His face is a mask of gore, his eyes swollen into purple slits, his jaw hanging at a grotesque, shattered angle that no human bone should hold. He isn’t breathing. There is no hiss of air, not even a twitch on his fingers. He is gone.
Damiano killed him with his bare hands.
When I look up at Damiano, his eyes are vacant.
His chest heaves in shallow gasps, sounding like a wounded animal. His pupils are blown out, like twin voids of black that had swallowed his irises entirely.
“Damiano?” I whisper, my voice trembling so hard that the word comes out as a sob.
He blinks.
“Damiano, please,” I crawl until I can reach up and cup his face with my palms that are stained with the blood that had splattered off Julian.
“Look at me. Please... I’m here.”
He blinks, his pupils slowly contracting as they struggle to find focus. Then finally, he looks at my face, my hands, and then down at his wrecked knuckles.
“Kat?”
“I’m here,” I say, throwing my arms around his neck and pulling his head down into the crook of my shoulder.“Vuelve a mí.” Come back to me.
I hold him, shielding our eyes from the sight of the dead. He takes a few shuddering breaths before leaning into me, his heavy weight nearly taking us both down. His fingers, still slick and tacky with blood, clutched at the small of my back as he buried his face in my neck. He doesn’t move; he stays there, holding me as tight as he can.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice flat and trembling.“Perdoname...”
“It’s okay,” I say, my own tears tracking through the dirt on my face. “Just hold me.”
The room falls into a heavy silence, punctuated only by my sobs.
A sudden weight settles on my shoulders—a warm hand. Andreas steps in. He doesn’t pull me away. He stands there for a second, his hand resting briefly on my shoulder as an anchor, calming both of us.
“She’s safe, Damiano,” He says. “She’s the only thing that matters now. Leave the dead to the dirt.”
I could feel the heat of Damiano’s breath against my collarbone. He is shaking—not with fear, but from the sheer force of the adrenaline leaving his system.
Finally, Damiano pulls back just enough to look at me. His hands, raw and shaking, come up to frame my face. He ignores his own pain, his thumbs wiping my tears.
His grip tightens as his gaze searches mine.
“Don’t ever run from me like that again,” he whispers. “Do you hear me? Never again. If I lose you, there is nothing left to stop what I’ll become.”
His gaze is a mix of possessive terror and devotion.
“But, you said you wanted to kill me.” I sob.
He shakes his head, as if my words cut like a knife.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was drunk, I was lost—I didn’t mean any of it.” His voice cracks. “God, Katarina, I’m so fucking sorry. I’d take it back if I could.”
“Is it true? Am I— is my father?” I ask, tears streaming down my face.
He closes his eyes before taking my hand and kissing my palm. Then he slowly nods.
My chest heaves. Violent sobs take over, and I can barely breathe. I bury my face in my hands, unable to stop.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re the only meaning in my life, Kat,” he says to my ear, his voice a scorched rasp, burning with a desperate longing. When I look at him, he says, “I’ll kill everyone if that’s what I need to do.”
The promise in his words sends both a chill and a strange warmth through me.
