Chapter 27

CHIARA

I had no idea for how long I’d been lost in my mental and emotional fog.

It might have been days or weeks.

Through it all, night and day, Rio stayed by my side.

However, I was puzzled by his presence and care as he placed a cup of coffee by my working canvas and kissed the top of my head.

Why the fuck did he still give a damn about me?

I couldn’t speak to him, ask him this, and many more questions that whirled in my head.

I wondered where I was as I sat on the terrace of a house I’d never set foot in.

It was a beautiful, sprawling, grand house with sea views, the distant outline of Vesuvius lurking on the horizon.

It might as well have been a prison.

No matter the stunning and calming view, the real battle was inside my head. The art I created of it was the only thing keeping the darkness at bay.

Each pencil line I traced, every crayon swirl, helped build some fragile defense against the shadows threatening to swallow me whole and drown me in a sea of anguish.

All the strokes of paint I added to the canvas were a desperate attempt to prevent the molasses from settling in my brain. The stains of color made me move and create, even when I only wanted to stop, let go, and give in.

It would be so easy to surrender to it and permit the creeping numbness to overtake me.

I sensed its ebbs and flows, like surging ice on top of a fast-running river, freezing over every part of me one moment and melting away the next.

One minute, I was aware of my body and the world around me. The following, it was as if I was gone, only the shell of me left behind.

The waves of panicked shadows terrified me while the hours of peace buoyed me.

Nevertheless, I was petrified that I wouldn’t be able to stop the constant switching between light and dark.

That I’d stay like this, trapped in this half-life for days, weeks, maybe forever.

On one hand, I was horrified of staying in that state, afraid I’d disappear completely. But on the other, the pull to give up was so strong.

The temptation to zone out into nothingness, to escape the torment in my psyche, was the only relief I had left. It was as if I was fighting to remain conscious, to keep my soul anchored to my body.

It drained me day by day. The longer I stayed in this condition, the more my life force was slipping away.

Like I was losing the very essence of who I was. I didn’t want to be reduced to this hollow, blank-eyed version of myself, staring into space while my mind retreated into some unreachable corner.

I desired to feel alive again, to shake off the quiet stares and the borrowed energy I’d been surviving on.

I wanted to be me again, not this distant, fading shadow of a person. But I didn’t know if I possessed the capacity to. I didn’t know if I’d ever come back from this. That fear of losing my soul—was like a weight pressing down on my chest, making it more demanding and more strenuous to breathe.

I was afraid it would only get worse, that I’d spiral deeper into this emptiness and never find my way out. I didn’t know if anyone was capable enough to pull me back from the edge.

Yet I wanted it.

With a wild desperation.

I didn’t know how to fight anymore.

Until Rio’s words pulled me from the brink.

VALERIO

I stood in the doorway, my breath catching, heart burning, as she painted.

The terrace, bathed in the soft hues of sunset, was glowing with light. The sky was ablaze with gold, pink, and lavender, but this was nothing compared to what unfolded on the canvas before her.

Chiara’s hands moved with a quiet grace as though every stroke was a secret she was letting out for the first time.

Her brush dipped into the tints, blending them with an almost otherworldly precision, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

How she captured the illumination—how the colors bled together, warm and melancholy at the same time—was mesmerizing.

But it wasn’t just the sunset she was painting.

She was exposing herself, showing me the depths of her soul and the battle she’d been waging in silence.

Her pain, her hope, her fragile strength—it was all there in every stroke.

I moved closer, like something beyond me was pulling me toward her.

She glanced up for a beat, her eyes soft but distant, and then turned back to the canvas, continuing without a word.

She didn’t need to say anything.

She was having a better day.

Her stillness wasn’t the same oppressive weight it had been for days—it seemed more peaceful like we’d reached a place where words weren’t needed.

I stayed beside her, watching her work, the last rays of the day sinking behind the horizon.

It hit me.

The love I developed for her, the guilt for what I’d done, the overwhelming relief that she was here, still fighting—it all rushed up at once.

I turned to her, crouched, hands outstretched, beseeching.

My throat tightened, and before I stopped myself, my deep-held expression slipped out, raw and unguarded. ‘I’ll never leave you,’ I whispered, my voice hoarse. ‘I’ll never forsake you, Chiara. I’m so sorry for making you think I’d ever cast you away to avenge my family’s grief and my parents’ killing. You were not complicit. Regardless, you’re everything to me. Penso che mi sto innamorando di te . I think I’ve already fallen in love with you. I don’t care what happened in the past. I adore you, and I want forever with you, leonessa . So please, come back to me.’

I held my breath, waiting, hoping she’d hear me. But for a long moment, nothing changed.

Then, as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared and darkness fell, she stilled. The brush dropped from her hand.

With a moan, she broke.

Her sobs tore through her, raw and deep, and she collapsed into my arms. I clutched her as tight as possible, every shudder of her body tearing through me, her tears soaking into my shirt.

I stroked her hair, whispering apologies, promises, anything to keep her from drowning in the flood of grief and fear.

A dam burst inside her, and everything she’d been holding back came rushing out all at once.

After some time, she pulled back to gaze at me with red, tear-streaked eyes.

Her lips trembled as she spoke her first word in days, hoarse from lack of use. ‘Why do you love me? I’ve nothing to offer you but pain. My father killed your parents. Aren’t I a reminder of their deaths every day?’

The ache in my chest deepened at the sound of her voice. ‘That’s not true. Since I met you, my world has been alight with life, laughter, color, bliss,’ I rasped, staring into her eyes. ‘I can’t imagine my life devoid of you, Chiara. Without you, I’ll find no meaning to exist. I never thought I’d fall in love with the daughter of my parent’s murderer, but love, perfect love, sometimes begins imperfectly, bella . That which brings us the greatest agony also delivers the sweetest gift.’

More tears fell down her cheeks, yet a new emotion glistened in her eyes. Relief.

My arms around her trembled, both of us shaken to our core.

When our shaking died last, I led her to a divan on the terrace when the stars appeared in the sky. We lay down, limbs tangled, her head resting against my chest. We stayed like that for hours, locked, our bodies intertwined as if we were the only thing keeping each other anchored.

I welcomed the warmth of her breath, the slow, steady beat.

Exhaustion fell over us, but I wasn’t scared for the first time in days. We’d survived. We’d made it through.

I would never let her go. Not ever.

CHIARA

I woke to the sound of Rio’s ragged, uneven breathing as if he were running in his sleep.

My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. He was beside me, his body twisting under the sheets, his brow furrowed, his face tight with distress.

My heart lurched in my chest.

‘Rio?’ I whispered, reaching out to touch his arm, but he didn’t stir.

He was deep in the grip of a nightmare.

I tried again, my voice softer but firmer, ‘Rio.’

Still nothing. His fists clenched, and he let out a strangled sound, his breath catching. My pulse quickened as I leaned closer.

‘Rio,’ I said a third time, a little louder, hoping to pull him from whatever dark place his mind was wandering into.

His body jolted upright; his eyes were wild and unfocused as if trapped in the nightmare’s hold. He turned toward me, his gaze frantic, searching but not seeing me.

‘It’s me,’ I whispered, touching his face in a long stroke from chiseled cheekbone to his inked nape. ‘I’m here.’

His eyes misted, and he blinked rapidly as if trying to shake off the nightmare. Then, to my surprise, his hand shot up to cover his face, his fingers trembling as he dragged them down. His shoulders shook, and I tagged the tremor in his limbs as he tried to gather himself.

I moved closer, pressing my body into his, my hand resting on his chest, the erratic beat of his heart beneath my palm. ‘Rio, it’s OK. It was just a dream.’

He released a shaky breath, his hands dropping to his sides as he pulled me into him. His arms wrapped around me, holding on like I might slip away if he let go.

His exhalation was warm against my neck, but I was able to feel the tension still thrumming through his physique.

‘I dreamed you were you were gone from me again,’ he whispered, his rasp rough and thick with emotion. ‘I couldn’t reach you. No matter what I did, you wouldn’t wake up.’

My heart clenched at the pain in his voice. I buried my face in his chest, my hand moving in slow, soothing circles across his back.

‘I’m here now,’ I murmured, lifting my head to look at him.

His pale aqua eyes rimmed with red glimmered, fear lingering in their depths.

‘I thought I lost you again,’ he growled.

I pulled back so I met his gaze. ‘I’m OK now, Rio,’ I reassured him, even though the memory of what I endured—those long, dark days trapped in silence—still haunted me too. ‘It’s over.’

He brushed a thumb across my cheek, his touch gentle, almost reverent. ‘But what was it like for you?’ he asked, his voice trembling. ‘I could never get you to tell me. I didn’t know how to help.’

I exhaled, gathering my thoughts, trying to put into words the nightmare that had gripped me. ‘It was like drowning,’ I said, my fingers tracing the lines of his hand resting against me. ‘Like something heavy was pressing down on me, pulling me under. I wanted to scream or reach out, but I couldn’t. I seemed trapped, watching the world go by like it was behind glass. I was desperate to snap out of it, but I didn’t have the strength to.’

His arms tightened around me, his lips brushing my temple in a feather-light kiss. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, his voice raw. ‘I never wished for you to feel that kind of pain.’

‘I know,’ I murmured, nuzzling closer into his warmth. ‘But it’s better now. I’m here with you. You pulled me through it. For many years, no one ever cared enough to.’

He twisted to face me, hand stroking over my cheek. ‘I more than care, leonessa . You know that.’

‘I do, which gives me strength. The thought you didn’t want anything more to do with me pushed me over the edge.’

‘Not the grief about your father, added with my threats?’

I shook my head. ‘No. I’ve had some time to think about it. The reason why I became catatonic was not because my father died. The fucker deserved it.’

Rio jolted, staring at me. ‘ Bene , what was it?’

A shiver slithered down my spine, and I inhaled to cut short its snaking through me. ‘It was because I couldn’t handle that you thought that his evil, which tore you and your family apart, lived in me. I thought you now hated me, and that was enough to remind me of why I was so loathsome because of my degenerate kin, our sins, and our evil.’

‘But you’re not them, bella ,’ Rio protested, his timbred, deep burr rumbling through his chest. ‘You’ve redeemed yourself many times with your art, your work with the kids, and your care for your famiglia regardless of how they treated you. But it can’t have been that bad growing up a Tirone.’

‘Oh, but it was,’ I whispered. ‘Perhaps if I tell you, you’ll understand because this catatonic episode is not my first. I had one soon after my mother died. When I was left to deal with my father and his malicious, uncaring, selfish self.’