Chapter 4
1487 Words
SOPHIA
I stepped through the doors of the Moretti estate.
This time, I wasn't being forced inside.
I had chosen to come back.
The doors closed behind us, and I stood there for a moment, staring at the familiar foyer.
It was strange.
The first time I'd entered this house, I had been suspicious of everything.
Now, after what happened tonight, I found myself relieved to see it.
I was safe.
At least for now.
My eyes moved to Luca.
He had walked in ahead of me, but something about the way he moved made me frown.
He was trying to hide it.
The gunshot.
My eyes immediately went to his side.
The bullet had hit him while he was trying to get to me.
He had been bleeding and still refused to stop.
“Luca.”
He turned.
“What?”
“Your wound.”
His expression remained calm.
“It's fine.”
I stared at him.
“You got shot.”
“I know.”
“And you're saying you're fine?”
“I've had worse.”
I shook my head.
“You're unbelievable.”
He gave me the faintest smile.
“You've said that already.”
“And I'll keep saying it.”
I replied.
He looked like he wanted to say something, but I spoke first.
“I want my own room.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“You don't want to stay in mine?”
“I was unconscious in your room. I didn't exactly choose it.”
He chuckled.
“Fair enough.”
“I mean it, Luca.”
“So do I.”
He turned toward Maria.
“Prepare a room for her in the east wing.”
Maria nodded.
“Of course, sir.”
I hesitated.
“Thank you.”
Luca nodded.
“You're welcome.”
Maria gestured for me to follow her.
I took a few steps before looking back.
Luca was still standing in the foyer.
His hand moved briefly toward his injured side.
I frowned.
“You should get that treated.”
“I will.”
He said.
I wasn't convinced.
But I was too exhausted to argue.
“Goodnight, Luca.”
“Goodnight, Sophia.”
---
Maria showed me to my room.
It was beautiful.
Far more beautiful than anything I expected to have.
There was a large bed, a sitting area, a wardrobe, and a balcony overlooking the gardens.
I walked toward the balcony doors.
“This is mine?”
I asked.
“For as long as you're staying here.”
Maria replied.
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
“You should rest.”
“I will.”
She smiled and left.
I closed the door behind her.
For the first time since everything happened, I was completely alone.
I changed into something comfortable and climbed into bed.
I was exhausted.
My body felt heavy.
My mind, however, refused to cooperate.
I closed my eyes.
Immediately, the events of the day came rushing back.
My father's funeral.
Luca's house.
Leaving.
Returning home.
Being kidnapped.
The men.
Then Luca.
I remembered the moment he appeared.
The relief I'd felt.
Then the gunshot.
My eyes opened.
I sat up.
Luca.
I had forgotten about his wound.
“Damn it.”
I threw the covers aside.
How could I have forgotten?
He had been shot while trying to save me.
I couldn't simply go to sleep knowing that.
I slipped on my slippers and left the room.
The hallway was dark and quiet.
I walked downstairs, trying to remember where I'd seen his office.
A faint light came from beneath one of the doors.
I approached it.
I knocked.
No response.
I knocked again.
“Luca?”
Still nothing.
I slowly opened the door.
“Luca?”
He was standing beside his desk.
His back was toward me.
His shirt was off.
One hand was pressed against his stomach.
He turned when he heard me.
His expression immediately hardened.
“What are you doing here?”
I stared at him.
“You're bleeding.”
He looked down.
A small amount of blood had seeped through the makeshift dressing.
“It's nothing.”
I walked toward him.
“Stop saying that.”
He sighed.
“I'm fine.”
“You were shot tonight.”
“I know.”
“And you haven't even properly treated it?”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
I stared at him.
“You're impossible.”
His lips twitched.
“You've mentioned that.”
I ignored him.
“Sit down.”
He looked at me.
“Excuse me?”
“Sit.”
I pointed toward the chair.
“You're not treating a gunshot wound while standing.”
He stared at me for a moment.
Then, surprisingly, he obeyed.
I found the first-aid kit on his desk.
“Do you have a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
I frowned.
“You sent him away?”
“He treated me when we returned.”
I paused.
“So why are you still bleeding?”
“The wound reopened.”
I nodded.
“Then let me help.”
He looked at me.
“You don't have to.”
“I know.”
I opened the first-aid kit.
“But I'm going to.”
He didn't argue.
I carefully removed the dressing.
My stomach tightened when I saw the wound properly.
It wasn't as bad as I had feared, but it was still enough to make me uncomfortable.
“You're sure this doesn't need a hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Are you always this confident?”
“Yes.”
He replied.
I rolled my eyes.
“Of course you are.”
I soaked some gauze with antiseptic.
“This is going to hurt.”
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“Then don't complain.”
He gave me an amused look.
“You're enjoying this.”
“No.”
I replied.
“I'm enjoying being right.”
He shook his head.
I carefully cleaned around the wound.
His jaw tightened.
I noticed.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Then say so.”
“I just did.”
He replied.
I continued.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
I tried to concentrate on what I was doing.
But I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened.
“You shouldn't have come after me.”
I said quietly.
His eyes moved to mine.
“Why?”
“You were already in danger.”
“I wasn't going to leave you there.”
“But you got shot.”
“I know.”
“You could have been seriously hurt.”
His expression softened.
“I wasn't going to stand outside while they had you.”
I looked down at the wound.
Guilt settled heavily in my chest.
“If I had listened to you earlier, none of this would have happened.”
“Sophia.”
I looked up.
“This isn't your fault.”
“But—”
“No.”
His voice was firm.
“You were scared. You didn't know what to believe.”
I swallowed.
“You still came for me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at me.
“Because I told you I'd protect you.”
My fingers stilled.
He continued looking at me.
“And I meant it.”
I quickly looked away.
I didn't know what to say.
So I focused on the wound again.
I cleaned it carefully and replaced the dressing.
Then I wrapped a fresh bandage around his stomach.
“There.”
I stepped back.
“You're done.”
He looked down at the new bandage.
“Thank you.”
I nodded.
“You need to rest.”
“I will.”
“And don't remove that bandage tonight.”
“I won't.”
I packed the supplies away.
Then I looked at him.
“Luca?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
His expression changed.
“For what?”
“For coming for me.”
He held my gaze.
“You don't have to thank me.”
“I know.”
I gave him a small smile.
“But I wanted to.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he nodded.
“Goodnight, Sophia.”
“Goodnight, Luca.”
I walked out of his office.
When I reached the hallway, I stopped.
My heart was beating strangely fast.
I placed my hand against my chest.
This was ridiculous.
He was simply someone who had saved me.
Someone who had protected me.
Someone who had been shot because of me.
That was all.
At least, that's what I told myself as I walked back to my room.
And when I finally climbed into bed, sleep came much easier.
Because for the first time since my father's death, I knew I wasn't completely alone.
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