"They will. Which is why Elena stays protected. Round the clock. No exceptions." Vito looks at me. "Can you handle that? Being her protection detail while also being... whatever you two are?"
"Yes."
"You're sure? Because if you're too close to this?—"
"I'm sure." My voice is firm. "She trusts me. She needs someone she trusts right now."
Vito studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Alright. But Marco—don't lose your head again. We can't afford it."
A knock at the door interrupts us. Sofia bursts in, her face pale.
"Marco, you need to come. Now."
I'm moving before she finishes the sentence.
I can hear Elena before I reach my apartment. Gasping breaths. Broken sobs.
I burst through the bedroom door and find her on the floor, curled into a ball, hyperventilating.
"Elena." I drop to my knees in front of her. "Baby, look at me."
Her eyes are wild. Unfocused. She's having a full panic attack.
"I didn't—I woke up and I didn't know where—" She can't get the words out between gasps. "Thought I was still—thought they?—"
"You're safe. You're in my apartment. Remember? You're safe."
"Can't breathe—Marco, I can't?—"
"Yes you can. Look at me. Breathe with me." I demonstrate, exaggerating my breaths. "In through your nose. Out through your mouth."
It takes several minutes but gradually her breathing slows. The panic recedes slightly.
"That's it. You're doing great."
I reach for her shoulder—just to ground her, to let her know I'm here—but the moment my fingers make contact, she jerks away violently.
"Don't—don't touch me!" The words come out panicked. Desperate.
I pull back immediately, hands raised. "Okay. Okay, I won't touch you."
The look of fear on her face when I reached for her—that cuts deeper than anything else tonight.
She wraps her arms around herself, rocking slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just—I can't?—"
"You don't have to apologize. Ever." I keep my voice calm even though my heart is breaking. "You don't have to let anyone touch you if you're not ready."
"But what if I'm never ready?" Her voice cracks. Tears stream down her face. "Is this what it's going to be like for me from now on? Waking up terrified? Not knowing where I am? Feeling like I'm still there?"
She looks at me with such despair. "Never being able to let you touch me? Or anyone? What if I can't—what if they broke that part of me forever?"
The question guts me. Because I don't have an answer. Don't know if she'll heal from this or if the damage is permanent.
"I don't know," I admit honestly. "I can't promise you that everything will go back to the way it was. That you'll wake up one day and this will all be gone."
More tears. She's shaking.
"But I can promise you that whatever this looks like going forward—whether you can handle touch tomorrow or next month or next year or never—I'm not going anywhere." I keep my hands on my knees, forcing myself not to reach for her even though every instinct screams to hold her. "If you never want to be touched again, then we figure that out. Together."
