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Dario’s grip tightens around me, and I can feel his heart beating through his chest.
“We’re taking you home, Chiara. I promise you, we’re going home. We’re here now, and you’re safe with us.”
I can’t respond, not to Papa, or to Dario.
Tears flood my eyes, and every breath I take is ragged, my chest hitching with sobs that I can no longer control.
I want to say something—anything—but the words just don’t come.
I just want to hold onto them, to never let them go.
I'm shaking, my body trembling in their embrace.
They. Are. Here.
Papa places his hand on my back, steady and firm, grounding me. His voice, now thick with emotion, is one I’ve missed.
“We are here with you, Chiara, sì? We will keep you safe.”
Dario’s voice is softer, but equally just as warm too.
“You've been so strong.” He murmurs into my hair. “I’m so sorry it took so long, Chiara, but we’re here now. We’ll fix this.”
I nod, my face now buried in his chest, and even though the tears don’t stop, the weight in my chest lightens.
I’m holding onto them like I’m afraid they might disappear.
With every word, every whisper of comfort, they reassure me that I’m not alone—that I’ll never be alone again.
Chapter Sixteen
Chiara
An entire day has passed since I’ve been reunited with my family, and still, nothing.
Nothinghas settled.
The tension in the room has once again become thick as the men—Isaak, Alessandro, Papa, and Dario—continue to shout at each other. Though I am seated in the same room as them, their words are muffled in my mind, drowning beneath the waves of emotions I still can’t control.
I barely understand what they’re arguing about any more, and I don’t think I even care now.
It’s my fault that they’re arguing, because I was the one to bring up the twins, and Dario flipped.
Hecompletelylost it.
Though Isaak has apologised countless times for the way I was…taken, there’s also something else there, something I can’t quite place. I’m not sure if it’s guilt, or something else entirely, but I know this situation is affecting him deeply.
Alessandro stands by, acting as the mediator though he is the Don of the Italian mafia, desperately trying to keep things civil, but even his civil demeanour is starting to crack. He keeps glancing at Papa, like he knows this situation can tip over at any moment.
Dario looks like he’s about to blow for a second time.
His jaw is tight, and his fists are clenched. His body is coiled like a spring ready to snap.
His eyes never leave Isaak, the man whose sons took me, and kept me here.
I know my brother wants to do something other than just stand here, arguing meaninglessly, but he’s managing to hold it together.
Barely.