Chapter 237: Fight Back
- LUCIANO -
With Rory on top of me, I imagine all the ways she could choose to let her anger out. There’s still the knife next to the bed. She has her hands, trailing gently down my chest and leaving flames in their wake.
The way Rory struggled against me in the kitchen was only a fraction of what I know she’s capable of. And I want her to embrace it. I want her to trust me enough to show the ugliest parts—the anger, the rage, the pure unfiltered fury that has lived inside of her for so long. Because I’ve seen worse. That’s a guarantee.
She watches me, staring back with irises rimmed with a quaking fear. Fear of me, fear of herself, fear of all the things out there in the world that could hurt her. Fear of the things that already have.
She needs to fight against that fear if she’s going to face it in the future. I’ll always be here for her to run to, for her to find shelter and protection in, but Rory will be so much more able to not only defend herself if she releases these demons entirely, but to trust me all the way. Maybe even enough to let herself love me.
And I want all of it—all of Rory’s vulnerability. All of her trust. And her love—I want that, too.
But she’s the rare flower, so I need to tread carefully—figure out how to care for her the right way. Help her fight past the old demons so that she’s not caged in by fear anymore.
That’s when Rory will find her true strength. That’s when she’ll truly soar. And that’s when she’ll be free.
"Come on, baby girl," I say in smooth reassurance, unsure myself as to why that term of endearment is the one that came to me.
But it does the trick. Anger blooms in the center of that fear in her eyes and ripples out, replacing it—consuming it until there is only pure fire in her eyes.
Apparently my Lorelei doesn’t like that pet name.
She grabs the knife from next to the bed and stares at it with shaking hands. Warring emotions flicker across her face, all of them fighting for dominion, and I realize that Rory isn’t here with me right now. She’s stuck in a memory.
"Rory," I call gently. "You have the ability to fight back. You don’t have to be a victim anymore, dolcezza. Take back the power from the people who have hurt you."
Confusion and uncertainty feather across her beautiful face, drawing her eyebrows together, and she unsheathes the blade. The spindles of blue in her eyes grow darker—stormier.
"I don’t want to hurt you, Luci," she says, but she doesn’t look at me when she says it.
She’s entranced by the edge of the blade, maybe recalling the feel of it when it sliced through her hand. It’s startling how easy it happens with the right knife. Much too easy.
I have to restrain myself from reaching to comfort her—to feel her body that’s wrapped over top of mine. The pulse of her center rests on my pelvis, and all my blood has already rushed there—seeking where we connect.
"You won’t," I tell her.
"What, are you immortal?" She chuckles, but it’s hollow. There’s only a trace of amusement licking the words.
"Some people wonder that," I say with a wry smile.
It’s true. There are rumors that I can’t be killed. It’s all a joke, of course. I’m just as human as everyone else is. But people have tried and failed many times to kill Luciano Ricca, and now the name has somehow become a thing in and of itself—bigger than I am. Removed from the real man.
Pop loves that I’ve gotten that reputation. He’s the one who helped build it, after all.
Rory’s gaze flicks down to my scars, and all the fire and distant memories in her eyes vanish. A rush of breath leaves her, and she closes the blade, tossing it on the bed.
She lowers herself, blanketing me with her body—head resting against my chest. She’s curled around me, arms hooking up under mine when I embrace her.
"It would kill me to hurt you," she says. "It would kill me if anyone hurt you. Please tell me it won’t happen."
When I don’t answer, only pressing a slow kiss into her hair, she sighs heavily.
"I won’t let it happen, Luci. If I’m dangerous for you, I’ll leave."
"What?" I sputter a laugh. "Why are you so convinced that you’re the one who is dangerous?"
"Because that was the nightmare. It was so real, and it was my fault. Everything that happened to me, the dark horrible things, they took shape and grew. They got bigger. And then they..." She swallows, tightening her arms like she’s trying to keep me. "They went into you, and all I could do was watch. I had to watch while my pain invaded you—but it was so much bigger. So much worse."
"I wish it was that easy," I mumble, imagining the scene she’s describing.
"What?" She looks up, bottom lip trembling—brows puckered in a frown. "What do you mean?"
"I wish I could take it from you that easily," I explain, shifting strands of dark hair over her shoulder.
"I don’t," she scoffs, that anger coming back. "I wouldn’t give it to you."
"You need to get it out."
"Well then, I’ll get it out. But you’re not getting it."
She pushes herself up, and I follow—sitting up, pulling her snugly into my lap.
"You don’t have to be some kind of martyr," she says, fire pulsing again through her veins. I can feel the way her muscles tense with it. "That’s ridiculous, Luciano. Why would you encourage me to hurt you? Don’t you care about yourself?"
The last word is punctuated with half a sob, and it makes my heart constrict in a way I’m not expecting. But Rory does all kinds of things to my heart that I don’t expect.
"Of course I do," I tell her softly with a crooked grin, smoothing her hair, looking back and forth between her eyes. "This is just... what I know. My own father is responsible for one of these scars."
It’s meant to be some kind of comforting explanation, and I chuckle lightly. But when Rory’s mouth drops open, I know it didn’t succeed in coming across that way.
"What?" That one word of hers is pressed through clenched teeth, and that’s when I see the true fury inside of her finally unfurl. "Your father? Why? What did he do?"
