Page 82 of Beautifully Broken
"Car rental is this way," Daddy says, consulting his phone. "Then we can head to the villa."
"Villa?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "What villa?"
"The one we rented for two weeks," Nonno says casually. "Cliffside view, private pool, completely secluded."
"You three are insane," I say, but I'm laughing. "How much did this cost?"
"Don't worry about it," Uncle Tony says firmly. "This is our treat. All you have to do is enjoy yourself."
"I can pay my own way," I protest automatically. I work hard as a defense lawyer at the family firm, and I have the stubborn streak my mother instilled in me to never rely on a man — or three — for anything.
"We know you can, sweetheart," Daddy says gently, understanding the real issue. "But let us spoil you a little. Please?"
I'm about to respond when raised voices near the baggage claim catch my attention. A small crowd has gathered around a distraught-looking man who's speaking rapidly in what sounds like German to a police officer.
"What's going on?" I ask, my journalist instincts kicking in.
A woman standing nearby turns to us. "That poor man's daughter," she says in accented English. "She was supposed to meet him here, but she never showed up. Her phone goes straight to voicemail."
"Maybe she missed her flight?" Daddy suggests.
The woman shakes her head. "No, she landed. They found her luggage, but she's gone. Just … disappeared."
My blood runs cold. The sounds of the airport fade into background noise as that familiar, frightening feeling washes over me. The walls feel like they're closing in, and I can't breathe.
"The police think she might have been taken," the woman continues, her voice seeming to come from very far away, "by someone who was watching the airport."
Taken.
The word slams into me like a physical blow, and suddenly I'm drowning in the memories I've worked so hard to keep buried. My chest tightens, and the Greek sunshine streaming through the windows feels suffocating.
"Sasha?"
Someone calls my name, but I can't respond. My chest is tight, and I can't seem to get enough air. The airport spins around me, and I'm back there again — eighteen, terrified, helpless. I hear myself making a small, choked sound.
"Sasha, look at me."
Strong hands cup my face, and I find myself staring into familiar green eyes. Nonno. He's crouched in front of me, his expression calm but concerned. When did I sit down? I'm on the floor, my back against someone's legs.
"That's it, tesoro," Nonno says softly. "Focus on me. You're safe."
"I can't—" I gasp, my hands clawing at my chest. "I can't breathe. That girl... she's gone, just like—"
"Yes, you can breathe," he says firmly. "In through your nose. Hold it. Out through your mouth. With me now."
I try to follow his instructions, but my lungs feel like they're filled with concrete. The present and past blur together in my mind; another girl, another disappearance, another family destroyed. Likely not by a crazy, obsessed ex, and likely alone, but still…
"She's having a panic attack," I hear Daddy say from somewhere above me. "We need to get her somewhere quiet."
"There's a family area near the restrooms," Uncle Tony's voice, rough with worry. "I'll clear the way."
I feel myself being lifted, strong arms supporting me as we move through the airport. The sounds and smells fade as we enter a smaller, quieter space. Someone guides me to a chair, and I realize Daddy is behind me, his arms wrapped around me from behind.
"I've got you," he murmurs against my ear. "You're safe, sweetheart. We're here."
"It's happening again," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Eight years later and I'm still falling apart because of that fucker."
The shame of it burns in my chest almost as much as the panic. These three know about Trevor, about what happened to Tessa. We've talked about it in therapy sessions, late-night conversations, quiet moments when the memories resurface. They know my history, they saved me, but somehow that makes this worse. I should be past this by now.
