Chapter 77: I’m Emotionally, Physically, and Spiritually Exhausted

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I sat on the floor for several minutes, gazing at the spot where Richard had been taken away, half-expecting him to come back through the door and undo everything he’d said. But he didn’t...of course, he didn’t.

That kind of emotional growth would’ve required a level of maturity Richard Sinclair clearly left behind when he decided selling his son was a smart business move.

I looked down at the torn fabric in my hand, still stained with a faint smear of blood.

I should’ve tossed it out, but instead, I just held onto it. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because I’d spent so many years hearing that whatever I did was wrong, that even now, with blood on my hands, I instinctively wanted to help the very person who caused it.

That was probably something I should unpack with a therapist, but I had a feeling Lorenzo’s version of therapy would involve locking someone in a room with a security camera.

Nikolai still stood beside me, looking down at me in silence for a moment. His gaze swept over my face, then my shoulder, and finally to the empty doorway.

"Are you hurt, sir?"

"Only emotionally, physically, spiritually, financially, and possibly cosmetically."

His eyebrows raised a bit. I sighed. "But really, I’m mostly fine."

He didn’t smile, which I understood. He was likely still reeling from the fact that the Don had shot my father in the hand less than an hour ago. Not exactly a situation where one knows whether to offer tea or start updating their will.

"Do you need a doctor?"

"No."

"Food?"

"No."

"Water?"

"I’ve got some."

He glanced at the untouched glass by the bed. "I can see that."

I looked at it too. "Well, technically, having water and actually drinking it are two different activities."

That earned me the tiniest twitch of his expression, but it vanished almost immediately. "Do you want me to stay here with you, sir?"

I met his gaze. That question almost broke me...not because I wanted company, but because he was giving me a choice.

"No," I replied softly. "I just want to be alone."

Nikolai nodded.

"All right." He turned to leave but paused. "Sir."

I lifted my gaze.

"If you change your mind, you can call me whenever you wish."

I nodded. "Thanks."

He exited the room and eventually I did do too...I returned to Lorenzo’s...our room.

I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the space around me feel overwhelmingly large.

Eventually, I washed my father’s blood if my hands and changed into my pajamas and crawled under the blankets. I didn’t sleep; I just lay there staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying the day’s events. Richard’s hand, the gunshot, his scream and Lorenzo’s ice cold voice.

I turned onto my side, my eyes burning. I didn’t cry this time. I was just too exhausted.

At some point, the door quietly opened again. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Lorenzo stepped inside, and I could hear the door close softly behind him.

For a moment, he stood there silently, probably bracing for a fight. Knowing me, that would have been a logical expectation.

He might have thought I’d yell at him, call him a psychopath, throw something, demand answers, or maybe all four. Instead, I stayed still. 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

"Alex."

I glanced at him and he approached. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

His gaze drifted to my cheek and hardened as if the bruise had personally offended him. "You’re still bruised."

"Hmm."

He sat next to me and for several moments, he didn’t say anything, then reached out to touch the uninjured side of my face.

I let him do it, and I could tell it bothered him more than if I’d slapped his hand away.

"You’re unusually quiet."

"I don’t have anything to say."

"That’s not like you."

"Congratulations on spotting my character development."

His mouth moved slightly but didn’t quite form a smile. "You’re angry."

I looked at him. "I don’t think I’m angry anymore."

That response seemed to change his expression. He studied me more intently, probably because anger was easy.

It meant I was still in the fight. This quietness? That was something different; it was what it felt like after I’d expended all my energy fighting and had nothing left.

Lorenzo got up to take off his jacket. We fell into a comfortable silence as he removed his tie and shirt before showering and changing into something more relaxed.

Normally, I’d have made a sarcastic comment about him undressing in front of me, but tonight, I didn’t even have the energy.

When he came back to the bed, he turned off the lamp and settled next to me, wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me against his chest.

I didn’t resist. I didn’t lean into him either. I just lay there.

Lorenzo radiated warmth, his scent enveloping me...familiar and strong. Somehow, it made my body relax even as my mind stayed alert. It was strange.

His presence had become a sort of safety for me. But that didn’t mean I’d forgotten how dangerous his world was. If anything, I understood it more clearly now.

Lorenzo could guard me against my family. He could protect me from the men who had attacked the convoy.

He could likely guard against half the criminal underworld without even needing to put on his shoes.

But he could also point a gun at someone and pull the trigger without a second thought.

That contradiction was something I couldn’t shake. His protection was real, but so was his violence.

His hand slowly over my arm.

"Are you upset with me, caro?"

I stared into the darkness. "You shouldn’t have done that."

He fell silent as if he was surprised I was still on that. "You assaulted you, he hits you."

"I know."

"He put his hands around your throat."

My fingers curled against the blanket. "I

... remember."

Lorenzo’s arm tightened around me. "Should I just let that go without any consequences?"

‎I stayed quiet for a long moment, letting the truth of the statement settle into the space between us.

My father had fucking deserved the consequences.

That realization did not make the violence easier to accept or the memory of blood on the carpet any less vivid.

I shook my head. "No...no, he got whatever was going to him. But now, I’m basically dead to him now, my father’s turned his back on me. Not that it makes any difference with how our relationship was before but..."

I trailed off, not even sure what I was trying to prove.

Lorenzo held me tighter in response, shifting so that his nose brushed the scent gland at the side of my neck where his earlier marks still lingered.

He pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses there, the warmth of his mouth and the scrape of teeth sending small shivers across skin that still felt too sensitive.

His voice dropped into that low, intimate register that always managed to reach past whatever defenses I tried to keep in place.

‎

‎"Your father is lucky I did not kill him on the spot," he murmured against my throat, the words vibrating through me as he left new marks over the old ones, soft bites that deepened into longer, claiming kisses.