrow.

Fotto! My father was the man who chose to destroy Rio’s loved ones and take everything precious from him.

My mind spun, a whirlwind of emotions and memories crashing into me, leaving me unable to keep up.

‘I took it upon myself to take care of the Tirone family. I got close to you and Olivio. His death was not quite an accident, bella .’

The endearment was anything but. It was couched in a bitter, raw growl that sent shards of terror through me.

‘I was at the hospital the night he died.’

He said the words matter of fact, ignoring how I jolted in my seat.

I must have made a noise to urge him on because Rio continued. ‘I did it, Chiara. I shot your father.’

My hand flew to my mouth to stem the silent scream rising in me.

Rio leaned forward, and I jumped, but he only reached for his whiskey.

‘He killed my parents. It was inevitable. Occhio per occhio, dente per dente . An eye for an eye. That is the code.’

Which he sipped, eyes on me over the edge of the tumbler, cold as fuck.

The room felt like it was closing in on me. I couldn’t breathe.

Rio’s words replayed in my mind like a broken record, louder each time, until they were unbearable.

He got close to me to get to my father. He killed my father.

The panic started with a tightening in my chest, like I’d swallowed engulfed a massive storm. The sensation grew, spreading through my veins like poison, making every nerve vibrate with fear.

The man I thought cherished me, who had been my first lover, who acknowledged me like no one else ever had, had only come into my life to destroy my father and our family.

A wave of nausea hit me.

My body trembled, and my heart pounded in my ears.

I sat paralyzed, frozen in the chair, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

The air encircling me felt thick and heavy, like syrup suffocating me. My vision tunneled, and everything around me seemed far away and distorted.

I wanted to scream, but my voice remained caged, locked somewhere deep in me.

Only tears fell, hot and fast, down my cheeks. My limbs wouldn’t move or respond to the frantic signals I was sending them.

Trapped inside my own body, not even able to twitch my fingers, I was drowning in my despair.

‘ Cosa c’è che non va ? What’s wrong, Chiara?’

Rio’s growl came through the fog but felt like a million miles away.

He placed his drink on the table and tilted his head, studying me, brow furrowed.

‘Say something? Why aren’t you responding?’

My mind fragmented, part of me watching him, wondering if he was thinking why I wasn’t screaming, yelling, or hitting him.

He didn’t realize that I couldn’t. I was beyond all of that, caught in a vortex of pain and betrayal that was swallowing me whole.

He rose and moved to my side, kneeling beside me. He shook my shoulder, his voice muffled, distant yet urgent. ‘Chiara? Chiara, talk to me.’

But my mouth was immobile, unable to form the words; my lips refused to move.

I was slipping deeper into the abyss, my cognition shutting down in self-defense.

Lost in a fog. Mired a thick, molasses-like haze that coated everything in my mind.

Making it impossible to think or feel beyond the overwhelming weight of my grief.

VALERIO

The silence between us was suffocating.

Chiara sat in the chair beside me, her eyes vacant, staring at nothing.

She hadn’t moved since my confession, her body limp and pliable, like a puppet with its strings cut.

In a gruff whisper this time, I called her name again, trying to coax her back to me, but there was nothing. Just that hollow, empty gaze that terrified me more than any threat or enemy ever had.

Fuck, she’d recently lost her father, had been on edge due to stress from her brothers, and had been assaulted in her gallery.

What the hell I’d been thinking, pushing her buttons? Telling her the fucking cold truth?

This was my fault.

The words ran through my mind on an endless loop.

I’d pushed her too far, shattered the fragile trust we’d built with the onus of my confession.

I’d been so blinded by my need to confess. I’d wanted to rage, to express my grief and why I’d targeted her family. I’d distanced myself from our recent love, acted like a bully, and stripped all humanity in my interaction with her.

Now, she’d shut down as a result.

I had no idea what to do. I was out of my depth for the first time in a long time.

The woman who always challenged, fought for, and blissed me out was gone, replaced by a face etched with an eerie stillness, this inanimate shell of a person.

Her hands lay limp in her lap, her legs still in the exact position.

When I spoke to and touched her, she did not react. It was as if she were unreachable in a world far from me.

But it was her eyes that haunted me.

Her amber eyes were looking dead ahead, lifeless, empty, unseeing.

It was enough to cut through to my soul.

After trying again to reach her, I rose to my feet and tracked to the sliding doors of Chiara’s living space.

I pushed them open and jogged to the guest quarters.

I burst into the room to see Mauri in the sitting room, eyes slicing away from the blaring TV where a basketball game was playing, to me.

‘I need you, brother.’

He knifed up and followed me back to the main house.

I ran to her side at full tilt, heart pounding.

I knelt beside her and tried once more to reach her.

I stroked her face and called her name several times.

Still, she gazed dazed straight ahead, her eyes hollow, her face slack.

Mauri thundered in behind me.

‘ Fratello , I don’t know what to do,’ I whispered, my voice rough with guilt. ‘She’s not, she’s not here. It’s like she’s gone.’

Mauri placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘What the hell happened?’

I gave him a quick rundown.

He pursed his lips.

‘Is she shaking, in a fever?’

‘She’s not visibly sick. Perhaps exhausted?’

I shrugged, panic flooding my limbs, my heart and soul in chaos.

CHIARA

I couldn’t speak.

The words wouldn’t come.

Time passed—it could’ve been minutes or hours; I had no concept of time.

At some point, Rio disappeared, then returned.

Mauri was here now, too.

Both men loomed over me—brows furrowed.

‘Get her to sleep,’ Mauri said. ‘Maybe some rest might help?

I stared at them, helpless, my mind screaming for release, but all I did was slice my eyes away from them.

I tried to move my lips. I wanted to tell them to leave me alone so I’d give in to the intoxicating cloud of sleep that washed over me, but no words formed.

Rio led me upstairs to my bed, banding a hand around my waist.

His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he feared he might break me with the slightest pressure.

I lay motionless, sensing the shadows creep in again, trying to pull me under.

It was easier to let it take over, shut down my mind and body, stop perception altogether, and freeze from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

But deep down, I knew I might never return if I fell into that void.

I would lose my soul in that frozen place, and I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to thaw again.

Still, it was so tempting. The terror of losing control, of being consumed by the pain, was one of the most terrifying things I had ever experienced. But worse was the knowledge that I had no power to stop it.

No matter how much I tried to fight, to claw my way back to the surface, the darkness would come for me. I had no say on the subject.

So I remained eyes open, staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to claim me.

VALERIO

The night stretched out, an endless haze of tension and exhaustion. Sleep eluded me, as did any mental rest.

My eyes stayed glued to her—Chiara, lying in her bed like a shadow of herself, unmoving except for her chest’s steady rise and fall.

I slid in next to her, pulling her against me, but it was like holding air.

Her light had somehow taken flight.

She didn’t respond to anything. Not my touch, not my voice.

When I shifted her onto the mattress, she moved like dead weight, her body following but not her mind.

Her eyes remained open for hours, her lips silent as if none of what I was doing or saying to her was getting through.

It was like laying down with a ghost, and that hit harder than I’d admit to anyone.

My chest tightened, but I pushed the panic down.

I couldn’t afford to lose it.

Not now.

I held her close, my arms wrapped around her, hoping to pull her back through sheer will.

But the minutes ticked by, and nothing changed.

She stayed still, her breathing even, her body warm, but her mind was unresponsive. I didn’t know if it was coming back.

I rubbed slow circles on her back, trying to ground myself and keep the fear at bay. ‘Chiara, please,’ I whispered, though I wasn’t sure what I was asking for.

For her to wake up? For her to forgive me? For the nightmare to end?

For it all.

My throat tightened, guilt choking me as the hours dragged on. I had done this and pushed her into this state with my confession.

I’d ripped open old wounds, and now she lay locked in her head, unreachable.

Finally, her eyes closed, not in peace, but like she shut down completely.

I couldn’t take it. My breath came faster, panic creeping in despite myself. This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t something she’d sleep off.

Something was wrong—so very wrong. I leaned over her, pressing my forehead against hers, feeling the coolness of her skin.

‘ Leonessa , baby, come back to me,’ I whispered, my voice rough and raw, but she didn’t stir.

It felt like someone had stolen her from me, left behind this empty shell, and I had no way of reaching her.

I checked on her through the night.

When she stirred, so did I.

When morning came, I took care of her needs—bathing her, moving her limp body with a gentleness I summoned from the depths of my aching soul.

I’d made the water warm enough to relax her muscles.

I rinsed the soap out of her hair, the strands slipping through my fingers, but she didn’t react.

Fuck, it didn’t feel right. Hell, none of this did.

Chiara had always been so damn alive, so full of energy, and now here I was, treating her like she was fragile, like she might break under my hands.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Nothing.

The silence was unbearable, so I spoke to her, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me. My voice was a whisper, more for me than for her.

‘You’re gonna be OK,’ I murmured, wrapping her in a towel and lifting her like she weighed nothing.

But she felt too light like life had been drained out of her, leaving only this empty form behind.

I helped her to the bidet, then dressed her with care, keeping her clothes soft and loose, making her comfortable, and carrying her to bed.

She didn’t resist, didn’t stir.

I fumbled for my phone, dialing Mauri with shaking hands.

‘We need a doctor,’ I growled through gritted teeth. I couldn’t let him hear how close I was to snapping.

After a pause, Mauri continued. ‘Any improvement?’

‘Nothing’s changed. I’ve tried everything, but it’s not working, Mauri.’

My voice cracked, and I loathed it. I hated that I couldn’t bring her back to me. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Stay with her. I’ll get someone over. Hang tight.’

I hung up, looking back at her.

This woman—my woman—who had always been so damn strong, so full of life, light, and fire, now reduced to this. It was like drowning, the helplessness wrapping itself around me. I was always in command, fixing problems and keeping life in order.

But this? This was out of my hands.

The doctor would be here soon, but none of that mattered.

This was on me.

My accusatory confession might have been the catalyst that pushed her into the darkness. It shook me, the guilt so overwhelming, my uselessness so damning.

I’d never experienced this lack of control in my life, and it was tearing me apart.

Regret gnawed at me, making it hard to think straight, the remorse unshakable, crippling.

My words were responsible for this shit. I could only pray she’d fought her way out and found her way back.

I rarely lost control or let emotions cloud my judgment, but seeing Chiara like this—her stillness, her blankness—broke something inside me.

I couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t undo my confession nor the truths revealed. And I couldn’t pull her back from wherever she had gone.

Eventually, I heard footsteps in the hallway.

After a soft knock on the door, I let in Mauri, followed by our family therapist, Dr. Rita Scattizzi.

Her husband was our GP, and both practitioners were discreet and trusted.

She immediately set to work.

First, she got a rundown from me while I lifted Chiara from her bed and into a chair.

The doctor moved Chiara with gentle experience, speaking in soothing tones while I looked on, helpless.

I shoved my fists, first in my jeans pockets, then through my hair, even crossing them over my chest. Restless, impatient.

The doctor ignored me and conducted her tests, checking Chiara’s reflexes and responses.

Nothing.

Chiara sat like a statue, unmoving, unfeeling.

She only shifted when the doctor re-positioned her, almost mechanically, like she was following some unseen script.

The doctor checked her iPad, appeared to take notes, and then turned to us after her examination, her face grim. ‘She’s in a state of catatonia,’ she explained, her voice clinical but not unkind.

‘The hell?’ I grunted.

The kind doctor ignored the emotion that accompanied my outburst. ‘It’s often linked to major depressive disorder. The brain shuts down, and the person becomes unresponsive to their surroundings. It’s not acutely life-threatening, but it needs to be treated with care. She’ll need medication and close monitoring.’

‘Will she recover?’ I growled.

‘She will, with the right kind of attention and oversight.’

I swallowed the knot of fear lodged in my throat. ‘What triggered this?’

The Dr Scattizzi glanced at me, understanding in her eyes. ‘Trauma, stress. I’ve examined her past medical records online, and it appears she’s had this happen once before, during a high anxiety period of her earlier life. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what set her off. But whatever it was, it pushed her mind into retreat.’

Trauma. Stress.

Set off by my confession, the truth of who I was and what her father had done to my family. The realization that I had come into her life under pretense.

I did this to her.

Mauri cleared his throat. ‘So, what’s the next step?’

‘I’ll medicate her. She’ll always need someone to monitor her responses in the following days. I’ll prescribe medication to help.’

The doctor bustled around, writing a prescription. ‘Lorazepam is the remedy of choice, and she’ll only require one or two doses in pill form. We should see her symptoms improve in a few hours or weeks. The pill can often be stopped once we see a positive change. Be aware this might be confusing and frightening for her. You can support Chiara by explaining what is happening. Always try to stay calm. She can hear people near her talking, even if she is not vocal herself, so it can help to speak to her. Also, provide her with food you know she likes and is comfortable with. '

Mauri glanced at me, then at Chiara, and finally at Dr Scattizzi. ‘You’re certain we can handle this ourselves, at home? Won’t she be better off in hospital?’

‘Not necessarily. A facility might be too impersonal for what she needs. Care, encouragement, plus a safe space. Somewhere she can heal with familiar faces around her.’

‘It’s my responsibility,’ I muttered, my voice thick with guilt. ‘I did this. I have to fix it. She stays with me. I’ll take her to the family villa. Our housekeeper can help, and I’ll make sure she’s watched over.’