My heart hurts so much it feels like it’s actually breaking. I know people say that all the time, but it’s a physical ache. Leo is gone. And my husband killed him. Despite knowing how much it would hurt me. Then he told me about it. What did he expect me to do? Thank him?
I walk on auto-pilot to our bedroom. I mean, I should go sleep elsewhere, but Dante would just come find me and carry me to his bed anyway, and I’m too exhausted to fight. Will our lives always be like this? One long battle after another?
I climb into bed with images of my brother swirling in my head. I try to focus on all the good memories, before he became an entirely different person, but they are too mixed up with all of the horrible ones. He took losing our mom so hard, but then so did I, and I didn’t turn into the world’s biggest asshole. Maybe it was harder for him because he had to look after me, although from what I recall, it was me who did the looking after. I did the grocery shopping and balanced the check books. I cooked and cleaned, while he was always out hustling, trying to make easy money.
Memories assault me of the times I needed him and he was never there. The time he showed up at the hospital where I worked and called me a greedy, evil bitch in front of all my colleagues because I wouldn’t loan him some money. How he gave me away like a used toy to pay off his debts. They’re all dancing around my head when I drift off to sleep.
Hands are on me. On the back of my neck. In my hair. Holding me down. My face is pressed into the dirt floor, and I choke as I breathe it in.
They’re laughing now. “Just hurry up, fuck her again already. It’s my turn. You’ve been at her for an hour.”
“No,” I plead as I cough on the dirt stuck in my throat. “Please…”
They laugh harder as pain sears through my entire body as he takes me again.
“No!” I scream louder.
So loud.
My scream reverberates around the room as I jolt in bed, my hair and my clothes stuck to my body. “No,” I scream again because I don’t know where I am.
Then I’m wrapped in warmth, and a familiar smell comforts me. I’m blanketed in soft skin and hard muscles as he pulls me tight, pressing me against his chest.
“It’s okay, vita mia,” a soft, soothing voice whispers in my ear. Is this a dream? “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
“Where am I?” I whimper into the darkness as my mind remains clouded with sleep and monsters.
“You’re home. In our house. In our bed.”
“Dante,” I whisper as I suck in a deep breath of air that floods my lungs. I’m not choking. So that means I’m here, not there.
“Shhh, kitten. It’s just you and me. No one will hurt you,” he whispers as he lies down, pulling me with him until I’m curled up next to him and his giant arms are wrapped around me.
He strokes my hair, whispering something in Italian that makes warmth settle into my bones. But despite that, I shiver in his arms. I’m so cold.
He presses a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay,” I murmur, still foggy with sleep.
He climbs out of bed. The light from the bathroom gives the wall I’m now staring at a soft glow. A few seconds later, it disappears. Dante places something on the bed and then switches on the lamp on the nightstand before he sits beside me. “Come here, kitten,” he says softly, peeling back the duvet and taking my hand.
I allow him to pull me up into a sitting position. He brushes my damp hair back from my forehead, pulling it into a ponytail and securing it with a hair tie.
Then he reaches for the edge of my t-shirt. “Lift up your arms.”
I blink at him. I’m fully awake now, but I’m not sure it’s the right time for this.
“Your clothes are wet, Kat,” he points out, and I take in my soaked t-shirt. “You can’t get warm in wet clothes.”
“Oh,” I reply, still feeling dazed as the whisper of my nightmare dances around the edge of my consciousness. That was one of the worst ones I’ve ever had. It was so vivid. It was so real. Because it’s not just a dream, but a living, breathing memory.
I raise my arms above my head, and Dante pulls off my t-shirt. It sticks to my damp skin in resistance, but as soon as it’s over my head, he tosses it toward the laundry hamper, before he picks up whatever it was he placed on the bed a minute earlier. He opens out a huge gray towel and wraps it around me. It’s fluffy and warm, making it feel so nice that I rest my cheek against the soft cotton and smile.
Dante moves onto his knees and reaches beneath the towel without opening it. He finds the waistband of my panties and peels them down my legs before throwing them in the same direction as my t-shirt. And when he’s done, he leans down, opening my towel just a little but enough to reveal a glimpse of my swollen belly. Then he kisses the exposed skin softly before he whispers something that I don’t understand, although I do catch the word mama, and it makes me smile.
When he’s finished, he lies down, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me close, before he pulls the duvet over us. My cheek is pressed against his chest and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thumps against my ear. The shadows of my nightmare drift away, and I work an arm free from my towel and wrap it around his waist.
I am safe. Here with him, I’m always safe. When I think back on the last year of my life, one fact remains — he has protected me since the day we met. I’m mourning the family I once had, but this is my family now, right here.
Leo was my brother. The boy with the floppy blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes will always be my brother. But the man he became, the one who offered me up like a piece of meat to pay off his debts to the men who ruined my life, he was not my brother. I wouldn’t do something like that to my worst enemy, let alone someone I was supposed to love and care about.
Dante was right. He didn’t kill Leo. He killed the shadow that my brother had become. And he did it to protect me and our baby, because Leo would come back as soon as he was in some trouble again. It was the one thing I could rely on him for.
A single tear rolls down my cheek, and Dante brushes it away with the pad of his thumb.
“I’m sorry about what I said before,” I whisper.
“Don’t be, kitten. It’s the truth. I’m not a good man, but I’m okay with that.”
I don’t agree, but I’m not going to argue because I know what he means now when he says that. “I’m okay with it too,” I say instead.
“I’m glad.”
“You are a good husband. And I know you’re going to be an incredible father.”
He kisses the top of my head. “Get some sleep, kitten. No more nightmares, okay?”
“No more nightmares.”
“Ti amo.”
“I love you too.”
