Daniel drives me to the hospital, his silence a blessing as I prepare myself for what lies ahead. What do you say to someone who's been through what Lucrezia has? What comfort can I possibly offer?
The hospital corridor stretches endlessly before me, the antiseptic smell making my stomach roll. I take several deep breaths, fighting back the nausea that's become my constant companion.
When I reach Lucrezia's room, I hesitate at the doorway, watching her through the glass. Enzo sits beside her bed, his large frame hunched over in a chair too small for him. He looks up, spots me, and nods once before rising to leave the room.
"She's been asking for you," he murmurs as he passes me.
I step inside, my heart breaking at what I see. Lucrezia lies in the hospital bed, looking small and fragile against the stark white sheets. Her eyes, once so full of life, are now distant and haunted. As she turns to look at me, I feel my throat constrict with emotion.
"Hey," I whisper, approaching slowly. "Is it okay if I sit?"
She nods, and I take the chair beside her bed, unsure if I should touch her, if she can bear any contact now.
"I'm sorry," I say, the words woefully inadequate. "I'm so sorry this happened to you."
Lucrezia's gaze shifts to the window, where morning light filters through half-closed blinds. "Not your fault," she says, her voice raw, barely audible.
"It is. If I hadn't involved you?—"
"No." Her eyes meet mine, a flicker of her old determination sparking through the emptiness. "Byron did this. Not you."
I reach out slowly, placing my hand on the bed near hers, not touching, just offering. After a moment, she moves her fingers until they brush against mine.
I squeeze Lucrezia's hand gently, careful not to startle her. "How are you feeling today?" It's a stupid question, but I don't know what else to say.
She looks down at our hands. "Like I'm floating outside my body. The doctors gave me something." Her voice sounds distant, detached. "They say I can go home tomorrow."
"That's good."
"Is it?" Her eyes meet mine, filled with uncertainty. "I don't know how to be me anymore."
The raw honesty in her words breaks something inside me. Lucrezia has always been authentic—vibrant, passionate, real. To see her questioning her own identity tears at my heart.
"Whatever you need, I'm here," I promise. "We all are."
She nods, tears gathering in her eyes. "Has Damiano been here?"
I hesitate. "Not since last night. I think... I think he's dealing with things his own way."
She understands immediately what I'm not saying. "The men who did this."
"Yes."
Lucrezia takes a shaky breath. "Good."
I spend another hour with Lucrezia, mostly sitting in silence, letting her know she's not alone. When Enzo returns with coffee, I take it as my cue to leave, promising to visit tomorrow.
Daniel waits for me in the lobby, his face impassive as always. The drive back to the mansion passes in silence until my phone buzzes with a text from Damiano:Home in twenty.
When I arrive, I find Damiano in the kitchen, wearing fresh clothes but looking exhausted. Dark shadows hang beneath his eyes, and though he's showered, I notice his knuckles are raw and bruised. I don't ask what he did. I already know.
"How is she?" he asks, voice rough.
"Lucrezia's coming home tomorrow. She's... she's trying."
He nods once, then pulls me against his chest. I sink into his embrace, drawing strength from his solid warmth.
"Tell me about Scarlett," he says suddenly.
