Chapter 8 - The Masks We Burn
I woke up three days later to the smell of antiseptic and eucalyptus.
The bedroom on the third floor was bathed in the pale, golden light of an early autumn afternoon. My left shoulder was bound in tight, clean bandages, immobilizing my arm, but the searing agony had subsided into a dull, manageable ache.
Sitting in the wingback chair beside my bed was Marco.
He was fast asleep, his head resting against his chest, dark circles carved deep beneath his eyes. He had not shaved in days; his clothes were rumpled, and his large hand was resting on the mattress, inches from mine, his fingers curved as if waiting to catch me if I fell.
I watched him breathe for a long time.
The feared mafia don. The monster who had walked into my wedding and shattered my life. He looked completely human now—exhausted, broken, and remarkably young.
I shifted slightly, and a faint wince escaped my lips.
Marco’s eyes snapped open instantly. He sat bolt upright, his gaze scanning my face, the panic in his features melting into overwhelming relief.
""You're awake,"" he breathed, his voice hoarse. He leaned forward, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently covering my hand with his. His palm was warm, rough, and solid. ""How is the pain?""
""Manageable,"" I whispered, squeezing his fingers weakly. ""How long?""
""Seventy-two hours,"" he said. ""The bullet passed through the shoulder muscle cleanly. Missed the lung by two inches. The surgeon said you are impossibly stubborn.""
""I learned from the best,"" I said, a faint smile touching my lips. ""Where is Thomas?""
""In a federal detention cell in lower Manhattan,"" Marco replied, his thumb unconsciously stroking the back of my hand. ""We didn't need to torture him. When Luca handed the Rossi Settlement envelope to the United States Attorney’s office, along with the audio files from your father’s server, Senator Rossi abandoned his son within forty minutes to protect his own political skin. Thomas sang like a canary to secure a plea deal.""
""And Roland?""
Marco reached into his pocket and retrieved the titanium USB drive, placing it on my palm.
""With your decryption codes, we accessed the offshore accounts yesterday morning,"" Marco said quietly. ""We didn't just recover my family’s nineteen million dollars, Isabel. We seized all eighty-four million dollars your father had hidden in Switzerland, the Caymans, and Dubai.""
My breath caught. ""What happened to him?""
""He was arrested at a private villa in Nice three hours ago by the French National Police, acting on an international red notice issued by Interpol,"" Marco said. ""He has no money. No lawyers. No allies. He will spend the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary in Colorado.""
I stared at the titanium drive. The empire was gone. The lies were dead. The men who had orchestrated the murder of Marco’s family and the destruction of my life were in chains.
""You won,"" I whispered.
Marco looked down at our joined hands, his expression growing solemn.
""I thought that was what I wanted,"" he said softly, lifting his eyes to meet mine. ""For thirteen years, revenge was the only thing that kept me breathing. I thought that when Roland Vance was ruined, I would finally be free. But when I saw you lying in that cellar, covered in your own blood because of me... I realized that revenge is an empty house.""
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a raw, tender murmur that made my heart race.
""You took a bullet for me, Isabel. Why?""
I looked into his pale grey eyes, seeing no shadows of the past, only the terrifying, beautiful reality of the present.
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""Because you were the first person in my entire life who told me the truth,"" I said, tears finally spilling over my lashes, warm and cleansing. ""Even when it tore me apart.""
Marco raised his hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he wiped the tears from my cheek. Then, leaning down with an agonizing, breathless gentleness, he pressed his lips to my forehead.
