I froze.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I looked up, my tear-filled eyes settling on that familiar face.
“My Zahra,” he said breathlessly before gathering me into his arms, hugging me so tight. I cried into the crook of his neck, holding on to him for dear life. “I’m so sorry, amore mio. I’m so sorry it took me this long to find you; you’re safe now.”
He held me to him, and led us out. I couldn’t even look at the dead bodies around me. His men were all around, too, and the shootings were still happening. He had done this; he had killed so many people for me.
He really does love me.
His home was very far away, tucked inside a vast compound he seemed to control. People parted ways for us as we walked in.
Before I could even get cleaned up, he called for a meeting, holding me by his side as he said in Italian, “This one is mine; the same respect you show me, you are to show it to her. Protect her with your life just as you would protect me. Any harm comes to her, and I will burn anything and everything any of you care about, and I will make sure you only die when the last bit of your flesh has been burnt. Am I clear?”
They all responded with small bows of respect, and he nodded, dismissing them.
“Where are we?” I asked him.
“Our home, in Sicily,” he said.
“Our… home?”
“Yes. I have spent years building it for us to rule together. My father tried to stop it, but now even he cowers before me, and now, you share the same power, my Zahra.”
I didn’t respond but leaned more into him as he led me tohis bedroom. I let him strip off my clothes and carry me to the bath as he wordlessly washed my body, and I helped him wash his.
When we were done, he gave me one of his shirts, and I put it on before sitting in front of his dressing mirror and staring at the reflection of my thin face. My wet, waist-length hair made me look like a character out of a horror movie. So unnatural.
Manuel brought a hair dryer and started drying it, but I grabbed his hand. “No.”
“What do you want, amore mio?”
My face remained expressionless as he held my long hair in his hands. “Can you cut it?”
He frowned. “Why? It’s gorgeous,” he said.
“I don’t want it anymore, please.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Okay,” he said, fishing for a pair of scissors. Then he placed it against my hair, still at a long length.
“No… higher.”
He lifted the scissors until they reached my jaw; I raised my hand, stopping him. “There’s fine.”
He started to cut, and I closed my eyes. As he cut, I willed myself to forget every horror I’d faced until now. I shoved and shoved and shoved until I began to feel numb to the pain.
He whispered in my ear when he’d finished cutting and drying my hair. “Open your eyes.”
Slowly, my eyes fluttered open, and my reflection stared back at me. I stared for a few seconds before my hand rose to touch the tips.
And for the first time since my last ice cream and candy night, a smile curved on my lips.
“I like it,” I said with a scratchy voice. “I like it a lot.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
