Page 78 of Heartless Vows

I look down and find myself wrapped in Giorgio’s suit coat. His cologne and the warmth of his body still emanate from it, and I want nothing more than to stay wrapped up in it forever, but my brain insists I check on my baby brother—even though logic demands he isn’t here—so I wriggle and panic when something small shifts against my chest.

“Be still,mia topolina. You’re okay.”

My jaw refuses to unlock, so I can’t explain, and my brain won’t form words anyway, so I fight harder.

He growls and pulls open his coat.

Crimson trails down my arms as I gouge my flesh with my nails, but relief spears through me when I see my purse, not my newborn brother.

Tears scorch my face and sobs wrench from my chest, pulling words from the nightmares lingering in my mind.

“She’s dead, Giorgio. I heard them kill her. I heard everything. I sat in the pantry with Tristanright here—” I pound my chest and sob, “—and listened to them murder her. She told me she’d open the door when it was safe, but she never did because she wasdead. Gone forever. They killed her.”

Soothing hands stroke me from head to toe as I break away from reality, unable to process the emotions pouring through me. I cry so hard I puke and shake so badly my bones ache. As I fall to pieces, Giorgio holds and supports me, giving me a safe place to purge eight years’ worth of trauma.

When nothing but a hollow shell of memories remains, I slump against my husband’s broad chest in exhaustion, knowing he’ll protect me while I’m at my weakest.

“Just breathe for a few minutes,mia topolina. I have you. You’re safe.”

I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat. The hush of the soundproofed vehicle as it weaves through the city sinks into my awareness and becomes the first part of the world beyond Giorgio’s protective cocoon.

He presses a water bottle to my lips. I drink. Cool liquid soothes my raw throat.

“Better now?” he asks.

I shrug and meet his concerned gaze.

“Tell me more, Aurora. Who died?”

“Mia zia, Chiara. Otello’s wife. The only good thing about that man. She was the mother I had never had. I was in the kitchen warming Tristan’s bottle. He’d just come home from thehospital. So tiny. Only five days old. I hadnoidea what I was doing.Mia ziarushed in and pushed us into the pantry.”

Even as I hear myself speaking in disjointed sentences, I can’t force my brain to smooth out my story. I just need to tell it.

“I did it right that time. The bottle. Tristan didn’t fight or cry. He drank the whole thing and went to sleep without a sound. I think he knew. He still knows. He has nightmares.”

“Do you have nightmares?”

I shake my head. Blink. Nod. My lips tremble.

“Yes. My parents argue. They scream a lot. I can’t sleep. I hearmia ziainstead. The men laughed at her while she screamed. They mocked her as she died, and all I did was sit there in silence.”

Warm, calloused hands frame my face and force me to focus on Giorgio’s dark eyes.

“You did the right thing, Aurora. You protected yourself and Tristan. It’s what your aunt wanted.”

“No! I should have—”

“You were only ten years old when Tristan was born. How many men did you hear? Two? Five? Ten?”

I shake my head, not sure of the answer.

“It doesn’t matter,amore mio. One man is too many. You were a ten-year-old girl. Hiding was your only option.”

If my head weren’t so hollow, I’d cry more tears. He brushes his thumbs over my cheeks.

“You survived, Aurora. That’s all that matters.”

I nod. Maybe I believe him, maybe I don’t. I can’t tell with the fog filling my brain.

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