Page 135 of Destined for the Devil
"You're okay…you're going to be okay." She nodded, but tears appeared in her eyes. Oh, dear Jesus, what the fuck happened? She was so worried.
"Are you…are you hurt?" I rasped, unable to bring my voice online.
She swallowed hard but shook her head. “No. But you are.” Her soft hand slid into mine, and she squeezed my fingers gently. “But you will be okay; you just need some time to recover, that's all,” she murmured quietly.
I dared to look down at my body. Something was wrapped around my stomach…or maybe my chest. Panic flared inside me, but Isla pressed a kiss to my knuckles, her tears tracing down to her lips.
She was a pure angel—ethereal. Maybe I really was in heaven, and she was my guardian angel here.
Something shuffled by the door, and I turned my one good eye to seeSergei silently leaving. Isla stood by my side, crying, but trying to smile through it. All I could do was look at her. Admire her. I’d missed her so fucking much.
Isla had a large scab on the left side of her forehead, right where her hairline started. Why was my baby hurt?
She leaned down and kissed my cheek, then inhaled shakily before placing the softest kiss on my lips. She was trembling, afraid to hurt me, but her love filled every inch of air between us.
"I love you so much, Roman,” she whispered, her voice breaking but sure. She said it again, and something inside me came alive, like new energy poured into me. I inhaled deeply, as if this was my first breath in decades.
Slowly and quietly, Isla explained everything. It turned out John laced the whole place in explosives. Right after the bullet pierced his skull, the entire first floor blasted, and I flew back into a wall, still handcuffed.
I had a large piece of shrapnel lodged in my abdomen, and a piece of it caught me near my eye, which explained why it was closed shut. Whether I’d see out of it again was unknown; we had to wait until it healed.
Isla sank into a chair beside my bed, never letting my hand go. “Three of the guys who came to get you out…didn’t make it.” She brushed my knuckles with the soft pads of her fingers, looking only at me. “If it wasn’t for the bulletproof vest Sergei gave me, it could have been a different story, but I only have a deep cut here.” She pointed to the side of her head, showing me a longer scab than I’d initially seen.
"How did you guys even get out of there?" My throat burned as I tried to clear it.
"Sergei and I pulled you out. It's good he has army experience because it looked like a war zone." Her shaky laugh turned into bitter tears within seconds. She brushed them off her sweet cheeks and sighed deeply.
"You're very heavy, you know that?" She chuckled. "We dragged youout and somehow brought you here. We don't speak Italian, obviously, and the doctors knew only a few words in English, but they figured out that you needed immediate help. It’s been like four days. Oh, and you have a concussion. That’s why you feel like shit."
I nodded slowly, overjoyed that she was beside me again. Everything hurt, my head, my body…but the only thing that mattered was her.
"Why did you come back, Isla?” My voice was a ragged whisper, and it took so much effort to speak. “I gave Sergei very strict instruction—" but she cut me off instantly, her tone fierce and unwavering.
"Because Roman!” Her eyes lit up, and she straightened out in the chair. “You were crazy to think that I would just obediently leave! You're not the only one with that last name.” She adjusted the blanket around me. “I'm going to have that name too. I love you.” She busied herself with tucking me in. “I would never let you go. You had to know that!"
Fuck. Me. For all the horror that left its imprint in my psyche, for all the awful things that had happened in my life, Isla became the light that overpowered everything. She lit up every corner of my dark world. She filled up every space with joy, hope, and positivity.
I spent weeks in the hospital. Thankfully, my eye was intact, but everything looked foggy; I couldn't see a lot out of it. I looked just like always, but the quality of vision had been significantly altered. I’d need to get glasses.
The right side of my stomach was adorned with a long, stitched-up scar, slowly healing. The concussion needed rest, quiet, and patience, and I followed the rules—nursing myself back to health. Well…enjoying how Isla nursed me back to health.
Miraculously, I was in one piece, and that’s all that mattered because it meant I could continue living in Isla’s embrace.
After a month in Italy, we finally headed back home. Isla missed six weeks of school and was furiously emailing professors and Columbia’sadministration, hoping to postpone her graduation. My guilt was heavy. She’d worked so hard, and because of me, her path kept getting derailed.
A few days after we arrived in L.A., Isla came with me to pick out glasses. The moment I tried on the first pair, her face lit up. She couldn’t decide which frames she liked best, asking me to try on every single pair in the store.
"I don't know, Roman, just get all of them,” she said, beaming. “You should be a fucking model for all these companies; it all looks great on you." She lifted up on her tippy toes to plant a soft kiss on my lips, her light mood infectious.
We spent every second together. Quiet. Unrushed. Isla stayed with me in L.A., and we simply lived together. No chaos. No noise. It's like both of us were shell-shocked from what happened.
I’d seen the marks on her back when we were in Italy, but she quickly hid them from me, and although shocked, I didn’t push for information. But at home, she finally told me what John had done. And then, for the first time, she turned deliberately, in full light, letting my gaze roam over the thin scars on her back.
I held her in my arms, allowing my tears to flow freely with hers. The scars didn’t take away from her beauty—nothing could—but I knew the real wounds were in her heart and mind.
Each morning, I’d kiss every inch of her scars while she cried into the pillow. And every day, she cried less and less until one day…she didn't shed a tear.
"When are you going to become my wife? Let's set a date," I whispered in her ear, our bodies tangled beneath the sheets.
