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I can see she’s struggling to keep it together and it takes a swing at my heart.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “You don’t have to be strong anymore. I’m here.”
She shakes her head and shoots a glance at Renzo and Carlo, and once a-fucking-gain, she somehow shoves all her trauma away and holds her head high, refusing to break in front of them.
Chapter 40
Gabriella
I was allowed a very quick shower before a nurse tended to my wounds.
I sit on the side of the hospital bed, and clench my jaw while I watch as Damiano talks with a doctor.
I just want to be alone with my husband.
Somehow, I manage to keep my expression neutral as I struggle to keep all my emotions from spiraling out of control.
Finally, the nurse leaves, and I slip off the bed. Even though my feet are raw and ache from running barefoot through the damn woods, I walk to the window and pull the blinds shut.
“I’ll take her home first thing tomorrow morning,” I hear Damiano tell the doctor while I gingerly move back to the bed.
I brace my right hand on the white sheets and suck in a desperate breath of air.
I hear the door shut, and I glance at Damiano to make sure we’re alone.
I suck in another breath of air, then all the trauma I’ve been forced to endure shudders through my body.
Damiano moves closer to me, and when his fingers wrap around the back of my neck, I can’t keep the sobs back any longer.
The floodgates open, and every degrading moment, the pain, the cold, the fear – it all creates a chaotic mess in my chest, forcing a broken cry over my lips.
Damiano gently pulls me into his arms, and he tries to avoid the burns on my back as he holds me to his chest.
I smell his familiar scent.
I feel the heat from his body.
And finally able to let go of being strong, I break in his arms.
“I’ve got you, amore mia,” the words rumble from him.
I bring my hand up and clutch his shirt in a fist as I struggle to breathe through the sobs.
He just holds me, giving me a safe place to cry over what was done to me.
They didn’t break you. After everything you were forced to endure, you’re stronger.
Damiano presses a kiss to my temple, then murmurs, “I’m here, my little spitfire. You’re safe.”
Once I manage to calm down, I whisper, “I was so scared I’d never see you again.”
He pulls a little back and tilts his head so he can meet my eyes. Using his thumbs to brush the tears off my cheeks, he says, “I’ll always come for you.”
Seeing the blood splatters on his face and neck, I take his hand and pull him toward the bathroom. I find a washcloth and wet it beneath the spray.
When I bring it to his neck and start to clean the blood off him, he mutters, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll shower while you’re resting.”
“Let me do this,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from crying.
