Raw Bloody Power

Chapter 54

54

WRITTEN IN THE STARS

Ivory

An old episode of Grey’s Anatomy plays softly when a familiar presence fills the doorway. I glance over as he ambles further into the room, formidable as always yet entirely unsure if he’s welcome, his steps cautious and reserved.

I don’t know if it’s the harrowing events of the last twenty-four hours or possible side effects of treatment—maybe both—but moisture wells in my eyes at the sight of him. I’ve never gone this long without talking to my father. A couple of days after a silly little spat? Sure. But weeks with no contact in any form?

Never.

Scooting over as best I can, my body still very much feeling like a bag of lead, I pat the empty space beside me. My dad eats up the short distance between us and takes the proffered seat, tentatively lifting my hand to his lips.

“Principessa.” Emotion swirls in his usually warm eyes and the deep baritone of his voice.

The most predominant being guilt.

A few weeks ago I might’ve felt good about that, and perhaps I still should. After all, his willingness to hand me over to Benedikt is partly to blame for why I’m lying in this hospital bed. His intentions, while naive and imprudent, weren’t malicious, though. I see that now. Benedikt was tactful and played all the right cards to win him over. I can’t blame him, not entirely.

Not after coming so close to death.

“Hi, Daddy,” I greet softly, smiling as brightly as I can manage, which isn’t much.

And he doesn’t miss it, kissing my hand a second time. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” I admit. So damn tired. “Eager to get out of here.”

“You’ve still got another day or two from what the nurses told me,” he states.

“I know. They want me to eat, but I have no appetite.”

None whatsoever. Just the thought of food makes me want to reach for the bed pan.

“Food nourishes, piccolina. Eat something for your old man, yeah?” he nudges in that fatherly way, his mannerisms and expression a replica of his mother’s.

My Nonna.

She’d be so disappointed if she was here to see all of this, to see my father and I estranged, regardless of how short the time. Then again, if she were here, I can’t see her agreeing with my dad’s decisions. She likely would’ve put an end to it or, at least, tried to long before we ever got to this point.

But she would also urge me to forgive—because there is no love without forgiveness and there’s no forgiveness without love. I can all but hear her uttering those words now, the warm embrace of her native Italian tongue washing over me.

“Daddy, I’m sorry I’ve been shutting you out,” I start, squeezing him in hopes he feels the sincerity behind it. “I was just so?—”

“Shhh, none of that.” He shakes his head adamantly, unwilling to hear anything of the sort. “I cannot begin to express how disgusted I am with myself. I haven’t slept in what feels like weeks, haven’t been eating despite your mother forcing food down my throat. I will never forgive myself for putting you in this position, Ivory, for breaking your trust in me, for putting you in grave danger. I know I fucked up beyond repair, but?—”

“You did not fuck up beyond repair,” I insist, running my thumb along the back of his hand. “Benedikt reeled you in. He knew what bait to throw, and you took it.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if…” His voice cracks slightly as he turns away from me and inhales a reinforcing breath. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if Rio hadn’t gotten to you in time.”

My brain instantly malfunctions at the mention of his name while my heart simultaneously clatters within my rib cage. I can’t form words as I hold his stare, unsure of where I would start even if I could because what does he mean if Rio hadn’t gotten to me in time?

“Do you not know how you got here?” he questions, lifting a curious brow.

I shake my head because the last thing I remember is Benedikt nailing me to the floor beneath his thrusts, muttering things I’ll never repeat for the sake of my own sanity. When I finally woke up a little while ago, really taking in my surroundings for the first time, I assumed a neighbor had heard my screams and called 9-1-1. “No… I…”

My father holds out for another minute, allowing me to back track and focus, but when my parted lips serve as nothing more than a fly trap, he tips his head by way of explanation and gently pats my hand. “He’s the reason you’re here. He’s the reason you’re alive. Hell, he’s the reason I’m here.”

“What?” My eyes round out. “How?”

“Benedikt called him,” he explains, his lip curling in disgust. “He sent Rio photos of you, of the poison. Rio raced over to your apartment with his brothers and they promptly rushed you here. Once doctors administered treatment, had you stabilized, and moved you into a room, Rio called me from your phone. Granted, he didn’t reveal himself in the moment. Just mentioned you were in the hospital and what room number I could find you in. When I arrived, he was lying over you like a shield, asleep on your lap.”

I heard what he said, I did, but in my shock, I can do nothing but search for what I’d always expected to see if my father ever found out about Rio and me—anger, disapproval, betrayal, outrage, disgust. I see none of that, though—only a sense of understanding I’m not sure is real. Maybe it’s a figment of my imagination after nearly dying.

A flash of that moment threatens to break through, but I stuff it down and focus on my dad, using his presence as an anchor. I’ll have plenty of time to relive, dissect, and obsess over everything Benedikt put me through. Everything I put myself through because I thought I was crafty enough to drag him to hell with my own bare hands.

“A nurse woke him up to check your vitals after I’d been sitting in that corner for a good twenty minutes,” my father continues. “He told me everything, Principessa. ”

“What does…everything include?” I hedge quietly.

“You and him. The past. The present.”

My initial instinct is to deny it, to lie, but at the same time, it’s like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and I’m finally able to exhale the breath I’ve been holding forever. “I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m not surprised, frankly. I always kind of knew.” He says it so breezily, as if it weren’t a part of me I’ve tucked away and hidden for almost half of my life.

“You did?”

He nods. “I wasn’t too sure when you were younger. I suspected as much, but I think I talked myself out of it. This time around, though? There was no mistaking it. I knew from the moment you wouldn’t tell me who was responsible for the missing shipment. ”

I recoil slightly, my entire face scrunching up along with it. “Was it that obvious?”

In retrospect, I guess keeping his name out of it wasn’t only to protect my family. It was to protect him, too—despite the fact I kept telling myself that wasn’t it at all.

“Call it fatherly instinct. The entire situation happening so closely after the fire had Rio’s signature all over it and your unwillingness to give me a name shed the light I needed. Not to mention, you never requested for Federico and the rest of the boys to accompany you anywhere as we had agreed upon.”

He’s right, I didn’t…

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I press on, because I can’t for the life of me understand why this wouldn’t have been a conversation, why it’s not a conversation now.

He’s taking this as if Rio were any other man and not a Guerra, a name I was told to keep far away from, to oppose and despise, since I was old enough to remember.

“Because I wanted you to tell me,” he says gently. “Logically, I knew I couldn’t keep you away from him. You’re a grown woman, free to do as you please. I figured you’d share with me when you were ready. But the more time passed in silence, the more worried I became. Given your past, both recent and distant, I was afraid, Ivory. Afraid of what could happen, of what he could do to you. So when Benedikt made his proposal, it seemed like the perfect solution—a way to get you away from Rio without demanding or enforcing it myself. Coward’s way out, I suppose.”

“I was afraid, too, Daddy. That’s why I didn’t tell you. This thing with Rio has always been…complicated.” God, has it ever. “Layered, chaotic, unconventional. But it means something to me, and I didn’t want to risk losing it again. It nearly broke me the first time.”

Silence.

I’d say it’s uncomfortable, but it’s not, both of us processing what the other has shared. He knows every last detail now because Rio beat me to the punch. Rio, who jumped on the front line like he promised and did the hard work for me, clearly swaying and wooing my father enough to the point that we can have this discussion without the violent colors of anger.

“He loves you, you know? Madly, I think.” My dad seems rather pleased to share this with me, rubbing my hand proudly.

“I know. I… I love him, too.”

A warm smile overcomes him, and although it’s not a full-on, glittering display, there’s no denying the gesture comes from a genial place. “Your great-grandfather always said this would happen. How eventually, a Belucci would fall in love with a Guerra. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I can’t explain why,” I defend, somewhat feeling like I still need to. “He’s just…”

“What your mother is for me. She’s everything,” he states, to which I nod because that’s exactly it.

“Everything and more.”

“Does he treat you right?” The question comes after another painless pause, the opening tune for Grey’s filtering in the background.

“Like a queen,” I avow, hoping like hell he feels the verity behind it.

And he must because with another sure bob of his head, he leans in and places a kiss to my forehead, then one to my cheek. “That’s all I care about.”

When he makes way to ease back, I lift my heavy arms as quickly as my brain will allow and trap him in a long overdue hug, taking comfort in his familiar scent, my eyes falling shut. “Where is he now?”

“When we parted ways, he said something about paying Benedikt’s sister a visit, and then he’d be back here after that.”

“Parted ways?” It’s me who pulls away first, brow arching as our similar gazes reconnect. “Where were you two?”

My dad smirks and tucks the frazzled strands of my hair behind my ear. “Doing what you should’ve let Rio do weeks ago.”