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ROMIRO

I watch Alessia as she sits by the window, staring out at nothing. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, loose strands falling around her face, her skin pale in the dim light of the room. She looks so small, so fragile. Like if I reached out to touch her, she might shatter into a thousand pieces.

She’s barely moved for hours, barely spoken since we brought her back. I feel a knot tightening in my chest, a heavy weight pressing down on me. I hate seeing her like this, so distant, so far away from me. And I know it’s my fault. All of it.

I pace the room, my hands shoved deep into my pockets, trying to figure out what to say, what to do. But nothing feels right. Nothing feels like enough.

“Alessia,” I say softly, my voice breaking the silence. She doesn’t respond, doesn’t even turn her head. I swallow hard, stepping closer, the floorboards creaking under my weight. “Red… you need to eat something.”

She blinks slowly like she’s just coming back from someplace far away, her eyes finally shifting to mine. But they’re empty, hollow, like she’s not seeing me.

“I’m not hungry,” she whispers, her voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the sound of the rain hitting the window.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “You have to eat, cara. You’ve barely had anything all day.”

She looks away again, her gaze drifting back to the window. I feel a surge of frustration, of helplessness, bubbling up inside me. I don’t know how to reach her, don’t know how to pull her back from wherever she’s gone. I feel like I’m losing her all over again, and it’s killing me.

I move closer, kneeling down in front of her, trying to catch her eye. “Please, Alessia. Just a few bites. For me?”

Her eyes flicker, just for a moment, and I think I see something there, some small spark of recognition, of life. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same blank stare.

I let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this. And the guilt, the weight of it, it’s suffocating. I keep seeing her face in my mind, the fear, the pain, when Helen had her at gunpoint. I keep hearing the sound of her voice, the way she said my name like she was afraid she’d never get to say it again.

I failed her. I wasn’t there when she needed me. And now, she’s slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to stop it.

I stand up, running a hand through my hair, trying to think, trying to figure out what to do. I can’t lose her. Not now. Not after everything.

I walk over to the kitchen, grabbing a plate and piling it with whatever I can find. Some bread, a piece of cheese, a few slices of prosciutto. It’s not much, but it’s something. Something to keep her grounded, to keep her here with me.

I bring the plate back to her, setting it down on the small table by the window. “Here,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. “Just try a little, okay?”

She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t move. I feel a tightness in my chest, a mix of frustration and desperation. “Alessia, please,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “You need to eat.”

She turns her head slowly, her eyes meeting mine, and again, I see something there. Pain, maybe. Or sadness. Or something else, something I can’t quite name. But then it’s gone like last time, and she’s looking away.

I feel a sharp pang in my chest, a hollow ache that spreads through my body. I can’t stand this, can’t stand seeing her like this. So lost, so broken. I want to pull her into my arms, hold her close, tell her everything will be okay. But I can’t. Because I don’t know if it will be.

I sit down on the edge of the couch, watching her, waiting for some sign, some flicker of life. But she just sits there, staring out the window, her hands limp in her lap. I feel my heart breaking all over again, the guilt, the shame, clawing at my insides.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to steady myself. “I’m so sorry, Alessia,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath. “I’m so damn sorry.”

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away, hating the weakness, the helplessness I feel. I should have been there. I should have protected her. But I wasn’t. And now she’s paying the price.

I stand up, pacing the room again, my mind racing, trying to find a way to make this right. But there’s nothing. No words, no actions, nothing that can undo what’s been done. I feel like I’m drowning, like I can’t breathe, the guilt weighing me down like a lead weight.

I glance back at her, my heart aching at the sight of her, so still, so quiet. I need to do something, anything, to break through, to reach her. But I don’t know how.

I walk back over, kneeling down in front of her again, taking her hands in mine. They’re cold, so cold, and I rub them gently, trying to bring some warmth back into them. “Alessia,” I say softly, my voice trembling. “I need you to come back to me. Please.”

Her eyes flicker again, just for a moment, and I feel a surge of hope, a small spark of light in the darkness. “I’m here,” she whispers, her voice so soft I almost don’t hear it.

I nod, swallowing hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “I know,” I reply, squeezing her hands gently. “But I need you to come back all the way. I need you to eat, to talk to me, to let me help you.”

She looks away, her eyes filling with tears, and my heart breaks all over again. “I’m trying,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t know how.”

I feel a lump forming in my throat, and I nod, pulling her hands to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “It’s okay,” I say, my voice barely more than a breath. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

She nods slowly, her eyes still filled with tears, and I feel a small flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we can get through this. Maybe we can find our way back.

I sit with her, holding her hands, letting the silence stretch between us, not needing to fill it with words. Just being here, with her, is enough. For now.

The day drags on, the rain continuing to fall outside, a steady rhythm against the window. I keep trying to get her to eat, to drink, to do something, but it’s like pulling teeth. She’s so far away, so distant.

But I can’t give up. I won’t. I promised her I’d be here, that I’d take care of her, and I intend to keep that promise.

As the afternoon turns into evening, I make us some tea, bringing the cups over to where she’s sitting. “Here,” I say, holding out a cup to her. “It’s warm. It’ll help.”

She takes the cup slowly, her fingers brushing against mine, and I feel a small spark of warmth in my chest. She takes a sip, her eyes closing for a moment, and I feel a surge of relief. It’s not much, but it’s something. A step in the right direction.

We sit in silence, sipping our tea, the rain still falling outside. The room grows darker as the sun sets. I keep stealing glances at her, watching for any sign, any flicker of life. And slowly, slowly, I see it. A small smile, a soft sigh, a whisper of a laugh.

It’s not much, but it’s enough. Enough to give me hope, enough to keep me going.

I reach out, taking her hand again, squeezing it gently. “We’ll get through this,” I whisper, my voice filled with determination. “I promise.”

She nods, her eyes meeting mine, and for the first time in days, I see a spark of the woman I fell in love with. And it’s enough to keep me going, to keep fighting, to keep hoping.

We sit together in the fading light, holding onto each other, holding onto hope. And I know, somehow, we’ll find our way back. Together.

* * *

I step into the basement, looking at Helen in the corner. Her head is bowed, but she looks wild.Mariano and the boys have been interrogating her for the past couple of hours.

“Helen.” Her head snaps up when I call her name, her face twisting into a vicious snarl, but she winces. Her eye is swollen, lip bleeding, and she looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks.

“You useless bastard. I should’ve aborted you long before you were able to grow into whatever monster you are.”

Ignoring her, I ask, “Where are the other men that helped you?” She looks out of it, one of the guys must have given her something to make her more compliant, and a junkie like her would never turn down an offer of getting high.

“You killed the…” she trails off like she can’t find the words. “You killed them all,” she says, slurring her words a bit.

“Bullshit!” I spit out.

Helen shakes her head. “The Outfit didn’t agree to give me more men than the ones you killed.” The fucking Outfit. I slam the door behind me, taking the stairs two at a time. I barge into Eli’s office, and he side-eyes me. His laptop is open, and I realize he’s on a call with Nicolo.

I don’t wait for any of them to say anything, “The Outfit was behind this shit show. Helen was fed something that made her lose her senses, which made her confess.”

Eli leans back. “Why the fuck is anyone feeding that junkie drugs? I need her to stay alive. She’s not getting out of this so easily.”

* * *

Two weeks have passed, and it's like walking through a fog that doesn’t want to lift. Every day feels like a battle, though small victories have been won. Like the way she’ll smile a little brighter or laugh a little longer—it’s a step in the right direction, but it’s still a fight. She’s still distant, still guarded. And I feel like I’m always on edge, waiting for something to break.

I’m sitting on the couch, and Alessia’s curled up beside me with her head on my shoulder. She’s awake, but her eyes are closed, her breaths are slow and steady. It’s the most peaceful I’ve seen her in days, and I don’t want to disrupt that. But I know I have to bring it up. I have to at least try.

I run my fingers through her hair, the strands slipping through like water. Her hair has always been like fire to me—wild, untamed. Now, though, it’s dulled, like she’s lost some of that spark that drew me to her in the first place. But I’m not giving up. Not on her, not on us.

“Alessia,” I start softly, my voice barely louder than a whisper. She tenses slightly against me, and I curse myself for breaking the silence, but I can’t let this go any longer. “I’ve been thinking.”

She doesn’t answer, doesn’t even open her eyes, but I know she’s listening. She always listens.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “About… maybe us seeing someone. A professional, I mean. Together. To talk things out.”

Her eyelids flutter open, and she looks at me, confusion clouding her eyes. There’s hesitation there, the instinct to pull back, to retreat into that shell she’s been living in for weeks. But she doesn’t pull away. She stays. And that gives me hope.

“I don’t know if it will help,” I continue, careful to keep my tone gentle and non-threatening. “But I think it’s worth a try. For both of us. And I was thinking… maybe you could go with Valentina and Mara, too? As a group. I think it could be good for all of you.”

She frowns, shifting slightly, her head still resting on my shoulder but her body going tense. “Therapy?” she repeats, her voice flat, like she’s trying the word out on her tongue and doesn’t like the taste of it.

I nod, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. “Yeah. Therapy. With Dr. Katherine. She’s good. She knows how to handle… situations like ours.”

Alessia’s silent for a long moment, and my heart hammers in my chest, the anxiety clawing at my insides. I don’t want her to say no. I don’t want her to push me away again. But I also know I can’t force this on her. It has to be her choice.

She finally speaks, her voice soft, uncertain. “Why… why do you think we need therapy?”

I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “Because,” I say slowly, “we’ve been through a lot, Red. You and me, together. And there’s a lot we haven’t talked about, a lot we’ve buried deep down. I think… I think it’s time we start facing it. Together.”

She sits up, pulling away from me, and I feel a sharp pang of loss at the absence of her warmth. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” she admits, her voice barely more than a whisper.

I nod, trying to keep my expression calm, and understanding. “I get that,” I say. “But you don’t have to be ready all at once. We can take it slow. One step at a time. Just… think about it, okay?”

She nods slowly, her gaze distant, and I can tell she’s still processing, still trying to make sense of what I’m asking. I want to reach out, to hold her, to tell her everything will be okay. But I know she needs space, needs time to come to terms with this on her own.

I watch her, my heart aching, the silence stretching between us. “And the group therapy,” I add, trying to keep my tone light, and casual. “It’s just an idea. I know you’ve been through a lot with Mara and Valentina… I think it could help all of you to have someone to talk to. Together.”

Alessia’s eyes flicker with something—fear, maybe, or uncertainty. “I don’t know,” she says again, her voice wavering. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

I nod, leaning back against the couch, trying to hide my disappointment. “That’s okay,” I say. “You don’t have to decide right now. Just… think about it. For me?”

She nods again, her gaze still distant, and I can feel the tension between us, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. I want to break through that barrier, to pull her back to me, but I don’t know how. I don’t know what to say to make her understand.

We sit in silence for a while, the weight of the conversation pressing down on us. Finally, Alessia sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I’ll think about it,” she says quietly, and I feel a small spark of hope, a flicker of light in the darkness.

“Thank you,” I whisper, reaching out to take her hand. She hesitates for a moment before letting me, her fingers cold against mine. I squeeze her hand gently, trying to convey everything I can’t put into words. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

She nods, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment, and I see something there—a glimmer of trust, of understanding. It’s not much, but it’s enough. It’s a start.

* * *

The days pass slowly after that, each one blending into the next. Alessia is still distant, still quiet, but there are moments when she seems to come back to me, when she smiles and laughs, and I see glimpses of the woman I fell in love with. It’s enough to keep me going, to keep fighting.

But I can’t shake the feeling that we’re standing on the edge of a precipice, one wrong step away from falling into the abyss. And I know we can’t keep going like this forever. Something has to change.

One evening, after dinner, I bring it up again. “Have you thought any more about what we talked about?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual, and nonchalant.

Alessia looks up from her plate, her expression guarded. “About therapy?” she asks.

I nod, leaning back in my chair. “Yeah. About therapy. For us. For you.”

She hesitates, her gaze flickering away from mine. “I’ve thought about it,” she admits. “But… I’m still not sure.”

I nod, trying not to let my disappointment show. “That’s okay,” I say. “Take your time. I just want what’s best for you. For us.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind, the way she’s weighing her options, trying to make sense of what I’m asking. Finally, she looks up at me, her expression serious. “I’ll do it,” she says softly.

I feel a rush of relief, of gratitude, flooding through me. “You will?” I ask, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.

She nods, her gaze steady. “I will. For you. For us.”