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I sit beside Papa, my head resting against his arm, his warmth soothing me.
His hands are firmly around either one of mine, like he’s afraid that I’ll slip away if he lets go.
He’s whispering soft Italian words into my ear, soothing me, even as the chaos around us only escalates.
“I am so sorry, Chiara.” Papa repeats for what seems to be thehundredthtime today. I shiver, hearing the heavy emotion in his voice. “I should have protected you. This should never have happened.”
His fingers tighten around mine, and as he continues, I realise that he’s asking me for forgiveness.
I shake my head, tears rising to my eyes once again.
“This wasn’t your fault, Papa.”
I whisper brokenly.
He won’t hear a word of it.
“I promise, I will always keep you safe now, Chiara.Always.I swear it.”
Looking up at him, I nod my head, feeling my throat tighten with emotion.
Although I can’t find the right words to reassure him in the way that he’s reassuring himself, and also me, I know I don’t need to. I don’t need to say anything. Instead, I squeeze his hand, holding onto him just as tightly as he’s holding onto me.
“I know, Papa.” I whisper softly. “I know you’ll keep me safe. I’m glad that you’re here now.”
Papa murmurs more sweet words into my ear, and I find myself zoning out slowly, lost in the sound of his voice.
Their arguing fades into the background, their voices growing softer as my mind continues to drift. Though the anger in this room is overwhelming, and the tension is suffocating, it all feels like it’s miles away when I’m here like this with my Papa.
He wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer towards his body, as I rest my head against his chest. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek grounds me, and for a moment, I allow myself to be lost in him.
My father, who I thought I was lost to forever. His scent, so familiar and comforting, wraps around me, and in this moment, I alloweverythingaround me to just fade away.
I wish that I can stay like this forever, safely tucked into Papa’s arms, where nothing can touch me, and where nothing else matters. But I know I can’t. I have to face this, and I have to do it in a way that doesn’t hurt my family, and doesn’t hurt them; Nikolai and Mikhail.
As Papa continues to hold me, keeping me close, the door to the room opens slowly.
I immediately tense, my heart beginning to race in my chest.
I hold my breath.
My body tenses.
I recognise that move—that quiet shift in the air.
Standing side by side, they both take a step inside.
Nikolai.
Mikhail.
I release a heavy breath, moving to sit up straighter on their sofa.
Now alert, noticing the three other men in this room with their own father, they shift slightly.
They take in the scene in front of them, and as they look between my brother and my father, the realisation hits them both at the same time.
Their faces harden, and their bodies become tense.