Page 23 of Marcello DeLuca

He cupped my face in his hands. “Thanks for letting me in on a part of you that must be very painful, and for being honest with me. But going forward, we’re in this together. I promise you, Safia, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

“I believe you,” I whispered, a rogue tear slipping down my cheek. “But we have to be careful. No one else can know.”

“I will always be careful with you.” He wiped away the tear with the pad of his thumb. His eyes searched mine as he took my hand in his. “Have the police given you any updates on where they are with your case?”

I shook my head, feeling a fresh wave of frustration wash over me. “No, they don’t keep me updated. Every time I call, they just tell me it’s an open investigation. They won’t give me any more insight or details.”

Marcello’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening slightly on my hand. “That’s unacceptable,” he said, his voice tinged with anger. “You deserve to know what’s happening. You shouldn’t be kept in the dark like this.”

“They always say they can’t compromise the investigation,” I replied, the helplessness I felt every time I spoke to them bubbling to the surface. “It’s like they’ve forgotten about me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Well, that’s about to change,” he growled. “Leave it up to me, Safia. I’ll make sure you get the answers you deserve. My family has resources and connections. We’ll find out what they’re not telling you.”

A flicker of hope ignited in my chest before it deflated. “I don’t want you to get involved in something dangerous because of me. Some people believe my father was involved with a mob, but I don’t know what to believe.”

He cupped my face in his hands. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, and I will do it without exposing you,” he said, his voice steady and full of conviction. “But you have to know you’re not alone in this anymore. And I won’t rest until we have the answers you deserve.”

For a moment, we just sat there thinking. The room, which was filled with passionate murmurs just minutes ago, now seemed to be filled with echoes of my past.

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was already ten thirty. The reality of my life outside this room, outside of Marcello's embrace, was creeping back in. Soon, my uncle would expect me to be pulling into our driveway.

Marcello’s arms tightened around me, as if he sensed my anxiety. “Hey,” he said softly, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “We still have a few minutes. Let’s just be here, together. Just us.”

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips.

In this moment, I was Safia Kent, and I was with the man I loved, trusting him with the truth that had upended my life for the past three years. It felt like a small rebellion against the life that had been thrust upon me, a brief but powerful reclaiming of my identity.

Marcello’s fingers traced gentle patterns on my back, his touch soothing. “Tell me more about you,” he said. “The real you.”

I took a deep breath, letting the memories flood back. “Everything I have shared with you about my likes, dislikes, and dreams are all the truth. But before my parents died, I used to live in Auburn,” I began. “We had a house on a quiet street, with a big oak tree in the front yard. My dad used to hang a tire swing from it every summer. I can still remember our laughter as my sister and I took turns swinging as high as we could.”

Marcello listened intently, his eyes never leaving mine. It was as if he was trying to memorize every detail, to hold onto this piece of me that I was sharing with him.

“My mom loved to bake,” I continued, a wistful smile playing on my lips. “Our house always smelled like fresh bread or cookies. She used to say that if you could bake, you could always make someone’s day a little brighter.”

I could see the questions in Marcello’s eyes, but he stayed silent, letting me unravel my story at my own pace.

“And my dad,” I said, my voice growing softer. “He was my hero. He worked so hard, seemed to always have his laptop attached to his fingers, but he also made time for us. For family dinners, for helping with homework, for just sitting on the porch and watching the sunset. I never felt safer than when I was with him.”

A lump formed in my throat as I spoke, and I swallowed hard, willing myself to continue. “Then, one day, it all changed. We were going to the beach. It was supposed to be a three-day weekend family vacation. I remember the excitement, the way my mom helped us pack our bags and the way my sister giggled with glee over going to the beach again. And then...”

The words caught in my throat. The memory of the explosion, the fire, the smoke, all crashed down on me.

Marcello squeezed my hand, his eyes filled with sorrow.

“It happened so fast,” I whispered. “One minute we were making a stop for Dad to meet a client, and the next… there was nothing but chaos. I was the only one who survived.”

Marcello pulled me closer, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m so sorry, Safia,” he murmured. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“It was a nightmare,” I admitted, my voice barely audible. “And after that, everything was a blur. The hospital, police, the questions, being moved from place to place. And then finally, ending up here, as Lanay.”

He held me tightly. “But you’re not alone anymore,” he said quietly. “You have me now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears welled up in my eyes again, but this time some of the tears were of relief and others of gratitude. “Thank you for reassuring me that I have you now,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“You got me, and I got you.” Marcello’s lips found mine again, a tender, lingering kiss that seemed to say more than words ever could. It was a promise, a reassurance, and a declaration all at once.

As we pulled apart, I realized that the fear and uncertainty that had gripped me for so long were beginning to loosen their hold. I felt more hopeful than I had in years.

---