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34

ROMIRO

“W e called Callahan,” I say, my voice calm but firm, trying to cut through the tension that’s thickening the air around us. “He’s already on his way. Just let him take a look.”

Emiliano agrees, his voice a low rumble. “Callahan’s good. The best.”

I nod, turning my attention back to the girls—Mara, Valentina, and Alessia. Each of them wears the look of someone lost in a storm, their expressions a mix of shock, fear, and something deeper, darker. I feel a knot tightening in my chest as I watch them, the helplessness gnawing at me like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

Mara’s eyes are wide, darting around the room like she’s looking for a way out, her breaths coming in short, quick bursts. She’s shaking, a slight tremor running through her body, her hands clenched into tight fists. Valentina, on the other hand, is a different story altogether. She’s sitting still, too still, her back pressed against the wall, her knees pulled to her chest. Her eyes are fixed on a spot in front of her, unblinking, unseeing. It’s like she’s retreated somewhere deep inside herself, somewhere none of us can reach.

But it’s Alessia that makes my heart ache the most. She’s trying so damn hard to keep it together, but I can see the cracks, the way her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, the way her shoulders tremble, even though she’s trying to hold herself steady. I move to her side, reaching out to take her hand, feeling the coldness of her fingers against my palm.

“Hey,” I murmur, my voice low, just for her. “Callahan’s on his way. He’s going to check you over, make sure you’re alright.”

She nods, but her gaze is distant, like she’s not really seeing me. There’s a haunted look in her eyes, something that twists a knife in my gut. I squeeze her hand, trying to give her some of my strength, trying to ground her here with me. “You’re safe now,” I say, my voice firmer. “I’m right here.”

Emiliano’s voice cuts through the tension, pulling me back. “Callahan’s about fifteen minutes out,” he says, his tone clipped, professional. “He’ll do a thorough check.”

“Good,” I reply, still holding Alessia’s hand. “The sooner, the better.”

We wait in heavy silence, every second dragging out longer than the last. I keep my eyes on Alessia, watching every flicker of emotion on her face, every tremble of her lips. She’s holding it together, but barely, and I don’t know how to help her, how to make this better. The helplessness claws at me, a cold, biting ache that settles deep in my bones.

When there’s a knock on the door, I feel a wave of relief, even if it’s just a small one. Emiliano moves to answer it, letting Callahan in. He’s tall, with a slim figure, and a face carved from stone, his eyes sharp, always assessing. He nods at us, his black bag in hand, his expression unreadable.

“Callahan,” I greet, stepping back to give him space.

He nods back, his voice even. “Let’s get started. Who first?”

“Mara,” I say, nodding towards her. She looks like she’s about to bolt, her eyes wide and wild, like a cornered animal.

Callahan nods, moving over to her with a calm, measured pace. He talks softly, his tone soothing, explaining what he’s going to do, trying to put her at ease. I watch as he checks her over, his hands moving with that careful precision that comes from years of practice.

Emiliano stays close to Valentina, his hand on her shoulder, his face etched with worry. He’s always been the protector, the steady one, but I can see the fear in his eyes, the way he’s holding on to her like she might slip away at any moment. Callahan moves on to Valentina next, going through the same routine, his voice a low, calming murmur.

And then it’s Alessia’s turn. My heart beats a little faster as he kneels in front of her. “Alessia,” he says softly, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m going to check you over, alright? Just relax. I’ll be gentle.”

She nods, her eyes never leaving mine. I kneel beside her, keeping her hand in mine, squeezing it tight. “I’m right here,” I whisper again, trying to pour every ounce of reassurance into those three words.

Callahan stands beside her, his demeanor calm and collected, a stark contrast to the turmoil that’s painted over her features. She sits on the edge of the examination table, her fingers intertwined with mine, gripping tightly as if I am her only lifeline in this chaotic reality. The flickering fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow on her pale face, highlighting the bags under her eyes—a testament to the hours she’d spent in the clutches of Helen.

“Okay,” Callahan begins, his voice steady and reassuring, “we’re going to take this one step at a time.” He meets her gaze, his expression warm but focused, and she nods slightly, her breath hitching as she prepares herself for what comes next.

He moves closer, his hands steady and sure as he approaches her. I can see the determination in his eyes as he works quickly but methodically. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he starts to check her arms, running his fingers along her skin to assess for any bruises or cuts. Each gentle press is a reminder that she’s not alone, that someone is here to care for her.

“Just a few questions,” he says, maintaining a tone that is both professional and compassionate. “Have you felt any pain anywhere? Any spots that are particularly tender?” She shakes her head slowly, her voice barely above a whisper when she replies, “No, I don’t think so.”

As he continues his examination, he moves to her back, carefully lifting her shirt just enough to inspect the skin beneath. I watch her flinch slightly, the memory of her trauma flickering behind her eyes. Callahan pauses, glancing up at her with a reassuring nod. “I know this is difficult,” he says softly, “but I need to make sure you’re okay.”

She squeezes my hand tighter, grounding herself in my presence. The connection between us is palpable, her need for comfort evident in the way her body leans closer to mine. I can feel the tension in her muscles, the way she holds her breath, as if each moment is a reminder of the vulnerability she feels.

Callahan’s hands glide over her skin with the same care and thoroughness he has shown from the beginning. He checks for any signs of injury—bruises, cuts, or anything that could indicate the severity of her ordeal. His movements are practiced and precise, ensuring that he doesn’t miss a single detail.

“How about emotionally?” Callahan asks, his eyes remaining fixed on her. “How have you been feeling?” She hesitates, looking away for a moment, the weight of her experiences crashing down on her. “It’s hard,” she admits, her voice trembling. “I feel... lost.”

Callahan nods, his expression understanding. “That’s completely normal after what you’ve been through,” he reassures her. “We’ll get through this together.”

As he finishes the examination, he gently helps her sit up straight, his hands lingering on her shoulders for a moment longer. “You’re stronger than you realize,” he tells her, and I can see the flicker of hope in her eyes as she clings to my hand.

Finally, he stands, turning to Emiliano and me. “Minor injuries,” he says, his voice professional, but I hear the undercurrent of concern. “Some bruising, a few sprains. No signs of a concussion but keep a close eye on them. If there are any changes, any dizziness, nausea, memory issues, call me immediately.”

I nod, a bit of tension easing from my shoulders. “Thanks, Callahan.”

He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “It might be beneficial for them to see Katherine. She’s good with trauma, understands what it’s like in our world. She might be able to help them process this.” Katherine’s the daughter of an Underboss, and she’s the shrink for the Camorra. Unofficially, of course. Mental health is still something considered to be a taboo amongst the Camorra members, despite Eli’s effort to reform it.

Emiliano frowns, thinking it over. “You think they need that?” he asks, a hint of doubt in his voice.

Callahan nods, his face serious. “They’ve been through a lot. It’s not just the physical injuries we have to worry about. Katherine gets it. She knows how to handle this kind of thing.”

I glance at Emiliano, weighing the suggestion. I’m not thrilled about bringing in a shrink, but Callahan wouldn’t suggest it if he didn’t think it was necessary. “Alright,” I say slowly. “We’ll consider it. Thanks, Callahan.”

He nods, packing up his bag, but before he leaves, he turns back, his eyes meeting mine. “Keep an eye on them,” he repeats, his voice softer, more earnest. “And think about Katherine. It could make a difference.”

I watch him go, then turn back to Emiliano. “What do you think?”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, his features drawn and tired. “I don’t know, Rom. I just… I want them to be okay. I want this nightmare to end.”

I nod, feeling the same weight pressing down on my chest, the same frustration clawing at my insides. “Yeah,” I mutter, my voice low. “Me too.”

We stand there in the heavy, oppressive silence, the weight of what happened hanging over us like a dark cloud. I look at Alessia, still trembling, still holding onto me like I’m her lifeline. And I know, deep down, that this is just the beginning. That the storm isn’t over yet. I also know that I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her, to protect all of them.

Even if it means calling in a damn psychiatrist.

"Alright," I say, finally breaking the silence. "Let’s keep moving. We've still got a lot to do."