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ALESSIA

T he sheets are tangled around my legs, and I feel the comforting weight of Romiro’s arm draped over my waist. His breath is soft and steady against my shoulder, his body warm against mine. For a moment, I just lie here, still and quiet, savoring the peace that fills the room, the rare tranquility that never seems to settle over us.

I turn my head slightly, catching sight of his face. His eyes are still closed, dark lashes resting against his cheeks. He looks so different when he’s like this, so relaxed, so unguarded. Almost like he’s a different person than the man who walked into my apartment last night, carrying all this tension in his shoulders. I can’t help but smile as I study the lines of his face, the curve of his lips, the scar that rests there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look this peaceful.

Gently, I reach out and trace my fingers along his jawline, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath my touch. His lips twitch slightly, and I know he’s awake. “Hey,” I whisper, my voice still a little husky from sleep.

He opens his eyes, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his face. “Hey,” he murmurs back, his voice deeper, a little rough around the edges. His hand moves up, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead. “You look so beautiful.”

I laugh softly, rolling my eyes. “Liar,” I tease. “I probably look like I’ve been through a war.”

His smile widens, and he pulls me closer, his arm tightening around me. “Well, maybe a little,” he admits, his tone playful. “But a beautiful warrior, nonetheless.”

I snuggle closer, burying my face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. There’s a quietness in this moment that I want to hold onto, a softness that feels fragile, like it might break if I move too quickly. I feel his chest rise and fall beneath me, steady and calm, and I let myself relax against him.

I skim my fingers over the tattoo. Romiro’s breathes coming out labored, his chest heaving. The little blue heart that’s tattooed just over his pecks, and underneath the heart is a barcode. “What do the heart represent?” I ask him, my voice a whisper.

He swallows. “The heart…the heart is a reminder of my past. What I had to go through to be here. The fight, the years I had lost hope to be out of those monster’s clutches.”

I press my lips to the tattoo, Romiro drags a ragged breath in.

“So,” I say, my voice muffled against his skin, “how was your week?”

He lets out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Chaotic, as usual,” he replies, his hand moving in slow circles over my back. “I had to deal with some… issues. Nothing too exciting, just the usual.”

I pull back slightly, looking up at him with a knowing smile. “Oh, come on, Romiro. I’m sure there’s more to it than that. You’re always dealing with ‘issues’.”

He smirks, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Okay, fine,” he concedes. “There was a bit of a situation with one of the new guys. Thought he could cut corners, skim a little off the top. I had to remind him how things work around here.”

I raise an eyebrow, my smile growing. “Remind him, huh? I’m guessing that wasn’t a friendly conversation.”

He shrugs, his grin widening. “Let’s just say he won’t be making that mistake again.”

I laugh, the sound filling the room, and he joins in, his hand moving up to cup my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “What about you?” he asks, his tone softer now. “How’s residency treating you?”

I sigh, leaning into his touch. “Long hours, a lot of caffeine, and more cases than I can count,” I reply. “But I’m getting there. One day at a time.”

He nods, his expression turning serious. “You’re doing amazing, Alessia. I’m proud of you.”

A warmth spreads through my chest at his words, and I smile, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. “Thanks,” I whisper, my fingers playing with the edge of the sheet. “It means a lot, coming from you.”

We settle into a quiet, uneasy silence, the sound of our breathing filling the space between us. Romiro’s hand tightens on my hip, his thumb tracing slow, distracted circles on my skin. I can feel the tension radiating off him, an unspoken weight pressing down between us.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask gently, watching him closely.

He hesitates, his gaze dropping, and for a moment, I think he won’t say anything at all. But then he sighs, jaw clenching as if bracing himself. “She’s back,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

I blink, confused. “Who?”

His eyes flick back to mine, dark and stormy. “Helen,” he says, the name falling from his lips like a curse. “I thought she was dead… years ago. But she’s back, Alessia. I saw her.”

Shock ripples through me. I don’t know much about his mother, only the fragments he’s let slip—enough to understand she’d caused him unimaginable pain. “Romiro…” I start, reaching out to touch his face. “I didn’t know. How… how do you feel?”

He laughs bitterly, pulling back from my hand, his gaze hardening. “How do I feel? After everything she did, after I thought I’d escaped her ghost for good… Now she’s here, like it’s nothing. Like she didn’t destroy my life.”

My heart aches for him, but a part of me is desperate to understand. “Romiro, please,” I say softly. “Help me understand. You’ve never told me what really happened with her. What did she do to you?”

His jaw clenches, and he looks away, every muscle in his body tense. “There are things about my past, Alessia, that you don’t want to know. Things I don’t want you to know.”

“But I want to help,” I whisper, my hand hovering near his arm, unsure if he’ll even accept my comfort. “Whatever she did, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

He shakes his head, his expression shutting down, a cold mask replacing the pain that had been there moments ago. “No,” he says firmly, pulling his hand from my hip. “You don’t understand. This is my burden. My history. You don’t belong in that part of my life.”

The finality in his tone makes my heart sink, but I press on, unwilling to leave things this way. “Romiro, if we’re going to be together, you can’t just shut me out every time things get hard. I want to know you—all of you. Not just the parts you’re willing to share.”

He stands up, running a hand through his hair, frustration etched in every line of his face. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Alessia. You say you want to know me, but there are parts of me that are broken beyond repair. Parts that will only hurt you if you get too close.”

“Then let me decide that,” I insist, a pleading note in my voice. “I can’t stand by and watch you go through this alone. Not if you’re going to keep shutting me out.”

He looks down at me, his eyes softening for just a moment, and I see the flicker of something raw, something vulnerable. But just as quickly, he pulls back, his expression hardening again. “I’m sorry, Alessia,” he says, voice distant. “But there are things I can’t share with you. Not now.”

A painful silence stretches between us, his words hanging heavy in the air. I swallow, feeling a hollow ache in my chest. “So… what does that mean for us?”

He hesitates, avoiding my gaze. “It means… I need time. Time to deal with this—alone.”

I nod, though my heart feels like it’s shattering. “If that’s what you need,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady. “But Romiro, I can’t keep waiting forever. One day, you’ll have to decide if you want me in your life… or if you’ll keep me at a distance.”

He doesn’t answer, and I can see the struggle in his eyes. He presses a brief, almost desperate kiss to my forehead, lingering as if he’s memorizing the feel of me. “I’m sorry, Alessia,” he whispers. “For everything.”

I watch as he turns, heading for the door, and I feel something inside me crack, a deep, aching sadness that settles in my chest like a weight. The door closes behind him with a quiet click , and I’m left alone, the silence of the room pressing in on me, thick and suffocating.

I sink back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, my chest tight with a quiet, lingering ache. I’m not sure how to handle this—how to accept being kept in the shadows, hidden like something he can’t fully claim.

I lift a hand to my lips, still tingling from his kiss, but the hollow feeling only settles deeper, rooting itself in the pit of my stomach. I want to be strong enough to believe this is temporary, that one day he’ll let me into his world completely. But right now, I just feel… adrift.

Mr. Marvin hops onto the bed, curling up beside me, his soft fur and gentle purr a small, steady comfort. I run my fingers through his coat, grounding myself in the rhythm, letting his warmth ease some of the emptiness around me.

I take a deep breath, trying to hold onto the hope that somehow, we’ll find a way through this—that he’ll let me all the way in. But as dawn breaks, casting pale light across my room, a flicker of doubt lingers, wondering if I’m just setting myself up to be let down all over again.

The morning light spills through the curtains, growing brighter, casting a soft, golden hue across the room. I feel its warmth on my skin, but it does little to chase away the chill that has settled in my bones. Mr. Marvin’s purring fills the silence, a small, rhythmic sound that usually soothes me, but today it barely makes a dent in the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind.

I wipe at the tears still clinging to my lashes and let out a shaky breath, trying to gather myself. It’s ridiculous to feel this way, to feel so raw and hollow over a conversation that, deep down, I knew was coming. I knew Romiro would push back; he’s been protecting me since we were kids, always watching my back, always stepping in when things got rough. But this time, it feels different. This time, it feels like he’s building walls around himself, between us, and I don’t know if I have the strength to climb over them.

I force myself to sit up, push the sheet away, and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The hardwood floor is cold beneath my feet, a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth of the sheets. I run a hand through my hair, my fingers tangling in the messy strands, and close my eyes, trying to find some clarity in the chaos of my mind.

What am I supposed to do now? Pretend that everything is fine, that I’m okay with hiding in the shadows, with keeping this part of my life locked away from the people I care about? How can I stand next to Romiro at family gatherings and act like nothing has changed when everything inside me feels different, feels so much more? How can he act like nothing has changed between us?

I think about his words, about the fear in his voice, the way his hand trembled just slightly when he touched my cheek. I know he’s scared, scared for me, scared of what might happen if people find out about us. I know our world is darker than that of “normal” couples, filled with threats and dangers I can barely comprehend. But I also know that I can’t live like this, can’t keep pretending that my heart isn’t tangled up in his.

I stand up, crossing the room to the window, pulling the curtain aside to look out at the city below. The streets are starting to come alive, cars moving slowly through the morning traffic, people hurrying along the sidewalks, their coats pulled tight against the chill. I watch them for a moment, feeling a strange sense of detachment, like I’m standing on the outside of my own life, watching it unfold without me.

I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes. Maybe I’m being selfish, maybe I’m asking too much. Maybe Romiro is right, and it’s better this way, safer this way. But it doesn’t feel safer. It feels like I’m trapped, like we’re trapped in a space where we can’t move forward, can’t go back, just stuck in this endless loop of hiding and pretending.

I hear my phone buzz on the nightstand, the sound breaking through my thoughts. I turn, hesitating for a moment, before walking over and picking it up. It’s a message from Valentina.

Val

Morning! How was your night? Want to grab coffee later?

I smile faintly, grateful for the distraction. Valentina has always been good at sensing when I need a friend, even when I haven’t said a word. I type back quickly, my fingers moving on autopilot.

Me

Morning. Last night was… complicated. But coffee sounds good. Usual spot?

I hit send, and almost immediately, her reply pops up.

Of course! See you in an hour?

I quickly text back.

An hour sounds great! See you then

I nod to myself, setting the phone down. An hour is good. An hour gives me time to pull myself together, put on my best mask and pretend that everything is fine. I head to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, trying to wash away the remnants of tears and sleeplessness.

I look at myself in the mirror, my eyes still puffy, my skin pale. I take a deep breath, forcing a smile, trying to summon some semblance of normalcy. But all I can see is the uncertainty in my own eyes, the questions that keep swirling in my head.

How do I make him understand that I don’t want to be protected? That I want to stand by his side, face whatever comes together? How do I make him see that keeping us a secret doesn’t make me feel safe—it makes me feel small, insignificant, like a piece of his life he’s too afraid to claim?

I grab my toothbrush, scrubbing away the bitter taste in my mouth, my movements quick and angry. I hate this feeling, this feeling of being helpless, of being stuck in a space where I have no control, no voice. I rinse my mouth, spitting out the toothpaste with more force than necessary, and stare at my reflection, my hands gripping the edge of the sink.

I think about the tattoo again, that blue heart and the barcode underneath, and my stomach twists. How long has he carried that mark, that brand of his past? How many times has he looked at it and been reminded of everything he’s lost, everything he’s endured? And how many times have I looked at it and pretended I didn’t see it, didn’t feel the weight of it pressing against my own skin? I know what his mother did to him, I’ve heard whispers, but I never wanted to believe them. Now, I want him to be honest with me, trust me.

I feel a surge of anger, not at him, but at the world that made him feel like he has to hide, like he has to protect everyone else at the cost of himself. I want to reach into that part of him, pull it out, and show him that he’s worth more than the scars he carries, more than the ghosts that haunt him.

But I don’t know how. I don’t know if I ever will.

I turn away from the mirror, wiping my hands on the towel, and head back to the bedroom. Mr. Marvin is still curled up on the bed, his eyes half-closed, watching me with a curious tilt of his head. “What are you looking at?” I murmur, scratching behind his ear. He purrs softly, his eyes closing again, and I feel a small pang of envy for his simple life , his ability to live in the moment, without worry or fear.

I pull on a pair of jeans and a sweater, glancing at the clock. Thirty minutes until I meet Valentina. I grab my bag, shoving my phone and keys inside, and head toward the door, pausing for a moment to glance back at the empty room.

The weight of this morning settles on my shoulders, a heaviness that I can’t shake. I know I have to find a way to move forward, to figure out what comes next, but right now, all I want to do is breathe, and try to find a little bit of clarity in the chaos.

I step outside, closing the door behind me, and take a deep breath of the cool morning air. The city is waking up around me, not that New York City ever sleeps. The sounds of traffic and voices fill the space, and I feel a small, tentative spark of hope. Maybe today will bring some answers. I’m not sure what’s going to happen next, but I know one thing—I’m not giving up on us. Not yet. Not ever.