Page 73 of Bianchi

Folding my arms, I look away from him and roll my eyes. They sting as I hold back an emotion that has no right to be there. I don’t say anything, simply because I can’t. If I try to, I know I’ll cry and I’ve done enough of that over him.

At my silence, Romeo lays me on the bed, taking a step back before he adds, “I’ll run you a bath and call the nurse to come and put the IV back in.”

It’s only when his back is to me that I inhale sharply, my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. I don’t know what drove him to rescue me or why he has a look of guilt on his face, but whatever it is, I won’t allow it to wash away the hurt and the pain he’s caused me.

We’ll never come back from this. Leaving someone you love to die isn’t something that can be redeemed, regardless of whether you eventually rescued them.

Love?

That’s laughable. Romeo Bianchi isn’t capable of love and even if he was, it isn’t an emotion he feels for me. That I can be sure of. I’m going to spend this next week regaining as much of my strength as I can before I leave.

I need a fresh start, maybe somewhere far away from New York.

Far away from him and all these painful memories.

Chapter 48

Romeo

Istride into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, my fists clenched and barely concealing the anger I feel toward myself. My eyes meet my reflection in the mirror, the haunted look on my features a stark reminder of the guilt that's been sitting like a heavy weight on my chest ever since we found out she’d been set up.

Will she ever forgive me?

I can’t blame her if the answer is no. Cristo, I wouldn’t forgive someone for what I’ve done, but I have to try. How do I make this right? Because aside from taking care of her, I don’t know how to get us back to how it was. Sure, I could force her to stay, but that will only make her resentment toward me grow.

I turn toward the bath, turning on the faucet. Water spills out and into the tub, the sound filling the room. As it runs, I search the bathroom cabinets for something soothing to put in it. I find a bottle of vanilla and honeysuckle bubble bath under the basin and pour a hefty amount in. Standing back, I watch the clusters of bubbles form and grow, my mind wandering back to the woman I love in the other room.

Will she always see me as the villain?

I know the answer to the question before it comes to me. Of course she will. Ever since the day I took her, she’s only ever seen me as the devil and at the start, I played into that notion. But when things changed between us, I can’t be sure that she was just tolerating me to have an easier life. I should have told her how I was feeling when I realized, but my nonno and my parents taught me to bury my emotions, to keep the walls up to protect myself. It served me well, but now I’m wondering if it’s fucked me over.

Shaking away the thoughts of the past and what I should or shouldn’t have done, I turn off the faucet and head back into the bedroom. Aurora’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her T-shirt.

Her sea-green eyes meet mine, flames flicking in the depths as she grinds out, “Who changed me?”

I lean against the doorframe with my thumb hooked into the waistband of my silk boxers to keep from reaching for her. “The nurse. She’s been taking care of you. I’ll call her while you bathe.”

Taking a step toward her, I stop mid-stride when she holds up her hand. “I don’t need your help. I’m capable of undressing and bathing myself.”

Shrugging a shoulder as if her refusal of my help is of no consequence to me, I walk around the bed, unplugging my phone from its spot on the bedside table and calling the nurse. Aurora stands from the bed and my eyes track her as she hobbles to the bathroom. Her presence in my room is a teasing reminder of what I’ve lost.

“Mr. Bianchi, how can I help you?” The nurse's motherly tone pulls me back into the moment, and I turn away from watching Aurora.

“Aurora needs to have her IV reinserted.”

“I’ll be right over. Shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes.”

Rubbing at my eyes, I reply, “Make it thirty.”

I cut the call, make a pit stop in the closet to throw on some clothes before crossing the room and knocking on the bathroom door. When there’s no answer, I lean in and try again, listening intently. There’s not a peep coming from the other side. No sound of water or movement. My mouth goes dry as worry settles into the pit of my stomach.

Testing the handle, I push against the door. It gives way almost instantly, and I fall into the room. Aurora is naked, standing in front of the mirror, a pained expression clouding her face. When her glassy eyes meet mine, a tightness pulls at my chest. Her entire body is covered in tiny cuts and huge bruises. I grind my teeth at the sight of her, running a jerky hand through my hair to keep from reaching for her.

She’s the first one to move, turning away from me and climbing into the bath, careful to keep her leg elevated and her dressing dry. I can’t be here right now. Not when she’s a constant reminder of my mistakes. “The nurse will be here in thirty minutes.”

With her head tipped back against the roll top tub and her eyes closed, I allow myself one last look before I turn and leave, closing the door behind me.

Marching across the bedroom, I pull open the door with more force than necessary. It bangs against the wall, no doubt leaving a mark.

---