Page 42 of Scar

“Allegra,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion. There's a new depth in his eyes, a vulnerability that breaks through his usual stoic demeanor. The distance between us feels insurmountable, but there's an invisible thread pulling us together.

I stand up from my chair, my legs unsteady as I take a hesitant step towards him. Every part of me yearns to bridge the gap, to feel his warmth and erase the loneliness that has taken hold within me. The room falls silent except for our shallow, uneven breaths.

Finally standing close enough to touch, he reaches out with trembling hands to brush against my cheek. The touch sends shivers down my spine, and I lean into his hand while tears well up in my eyes, threatening to spill over.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers brokenly. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Opening my eyes, I look at him through my teary vision. “I know,” I say softly. “But it still hurts.”

He moves closer, his other hand reaching up to hold my face. His touch is gentle and delicate, as if he's afraid I'll vanish into thin air. I can see the anguish in his eyes, the remorse and agony mirroring my own. In this moment, all the resentment and betrayal fade away, replaced by an insatiable desire to be near him.

Before I can utter another word, his lips are on mine, a fervent and burning kiss that speaks volumes of our unspoken words. I melt into him, my arms wrapping tightly around his neck as I cling to him, unwilling to let go. The kiss intensifies, as if we're trying to make up for all the time we've lost, all the pain and confusion that have kept us apart.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathless, our foreheads pressed together. “I missed you,” he murmurs, his warm breath tickling my skin.

“Where have you been?” I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion.

He brushes off my question and pulls me into a tight embrace, holding me as if I might slip away at any moment. I bury my face in his chest, inhaling his scent and letting it ease the ache that has been gnawing at me. In his arms, I find the comfort and belonging that I've been yearning for.

We stay like this for what feels like hours, wrapped in each other's embrace and oblivious to the outside world. In this moment, nothing else matters except for the sensation ofbeing held by him and the steady rhythm of our hearts beating together. But even though it brings me solace, it will never be enough.

When we eventually untangle ourselves from each other, there's a newfound determination in his eyes that mirrors my own.

“We need to talk,” he says firmly, still cradling my face in his hands. “But first, I need to speak with your father.”

I let out a shriek of disbelief.

“Again?” I protest.

“It's for your own good, Allegra,” Lucky insists.

“I'm not going anywhere,” I declare, crossing my arms in front of me and standing my ground. I watch as Lucky turns on the television in my father's room. His tense expression only adds to the heaviness in the air. He flips through channels until he settles on one, his movements sharp and hurried.

My father lies in bed, his face pale but alert. He watches Lucky with a mix of curiosity and concern. My mother sits by his side, her hand resting on his, offering silent support.

The news anchor's voice is steady and detached as she reports on the gruesome discoveries made earlier that day. Seeing the images flash across the screen makes me feel sick to my stomach. For a moment, I check to make sure there's a trash can nearby in case I need to throw up breakfast.

“The motive behind these attacks is still under investigation,” the anchor states calmly. “Authorities fear that this could be the start of another violent conflict between rival gangs.” Her voice barely conceals the terror of the situation. “Sources suggest that this may be linked to ongoingfeuds within organized crime families. All three victims were known to law enforcement and have been identified as having connections to these families.”

As she speaks, footage of the crime scenes flashes on the screen. The first scene shows an alleyway closed off with police tape, officers meticulously gathering evidence. The camera zooms in on a pool of blood, a chilling reminder of the brutal nature of these attacks.

“In one of the incidents,”the anchor continues, “a man was found nailed to a cross in a cemetery - a clear message to rival factions. This disturbing discovery has sent shockwaves through both the community and law enforcement agencies.”

The footage switches to the graveyard, its eerie stillness interrupted by the sight of a makeshift cross. The victim's lifeless body is a chilling display of the perpetrators' ruthlessness. Detectives can be seen discussing the scene, their expressions filled with concern.

“Authorities believe that these attacks were orchestrated to intimidate and weaken rival factions within the city's criminal underworld,” the anchor reports. “The victims were all associated with a powerful mafia family that has been in conflict with the Gatti and Marone families.”

The screen then displays a police spokesperson addressing the media.

“We are taking these incidents very seriously,” he says sternly. “Our top priority is to stop any further violence and hold those responsible accountable. We urge anyone with information to come forward.”

The broadcast ends with a somber reminder of the ongoing danger.

“As the investigation continues, the city remains on high alert. Residents are advised to be cautious and report any suspicious activity to the authorities.”

I turn my head towards Scar who is standing next to me, his jaw tight and his eyes fixed on the screen. He had been gone for three days. Three days for three murders...I can't seem to shake that thought from my mind. He embodies every aspect of a ruthless mafia boss, yet there's a glimmer of something else in his gaze - an unquenchable, wild rage just waiting to be unleashed.

“This is why you need to leave,” he starts, turning to face me. “Retaliation is inevitable. This war will only get bloodier.”

---