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Even though the blue-eyed biker with the man-bun is objectively very good-looking, I was repulsed by his griminess. Without their leader’s attractiveness, the other two bikers looked even rougher. The way they salivated over me, pointedly staring at my breasts and bum, sent a shot of terror to my brain. It was that implicit threat that they could take me and use my body however they wanted that has left me shaking like a leaf.

Years of therapy have done wonders for my ability to ride the waves of inevitable triggers. Where my parents shipped off a traumatised and broken girl without a thought of how to remedy her pain, my grandmother at least had the presence of mind to send me to a psychologist once a week.

Undoubtedly I’m still a hot mess. Therapy doesn’t fix anyone. It doesn’t take away what happened. If it’s successful it simply teaches us how to live with our traumas and push on with what we have left.

I’m sure the Marinos and my family have their opinions about why I jump in the pool in my clothes so often. My parents probably put it down to attention-seeking behaviour. Massi doesn’t question it. Maybe Giovanna and Matty think I’m crazy. Elio would need to care about me to form a proper opinion.

The truth is that one of the coping mechanisms I learned for managing distress is to use acute changes in my five senses to jolt myself out of a spiral. By focusing on the physical, the emotional and the mental can get a break. The shock of jumping into a cold pool seems to have become my go-to tactic since returning to Australia.

“You’re shaking. Are you okay?” There is concern in Massi’s voice and he hurries over to where I sit. He wraps his arms around my hunched-over form and drags me closer to him. “Francesca, has something happened? Oh my god…was it David?”

I quickly shake my head at that and an involuntary shudder follows. Lifting my head, I expose my neck so he can see the red fingerprints and the bruises that are already forming.

“What the fuck! Who did this?”

Clearing my throat sends searing pain down my oesophagus and it is becoming increasingly hard to swallow. “Bikers…came to the…g-gym,” I rasp. I can barely speak.

Immediately, Massimo pulls his phone out.

“G. Where are you?” He barks into the phone after a few moments.

“Come down to the pool. Bikers went to Francesca's work.”

“She’s shaken and they’ve…they’ve strangled her or something.”

She must have hung up on him because he puts the phone back into his pocket. He holds me tight, rocking back and forwards and barely a minute has passed before we hear Giovanna hurtling down the stairs, across the living area, and out the backdoor.

I look up from where I have tucked my head into my knees again and see Giovanna striding around the pool toward us. She’s in her usual tight, tailored suit pants with a crisp white dress shirt tucked in. Her face is a picture of terror and fury and, even in my quivering state, my heart skips a beat.

She drops down to her knees in front of where I’m perched on the daybed and gently tucks a damp lock of hair behind my ear before gently guiding me with her fingers under my chin to lift my head so she can see the damage.

She hisses when she sees my neck and her eyes lock on mine. “Who did this to you, darling?”

I swallow and try to clear my throat again and Massimo quietly informs her, “She’s struggling to speak.”

“Three. B-b-bikies,” I manage to get out and I see Giovanna make eye contact with Massi. “One was c-c-called B-b-billy.”

“Jesus Christ,” Giovanna murmurs. She’s still crouching in front of me. She’s so close I can see the emotion in her dark eyes, even as she maintains a staunch expression. “Francesca?” she asks me softly, her hands cupping my face. “Apart from…what they did to your neck…did they hurt you anywhere else? Do anything else?”

I shake my head and relief washes over her. “And did they tell you what they want?”

“T-t-told me not to marry…Elio.”

She turns to Massimo. “Have you called Elio?”

He looks sheepish as if he has realised that he should have. “Not yet.” He gets his phone back out and hands it to Giovanna.

“It’s me, Elio.”

“Get home now. Bikies visited Francesca at work.”

“She’s… mostly fine, but you need to get here.”

“See you soon.”

She hands the phone back to Massi and tells him to get hold of Matty as well.

“I-I don’t w-w-want to see Elio,” every word feels like it is scraping sandpaper up the inside of my throat.