Chapter 211: You Got To Me
- RORY -
Everything is a panicked, painful blur. The people dining. The hushed whispers as I pass. The jumbled words I somehow make out when I’m questioned about what I’m doing.
What happened? What’s wrong?
I’m looking for a friend, I say. I need to find him. Maybe he’s in the lobby.
Someone grabs my arm to guide me away from the guests, and I don’t have the energy to refuse. At least if I’m here, in plain sight of so many others, then whoever or whatever was after me has to stay back. It was real, it will hide in the shadows until I’m alone again. It’s just something I instinctively know—something my nightmares were warning me about.
My eyes find him—Luciano. Seeing him in reality when I was just with him in that nightmare steals my breath, and I stop walking, stop allowing myself to be led. He is smiling, speaking with an older couple. Looking poised and handsome and like the only thing in the world I’ve ever known for sure is safe.
How can that be? He is in organized crime. He’s literally a criminal of the highest order. There are probably FBI boards with his face pinned all over them, linking him to other criminals. And yet somehow he’s my safe place.
"This way, miss," the waiter says. He tugs gently, bringing me back to myself.
That’s when Luciano’s eyes flick over to mine. It’s like a bolt of lightning when they do. That’s such a cliche, but it’s true.
I feel our eyes lock and hold. I feel the emotions that run through him when he sees me. It’s like we’re tethered somehow—invisibly, in the air, through this look alone. And the thunder that remains in the wake of that lightning takes all the adrenaline out of me, leaving only my vulnerability in its place.
The next thing I know, I’m in his arms. And I don’t ever want to leave. This is both the best and worst possible thing that could happen, because it’s the first time I can’t see what’s ahead, because I’m not in control. I can’t even fathom where to go from here. All I know is that I don’t want him to let go.
Luciano is the only point of focus I can hold onto, because everything else remains a blur. The resort lobby... the people who may or may not be looking on. There’s a doctor who appears out of thin air like we’re in some kind of magical fairytale—not that fairytales ever need doctors—and before I know it, I’m in an office room with papers thrown aside, hoisted on a desk, Luci’s forehead pressed against mine while he opens my palm and presses fabric against the wound.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?"
The emotions in this situation mirror those in my nightmare so closely, only the roles of Luci and I are reversed. It has me grasping for words... for understanding. How can I even be sure that this is real?
"Lorelei." The smooth heat of his voice and his hand on my cheek, the thumb caressing my skin, reminding me that this is real and that I’m alive, brings me back—makes the pain sharper but the reality clearer. "Dolcezza, look at me."
He pulls his forehead away and tips my chin up until my eyes meet his, and a shiver rakes over me.
"It hurts," I say lamely, wetting my lips and tucking the bottom one into my mouth, biting it against the pain in my hand.
It’s just the most immediate thought that spills out—I can’t help it if it sounds pathetic. At least I didn’t throw myself headlong into a confession about how much I’ve realized I need him or of how beautiful he is.
But for some reason those two words pierce him deeply. I see him wince before he recovers.
"We’re going to fix it, I promise. Are you hurt anywhere else?"
One of his hands skates over my skinned knees—just the slightest of touches.
"This is so stupid, I’m sorry," I say angrily, caving into myself, once again unable to hold the tears back. "But I locked my door. Before. Before we left, I locked it, Luci. I know I did. I should have told you. I just convinced myself that I didn’t, but I’ve never made that mistake. Never. Not once since I was a kid. And then... I had this nightmare after you left. With you again. When I woke up, there was someone... he was in the cabina with me. In the kitchen. He was hiding, and then he was there. All I could think of was getting to you."
"Did you see who it was?" He asks, and his voice changes with this question. It turns cold and emotionless—such a contrast to the previous warmth that it spins my thoughts for a moment until I can focus again.
"No," I admit. "I didn’t. I know it sounds crazy..."
"It doesn’t, Rory," he says, cradling my cheek, the warmth of him back. "It doesn’t sound crazy. Don’t worry about that for a second. You did well. You got to me."
I did well? The suggestion makes laughter sputter up through the tears.
"I’m serious, dolcezza. You made it. I’m proud of you."
"I c-cut myself," I say, shivering and getting hung up on all the emotion fighting for control. "I c-cut m-myself, Luci..."
I don’t know what to let out. It’s all here. Fear and relief and humility and gratitude. But I don’t have to choose, because Luci pulls me into an embrace—an embrace that I now recognize—wrapping me in a protection I’ve only ever known since him.
"You are so fucking brave and beautiful, Rory. You’re a warrior. I’m so fucking proud of you, you have no idea, dolcezza. You have no idea. We’re going to take care of you."
Somehow his words soothe the erratic edges of these feelings, and I’m able to take a deep breath. And then another. And then another. I’m breathing him in. His comfort. His strength. His warmth. His acceptance. He’s offering me these parts of him until I regain my own.
He kisses the top of my head, and then I feel him pull out his phone and type furiously, but he never lets go. His arms stay around me, and I let them—grateful for the way they hide me. I’m able to be weak here... it’s okay to be. Because he’s going to face whatever the hell is out there for me. Maybe he’s the only one who can.
I’ve always hated being weak, but this... this is a relief.
