- LUCIANO -
With Rory on top of , I imagine all the ways she could choose to let her anger out. There’s still the knife next to the bed. She has her hands, trailing gently down my chest and leaving flas in their wake.
The way Rory struggled against in the kitchen was only a fraction of what I know she’s capable of. And I want her to embrace it. I want her to trust enough to show the ugliest parts—the anger, the rage, the pure unfiltered fury that has lived inside of her for so long. Because I’ve seen worse. That’s a guarantee.
She watches , staring back with irises rimd with a quaking fear. Fear of , fear of herself, fear of all the things out there in the world that could hurt her. Fear of the things that already have.
She needs to fight against that fear if she’s going to face it in the future. I’ll always be here for her to run to, for her to find shelter and protection in, but Rory will be so much more able to not only defend herself if she releases these demons entirely, but to trust all the way. Maybe even enough to let herself love .
And I want all of it—all of Rory’s vulnerability. All of her trust. And her love—I want that, too.
But she’s the rare flower, so I need to tread carefully—figure out how to care for her the right way. Help her fight past the old demons so that she’s not caged in by fear anymore.
That’s when Rory will find her true strength. That’s when she’ll truly soar. And that’s when she’ll be free.
"Co on, baby girl," I say in smooth reassurance, unsure myself as to why that term of endearnt is the one that ca to .
But it does the trick. Anger blooms in the center of that fear in her eyes and ripples out, replacing it—consuming it until there is only pure fire in her eyes.
Apparently my Lorelei doesn’t like that pet na.
She grabs the knife from next to the bed and stares at it with shaking hands. Warring emotions flicker across her face, all of them fighting for dominion, and I realize that Rory isn’t here with right now. She’s stuck in a mory.
"Rory," I call gently. "You have the ability to fight back. You don’t have to be a victim anymore, dolcezza. Take back the power from the people who have hurt you."
Confusion and uncertainty feather across her beautiful face, drawing her eyebrows together, and she unsheathes the blade. The spindles of blue in her eyes grow darker—stormier.
"I don’t want to hurt you, Luci," she says, but she doesn’t look at when she says it.
She’s entranced by the edge of the blade, maybe recalling the feel of it when it sliced through her hand. It’s startling how easy it happens with the right knife. Much too easy.
I have to restrain myself from reaching to comfort her—to feel her body that’s wrapped over top of mine. The pulse of her center rests on my pelvis, and all my blood has already rushed there—seeking where we connect.
"You won’t," I tell her.
"What, are you immortal?" She chuckles, but it’s hollow. There’s only a trace of amusent licking the words.
"So people wonder that," I say with a wry smile.
It’s true. There are rumors that I can’t be killed. It’s all a joke, of course. I’m just as human as everyone else is. But people have tried and failed many tis to kill Luciano Ricca, and now the na has sohow beco a thing in and of itself—bigger than I am. Removed from the real man.
Pop loves that I’ve gotten that reputation. He’s the one who helped build it, after all.
Rory’s gaze flicks down to my scars, and all the fire and distant mories in her eyes vanish. A rush of breath leaves her, and she closes the blade, tossing it on the bed.
She lowers herself, blanketing with her body—head resting against my chest. She’s curled around , arms hooking up under mine when I embrace her.
"It would kill to hurt you," she says. "It would kill if anyone hurt you. Please tell it won’t happen."
When I don’t answer, only pressing a slow kiss into her hair, she sighs heavily.
"I won’t let it happen, Luci. If I’m dangerous for you, I’ll leave."
"What?" I sputter a laugh. "Why are you so convinced that you’re the one who is dangerous?"
"Because that was the nightmare. It was so real, and it was my fault. Everything that happened to , the dark horrible things, they took shape and grew. They got bigger. And then they..." She swallows, tightening her arms like she’s trying to keep . "They went into you, and all I could do was watch. I had to watch while my pain invaded you—but it was so much bigger. So much worse."
"I wish it was that easy," I mumble, imagining the scene she’s describing.
"What?" She looks up, bottom lip trembling—brows puckered in a frown. "What do you an?"
"I wish I could take it from you that easily," I explain, shifting strands of dark hair over her shoulder.
"I don’t," she scoffs, that anger coming back. "I wouldn’t give it to you."
"You need to get it out."
"Well then, I’ll get it out. But you’re not getting it."
She pushes herself up, and I follow—sitting up, pulling her snugly into my lap.
"You don’t have to be so kind of martyr," she says, fire pulsing again through her veins. I can feel the way her muscles tense with it. "That’s ridiculous, Luciano. Why would you encourage to hurt you? Don’t you care about yourself?"
The last word is punctuated with half a sob, and it makes my heart constrict in a way I’m not expecting. But Rory does all kinds of things to my heart that I don’t expect.
"Of course I do," I tell her softly with a crooked grin, smoothing her hair, looking back and forth between her eyes. "This is just... what I know. My own father is responsible for one of these scars."
It’s ant to be so kind of comforting explanation, and I chuckle lightly. But when Rory’s mouth drops open, I know it didn’t succeed in coming across that way.
"What?" That one word of hers is pressed through clenched teeth, and that’s when I see the true fury inside of her finally unfurl. "Your father? Why? What did he do?"
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