When I was sixteen, in the prime of my adolescence, I did what every teenager has ever done, I defied my father.

His workroom was a restricted area. Once a place, or a thing, is prohibited, it becomes an object of interest. For me, it became an obsession.

Thanks to Google and YouTube, I mastered the art of picking locks. On a fine day, I decided it was time to unravel the mystery.

One thing led to the other. Our stupid housemaid called my dad, informed him, and he raced back home. By the time I was in his study, going through the books, files, anything, and everything to understand the importance of the room, he caught me red-handed.

The rest is a blur.

I remember him hitting me. Hard. Nonstop.

I remember the blood's scent. The pain. The sound of falling to the wooden floor, and even the crack of my bones.

I remember my pleas, begging him to stop, apologizing, but it was like he was an entirely different man.

At some point, I blacked out, and he rushed me to the hospital. He lied I'd fallen from a set of staircases. The doctor was his friend and wrote the report accordingly. Though I don't know if he did that because of their friendship or if my father had blackmailed him. Maybe it was both.

Ten years have gone by.

The physical marks have healed.

Throughout my occupation, I've seen crime scenes, but I've never witnessed one unfold before me.

Now that I have, I'm certain I've not moved on from my childhood traumas. My past still haunts me.

The soft early-May breeze caressing my skin does nothing to soothe my increasing heartbeat, and the intensity of anxiety scrapping my veins. Images of the fight, Elio's aggressive ways, the numerous times I had to watch Dad beat Mom from the crack of the wardrobe door, and the god-forsaken day I entered his study rush past my vision. They're so swift it becomes a stream of images blending into lights.

Black dots pepper my sight, obscuring what little I could discern in the dimly lit area behind the hotel as Elio leads me farther away from the building. My knees weaken as my body trembles harder, cold sweat breaks over my skin.

Blood's scent hangs heavy in the area, and the red stains give away the ugly blood bath this place hosted.

Everything spins and I can't gulp enough oxygen into my lungs. The buzzing noise in my ear drowns everything else. Even though I'm out in the open, I can't breathe, as though a sturdy pair of hands are gripping my neck, pushing down on my throat. My eyes refuse to focus on anything.

My legs give out, but the pain of hitting the ground never comes. I'm being held up by a muscular arm wrapped around me.

I hear Elio's voice, but it's like my head is underwater and I can't understand a single word. I clutch his hand, struggling to breathe. Is this how I'm going to die? 

Nothing makes sense except the undefined panic brewing in me, consuming me.

My back presses against a smooth surface and I lean to it. Warmth spreads across my cheek. Indistinctly I hear Elio, but I fail to focus. My gaze darts from one point to another, seeing nothing. My head is tilted up, forcing me to meet Elio's dark eyes, capturing mine.

"Concentrate on your breathing, just breathe, please," he slowly speaks.

I gasp for air and clutch Elio's forearms.

"Just breathe," he softly repeats himself.

Ignoring the ache in my chest and head, I nod and try to do as he says.

I take forever, or at least that's how long it seems for me.

He never breaks away from my eyes, not letting me look away, either. I trace his features to regain my grip on myself. The defined angles of his high cheekbones, and the shape of his almond eyes.

But just as my heart doesn't pound as hard, fresh tears spring to my eyes.

Still cupping my cheek, he runs the pad of his thumb gently over my cheekbone. "You're safe now, I've got you," he whispers, moving closer to me, searching for my eyes.

Dejection, embarrassment, and hundreds of other emotions whirl around my head. A moment later, I note how hard I'm gripping his forearms and instantly snatch my hands away.

"It's okay, Cerise," he murmurs, leaning down in a vain attempt to make me look at him.

I shake my head, tear after tear streaming down.

"It's okay, you're safe now."

The last shred of dignity in me breaks, and I sob, shaking my head. "I wanna go home."

He envelops me in a tight hug as I cry harder.

I can't do this anymore. I'm not strong. I just want to go back home and pretend all of this was just an awful nightmare and continue with my normal life.

Elio doesn't loosen his embrace, not even when Pietro's voice comes. He holds me like he can force all my broken and jagged pieces back together. I cling to him. If only I can melt into him and forget every terrible memory.

When I run out of tears and lift my head from his chest, Elio tenderly wipes away the remnants of the wetness. Gazing into his deep chestnut eyes, it's clear he has a thousand things to say, but he's holding back. If I look long enough and busy myself with the golden rings around his pupils, I might forget my problems.

Without a word, he lifts me up, securing an arm under my knees, and pressing me to his chest. I hide my face in the crook of his neck, my fingers furling around his shirt as he carries me away. I don't need to see Pietro's judgmental expression.

He gets inside a car while firmly holding me. The door closes with a dull thud, yet he keeps me on his lap. I don't lift my head from his shoulder, diverting my entire attention to his rhythmic breathing.

The car sets into motion and one of Elio's arms leaves my side, only to press a button on the armrest before returning to my upper arm. A black divider slides up and shields us from the driver's view.

"Water?" he softly offers, bringing out a plastic bottle from the cupholder.

Feebly, I nod and with shaky fingers reach for the bottle. The cold water works, but it doesn't wash away the horrors and mortification of the night's events.

I push away the bottle and lay my head on his chest, fixing my attention on the cars zooming past us.

Elio's arm firmly stays around my shoulder while his other hand slides down the length of my calf. His nimble fingers undo the latches of my strappy heels and drop them aside. He pulls me closer to himself.

Eventually, every trace of the panic attack leaves me; I don't dare to close my eyes for fear of having the events replay in my head.

The silence is comfortable and I can easily hold on to the hazy fog settled over my mind.

His palm caresses my leg, drifting up to my knees and sliding down to my ankle. Occasionally, his other hand's fingertips glide up and down my upper arm.

It scares me how soothing his action is, and worse than that, I can't stop my brain from venturing and comparing his viciously aggressive side with this gentle, caring one.

I have to be petrified of him. Maybe even I am. I have to despise him with every single fiber in my body. And maybe I do.

Yet, in a sick way, nothing and no one has ever made me feel as safe as him.

How can he be both? A monster and a compassionate man.

Someone opens the door for him and from the way he secures me in his arms, I know he won't be letting me down.

As humiliating as it is, a huge part of me is grateful. Once more I hide my face in the crook of his neck all the way from the entrance until we're in the bedroom. He carefully sits me down on the bed. I expect him to leave, instead, he kneels before me, enveloping my hands.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he softly speaks, his eyes desperately searching mine. "I-I," he stammers and sighs, his hands squeezing mine. "Don't be afraid of me. I would've handled it in any other way if they'd given me an option." He drops his gaze to our hands.

My heart pounds, but not out of terror. "How many lives are worth two lives?" My hoarse voice breaks.

His head snaps up, and our eyes lock.

Whispering, I go on, "Four men in Florence, and over ten men tonight. And that's just what I've seen on your side."

He sighs and looks away.

"Are we worth over fourteen men's lives?" I tilt my head to one side.

"Yes." He inhales sharply and straightens himself, meeting my gaze again. "We are. I keep Cosa Nostra running. Every man in the Mariano clan relies on me and my abilities as a capo to provide for them, be it money or protection. If I die, hundreds will die. And you're out of question. You're a prosecutor who actually tries to do good unlike hundreds of others doing whatever benefits them, and the future of mine and other Coscas highly rely on you."

I shake my head and stare at the wall across from me.

"No, Cerise, you will live. You have to. Yes, your life is worth more than all those men combined."

"I don't agree," I mumble. "Please, Elio." My gaze drops to him. Unwanted tears gather in my eyes. "Please let me go back home. I want to go." My voice breaks. I watch him with teary eyes, though I can't decipher his thoughts and emotions.

His brows have pulled together, and his mouth tugs downwards. The intensity of his eyes frightens me, not because he's scary, quite the contrary, it's because looking into his eyes, I can forget what I witnessed him being capable of.

Slowly, his fingers wrap around my wrist, lifting my hand as his other palm covers the back of my hand. "I need you to trust me. Nothing will happen to you, I promise. I won't let anyone harm you."

Shaking my head, I weakly whisper, "I just want to go back to my own home." A single tear slides down my cheek. "I can't live like this, please, let me go."

"Cerise," he pleads, his fingers tightening ever so slightly as though he's trying to hold on to me, stop me from slipping away. "Don't ask things from me I can't give you, please." He presses a long, smoldering kiss to the middle of my palm.

Despite everything, my heart flutters, and I hate myself for it.

"I'll protect you... and you won't ever have to see these things again. I shouldn't have agreed to let you join my meetings. That was a wrong decision. As long as you stay here..." his voice trails down once he notices I'm shaking my head no.

"Hiding won't change the truth. You killed ten men like it was some sort of sick video game. The worst part is, I know all of you are like this... I-I don't want to be protected by you."

His features go blank, shielding his emotions. "And I cannot let you die," he says, avoiding my eyes.

"Why?" I lean down, hoping to make him look at me, but it's useless.

He lifts a shoulder, dismissively answering, "You already know the reason."

"I don't belong to this world, and you know that and-"

He interrupts me. "And you'll go back to your normal life once everything settles down. Cerise, everyone has seen you with me. You don't understand the danger and... I didn't think these people would dare to move against me so boldly, but they are. From this point onwards, if anything happens to you, I won't be faultless and I cannot live with that."

He locks his eyes with mine. "Please, just bear a little longer until I fix everything. All I'm asking is to give me time. Fine, despise me, call me all sorts of names, ignore me as much as you want, but don't ask me to let you go out there and watch you be murdered. Don't, because I can't do that."

"Why do you care?" I focus on the bracelet on my wrist, glinting under the lights of the room.

His hands rest on my knees. I sense his eye boring into me.

"Your father's my enemy. I have men monitoring his every move... when you began studying law, we assigned a few men to track your moves too. I've known you for far longer than you know me, though back then the way you handled your cases only irked me. Now your decisions make sense. Marco and I were only waiting for one slip up, to mess up your acts of being righteous and catch one of you, to use it against you... so I could ruin your father before killing him."

I gulp uneasily.

He shakes his head and a corner of his mouth lifts. "What can I say, in all these years of hating you, maybe you've turned into my favorite hated person. I've gotten used to hating you. For this sole reason, you must stay alive."

I huff with disbelief, "So you can keep on hating me?"

A small smile tugs at his mouth, and he nods. "Pretty much."

"Wow, lucky me," I sarcastically mutter earning a light half-hearted chuckle from him.

We fall silent, and I busy myself with taking off my bracelet. Though no matter how many times I try, I fail at unlatching its lock. My fingers are still trembling.

After my fourth failed attempt, Elio easily opens it, throws it on the nightstand nearby him, and sits on the bed next to me.

"I know you hate being here, but believe me, it's for the best."

My fingers fidget. "I get it you're gangsters and all, but... I guess I wasn't mentally prepared to see something like that. It messed me up. Checking on crime scenes is so different... and... I-I'm not that strong and daring to face stuff like that."

"I understand, but you're wrong. You're one of the strongest people I've ever come to know."

I lift a shoulder in a shrug. From the corner of my eye, I glimpse him moving closer to me. His fingertips lightly brush my neck and my breath hitches.

"I was right, the wound is not deep, but I can still call the doctor-"

"No."

He sighs and his hand falls away.

"Is it easy?" I ask in a small voice. "Killing."

His brows raise. After a long while, he responds, "It was either them or us. It was easy." He holds my eyes, the solemnity renders me speechless.

Gathering the last bits of my energy, I lift my hand to take off my earrings.

"May I?" he softly offers. I hesitantly nod as I unlatch the earring on my other ear and pull it off.

In a featherlight touch, he tucks my hair away and after a moment of studying the earring, he gets it off and tosses it to the nightstand.

"How about you get ready for bed while I bring antiseptics?"

"Okay," I mumble.

He nods and stands up, glancing over his shoulder as he leaves, lightly shutting the door.

I survey the room as though expecting furious men to pop out from different corners and attack me. The garden visible from the window on the other side of the room is dark and my heart's rate picks up.

Uneasily, I scan the place again and again until I force myself to my unsteady feet and tread to the bathroom.

I have no idea how on Earth I'm going to get through tonight.

I glance at the mirror, and my reflection horrifies me. My hair has freed itself from the updo, standing in every direction. My face is blotchy and my eyes are puffy.

I quickly get ready for bed. With my hair in a loose braid and my pajama set on, I inspect my neck one last time in the mirror; the cut is less than a nail's length, before leaving the bathroom.

Elio is already inside sitting on my bed with a first aid kit on his lap. He has changed his button-up shirt and trousers to a black T-shirt and lounge pants. His eyes rove over my frame as I cross the room and sit next to him. "I can do it myself."

He empties the disinfectant on a piece of cotton. "Sure, do it tomorrow, but for now I'll do it." He bends to me and I tilt my head to give him better access. "It'll burn a bit," he adds.

"I know."

Cautiously, he dabs it on the wound, and I wince, scrunching up my face. He gently blows on it, causing goosebumps all over my skin, while getting it done and finishing with a butterfly bandage.

I mumble a thanks as he puts the antiseptics away and gets to his feet.

"I'm in the other room. Call me if you need anything." He stands in the middle of the room, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Okay."

He shuffles his feet and reluctantly retreats a step. "Lights on, right?"

"Yeah." I drop my gaze to the floor. An enormous part of me wishes I won't have to spend the night alone.

As he reaches the door and is about to exit, my head snaps up. It's not like I haven't been a mess and can embarrass myself more than I've already had.

For the first time, I give in to my need. The desire to let go for one night and lean on someone else. If I can overlook the shit my dad put me through for all those years, I can push what I saw tonight to the back of my head until I pull myself together and sort through my thoughts and emotions.

"Can you stay?" I bite my bottom lip, heat rising to my face.

Without a beat of hesitance, he replies, "Sure!" A slow smile pulls his mouth, even though he tries hard to suppress it by pressing his lips together.

He places the first aid kit on the nearest shelf in the library and dims the lights as I down my pills and slide under the covers.

He takes up the other side of the bed and removes his shirt.

I roll my eyes. "Show off," I say under my breath and he chuckles, fixing the pillows to lean to them.

"Obviously, otherwise why would I get tatts?" He shifts in his spot to face me.

I sigh and lie down, gazing at the ceiling. "Is being arrogant compulsory for a capo?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

I look up at his face. "Then say something, anything, I don't want to sleep right now."

He runs his hand through his hair, squinting at the wall behind me. "Why don't you ask and I answer?" he suggests.

"You won't lie?"

"I'll be as honest as I can, or I'll tell you as much as I can. How about that?"

A corner of my mouth lifts. "Okay."

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Hi readers, I hate this chap, I hope the feeling is not mutual. I'm so sorry for making it so long.

Well, I hope guys didn't hate chap ^.^ Don't forget to comment your thoughts ^^

Stay safe, lots of love, happy reading <3