“Gabe,” I confirm. “He smelled like… cheap cologne and whiskey. Kept calling me ‘counselor’. I threw a hanger. Hit him. Slammed the door on his arm.”
Caterina makes a low sound. Luca’s hand tightens around my knee, just once, before he remembers and eases off.
Then I tell him the rest. We struggled. I went for the nightstand; he pulled me back, pinned me, hit me.
I touch my cheek; the heat there is very much alive. “I bit him. He choked me. I couldn’t get away. I was scared he was going to hurt the baby. He laughed.” The memory makes me shake. “He laughed and called me ‘Mama Bear’.”
Luca’s face goes nearly expressionless, a blank I’ve learned to recognize. The kind he uses when he’s damming off rage he can’t afford to let loose. His nostrils flare, slow. “Keep going.”
“I slammed my head into his face.” I flatten my palm to my stomach. “He loosened just enough. I slid under the bed, but he was fast. He grabbed my ankle. I twisted.” The memory of that snap ripples through me, and I swallow down a wave of nausea.
“You broke your ankle yourself?” Roberto asks.
I startle, not realizing he walked back into the room. Vito is here too, leaning against the doorjamb.
I nod numbly. “I needed him to let go. I had to get away.” The memory of the struggle to get to the other side pulls me away from the present.
“What happened then?” Luca murmurs, rubbing a thumb over my hand.
“He let go. I rolled to the other side, pulled the drawer open, and got the gun.” I lift my shoulders and drop them. “He had his out too.”
I stop.
“And then?” Luca prompts, impossibly gentle.
“Then the door crashed and… shots. I shut my eyes.” I open them to his. “I thought he killed me.”
He bends, puts his forehead to mine for a second. “You’re safe now,” he says into my skin. He lifts, breathes out once, then reaches for the towel Caterina has wrapped around ice.
“Here,” she says, handing it over, keeping her eyes on me. Her hands shake. She covers it by fussing with the med-kit zipper. “I’m going to see how long until the doctor gets here.” But she turns to the bathroom door, and a second later, the tap turns on.
Luca cups the iced towel to my cheek with exquisite care. The cold burns first, then soothes.
“Check on your sister,” he tells Vito. Then to Roberto: “Is it clear?”
“Everything’s clear. The property… and your room,” he says.
Luca nods. “Good. Bring the doctor in as soon as she gets here.”
“Understood,” Roberto says and walks out.
Alone again, he sets the ice down and cups my face with both hands, careful not to press. “You did so well, Elena,” he says, voice roughened with the weight of it.
“I was scared,” I whisper.
“Good,” he says, and when I blink, he adds, “Fear that focuses you keeps you alive.”
A shaky breath leaves me. “I thought of you,” I admit. “Of you coming back and finding—,” I can’t finish it.
He stops me with a thumb against the corner of my mouth. “No,” he says, soft iron. “Don’t say things like that.”
Luca stays crouched in front of me, the iced towel cooling one palm and his other hand braced on the cushion beside my hip like he needs something solid to keep him from coming apart.
“I promised you you’d be safe,” he says, voice low, wrecked. “And you weren’t. That’s on me.”
“Luca—”
“No.” He shakes his head once, sharply. “Listen to me. I brought this to your door. My name did. My enemies did. You were sleeping in my bed, and a man walked into our room and put his hands on you. You had to fight him, stop him from hurting our child because I wasn’t there.” His eyes flick to my cheek, my ankle, my throat, and something murderous flares and banks again. “I told you I would keep you safe. I failed.”
