Didn’t comment.
Just let me.
When he finally stepped back, slowly, reluctantly, his expression had changed.
“What did those Spanish bastards do to you, Elena?”
The question hung in the air.
Loaded.
I forced a small smile.
Crooked.
“What do you think they did?”
“The worst,” he said immediately.
His voice cracked slightly on the word.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I looked down at my hands.
At the faint tremor that still lived in them.
I shrugged, exhaled, and sat on the edge of the bed, facing him.
“Honestly? I’m trying to convince myself it was just a shitty mini vacation.”
Silence.
Renzo blinked.
“What?”
“I wasn’t tortured,” I said, lifting my gaze to meet his. “Not the way you’re imagining.”
That part, at least, was true.
Technically.
“They locked me in a room for four weeks. No sunlight. No fresh air. No contact with anyone except guards.” I paused,choosing my words carefully. “But the room was big enough. Bed. Couch. Bathroom.”
I exhaled slowly.
“They fed me. Three times a day. Water. I had space.”
Space to think. Space to plan. Space to survive.
“I knew Vincenzo would come,” I added quietly. “I believed it every single day.”
And that had been the only thing that kept me from breaking completely.
“And he did.”
Renzo watched me closely.
