Page 248 of Safe Word

‘He’s gone,’ I said. My voice caught on the truth, needing it spoken aloud to root it into the present.

Cain turned to me. Jaw clenched. Then – without a word – he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

‘My colleagues will be here soon. Matteo will get you all out of here,’ Zio said. ‘You were never here.’

‘Our blood is all over the place,’ I murmured.

‘Is it?’ he asked, too calmly.

‘Dario’s on his way. He’ll handle it,’ Gianna added, already pulling out her phone.

Dario? Our cousin Dario?

I winced – less from pain, more from the creeping truth that maybe Cain had been right: there was more to my family than I wanted to believe.

And as I watched them move in eerie sync, I realised that solving issues like this wasn’t new to them.

After all this was over, I really needed to talk to them.

Cain didn’t move from my side. His arm was a band around my waist, holding me upright, and I leaned into him as if he were the last pillar of something sacred.

Vinnie groaned, Francesca cursed as she stitched him up with what she had.

‘She needs to get to a hospital,’ she said in Italian, briefly glancing at me. ‘I’ll make some calls.’ To keep it quiet, no doubt.

I was no longer shaking.

Because the breaking was done. Wounds healed. Bones mended. And the air smelled of rust.

And freedom.

Cain’s hand found mine. It was rough and bloodstained, fingers curling possessively as if he were afraid I might fall apart.

I didn’t pull away. I didn’t flinch. Because after everything – after the chains, fire, and bone-deep terror, this was the only thing that felt real. Not safety. Not salvation. But him.

The man who had shattered my fear. Had bled for me. Is still burning for me.

The only one who ever gave me a safe word.

And I never needed to use it. Not with him.

Because with Cain D’Angelo… I didn’t want it to end.

Tomorrow would come. There’d be police, questions, scars, and silence. But tonight, just this breath and this man was enough.

And the healing could start.

EPILOGUE

Two weeks later…

The sun hadn’t yet dragged itself over the skyline. Thin light slipped through the windscreen in weak lines, casting a ghostly veil across her face – like something half-remembered from a dream.

Most of the bruises had faded, but the small split on her upper lip remained – a wound that whispered of a night best forgotten.

That one would scar.

My fist clenched on the wheel at the thought of her carrying a souvenir from him.