"He left right after the doctor assured him you were okay and just needed plenty of rest," she answers, and I nod slightly.
I wish he were here, but I understand his mother is a priority. Except I'm not the only one who needed a doctor and rest, and a wave of anger tightens my chest.
Then there's the whole lie by omission about Marco.
God, Marco Agosti is my father.I feel the migraine pulsing at my temples because I can't understand how I didn't see it.
Okay, I know how I didn't see it. I had a father. I never would've thought I wasn't his legitimate daughter, though his behavior should've raised some red flags.
But I never would've imagined he was so close to me. And with this new information, I can't help wondering how involved he was in my mother's death. Could he be the murderer? The migraine strikes like lightning, and I press my hand to my forehead, trying to make the pain disperse.
"I'll get you a pill," I hear Luna say as I sink my head into the pillow.
Luna returns with the medication, and I don't know when sleep steals me away.
The next time I open my eyes, I feelhisbody next to mine, and I can't help the relieved exhale that escapes.
I hate that he kept Marco's identity secret, but when you go through so many traumatic events in such a short time, every second of peace and comfort feels like a divine gift you want to cling to with both hands.
And that's what I'm doing now.
His hand brushes a few strands from my face, and I feel his lips on the crown of my head.
"For a second in that warehouse, I thought I was going to lose you. For good," I hear Damien's voice, and I have to swallow past the lump in my throat because I felt it too.
That I'd never see daylight again. That those would be my last moments. My last moments with him.
"I'm not that easy to get rid of," I turn his own words back on him, the ones he told me when he was injured.
A sad smile crosses his face, and I want to wipe it away because I can't stand seeing him like this. Colorless. Lifeless. Without that ridiculous grin.
"Maybe I don't want to get rid of you," he says, pressing his forehead to mine.
The Roxy from a few months ago screams at me to hold onto that feeling of betrayal because he hid the truth about Marco. The Roxy from a few months ago whispers that if he hid this, what other secrets is he keeping?
But after giving that Roxy a solid slap in my mind, I murmur to the man who I know would burn the world down for me, "I know, baby."
He looks at me with tenderness, with adoration, with so much regret that I want to gather him in my arms where no one could ever hurt him again.
Because he's the head of the Polish mafia in Chicago, but in that warehouse, he was a twelve-year-old boy who had no one to kiss his wounds, who never knew what it felt like to smile, who was never loved the way he should've been.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly, and I know what he's talking about.
Marco Agosti is a subject we need to address, but I don't feel as devastated as I would've expected. For me, ironically, Dad will remain that absent man who always looked at me with pain. All I want from Marco are answers.
About my mother. About that night.
"I know, but if you ever hide something like this from me again, Damien, I'll make sure you understand just how well I know human anatomy too."
A short laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head.
"I'd let you do whatever you wanted as long as you promised to forgive me in the end."
And I believe him. I believe he'd let me, so I touch my lips to his.
For better or worse.
Chapter 53
