AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 21
Damiano
Slowly, the trembling eases in Gabriella’s body.
My mother’s had so many panic attacks I’ve lost count over the years. In the beginning, they were bad, to the point where she’d pass out. But not once has my mother fought me while she had an attack.
I had to restrain Gabriella before I was able to calm her down.
Even during a panic attack, she still fights.
I press another kiss to the top of her head.
A nightmare about me giving my permission for Stefano to marry her had her hiding in a fucking closet.
“What did Stefano do to you?” I ask my tone too rough from the anger skirting around the edges of my mind.
Not wanting her to misunderstand and think I’m talking about the nightmare, I add, “Before I brought you to New York.”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Anger pours into my chest, and I clench my jaw as I snap, “Tell me!”
Gabriella jerks in my hold, and when she climbs off my lap, I don’t stop her.
“He just hit me a few times.” She pauses for annoyingly long seconds before adding, “My hair used to be really long. And black. He would grab my hair and call me his black beauty, so I cut it all off and changed the color.”
My defiant little spitfire.
Wanting to know everything about her past, I ask, “And your parents?”
She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around her shins, looking fucking small next to me.
It’s impossible for me to just watch, and I reach for her, pulling her back onto my lap.
When I have her straddling me again, I take hold of her chin and lock eyes with her. “Tell me everything.”
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, then she lets out a shaky breath. She again tries to avoid the topic when she says, “There’s too much to tell. I’ll keep you up all night.”
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” I warn her.
Her features tighten, then she finally murmurs, “They hit me a lot, and I was locked in my bedroom for days at a time without food.”
My anger multiplies with every word from her, and knowing it’s not the worst she’s had to endure has my muscles tightening.
“A month before the marriage with Stefano was arranged, my father tried to kill me.”
My tone is filled with rage as I demand, “How?”
“He beat me before throwing me over the balcony,” she replies. Then she lets out a weird-sounding chuckle. “Surprisingly, I didn’t break any bones.”
Christ.
“What else?” I growl.
When she folds her arms around her middle, I take hold of her wrists and pull them open again. My fingers wrap around her slender ones, and I have to focus to keep my touch gentle.
“They hurt me every day. I don’t want to go through the whole list,” she mutters, her tone tense.
