Thorns And Silk

Chapter 5 — Night Terror

Aria's POV

I hated sleeping.

People always talked about sleep like it was peaceful, comforting, safe.

For me, sleep had always been another doorway back into fear.

And that night was worse than usual.

Darkness wrapped around me while shadows twisted inside my dreams, dragging me backward into memories I spent years trying to survive.

I was sixteen again.

Cold rain soaked through my thin nightdress while thunder cracked violently above me. My fists pounded desperately against the locked estate doors.

“Please!” I cried through chattering teeth. “Please let me inside!”

Laughter echoed from the balcony overhead.

Sebastian.

He leaned lazily against the railing with a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching me shake from the storm below.

“You should learn obedience, sweetheart,” he called mockingly.

Lightning flashed.

I flinched violently.

“I’m sorry!” I screamed desperately. “I’m sorry, please—”

The door never opened.

Hours passed.

Cold.

Rain.

Fear.

Alone.

Then suddenly—

Rough hands grabbed my wrist.

Pain exploded sharply.

“You embarrass this family,” Sebastian hissed near my ear before shoving me hard against the stone steps.

My head struck concrete.

Everything blurred.

“You belong where I decide you belong.”

“No—”

“You’re worthless.”

“No—”

“You should be grateful anyone would ever want you.”

“Stop—”

“ARIA.”

I woke screaming.

My entire body jerked violently upright while panic crashed through me like drowning water.

The bedroom was dark.

My breathing came too fast.

Too painful.

Tears blurred my vision instantly while the nightmare still clung to my skin like something alive.

“Aria.”

Dante’s voice.

Close.

Real.

I gasped shakily while trying to pull air properly into my lungs.

But the panic attack had already begun.

My chest tightened painfully.

My hands shook uncontrollably.

I stumbled out of bed blindly before locking myself inside the bathroom.

The door slammed shut.

Then I collapsed beside the bathtub.

Breathe.

I needed to breathe.

But every inhale hurt.

Every memory clawed harder.

I pressed trembling hands against my ears while tears slipped helplessly down my face.

“You’re okay,” I whispered desperately to myself. “You’re okay, you’re okay—”

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

A knock sounded against the bathroom door.

Gentle.

“Aria.”

Dante again.

I squeezed my eyes shut harder.

“Open the door.”

“I’m fine,” I choked out automatically.

Silence followed.

Then quietly—

“No, you’re not.”

Something inside me cracked painfully at the calm certainty in his voice.

Not anger.

Not annoyance.

Concern.

Real concern.

I hated how badly that affected me.

Another thunderclap shook the windows.

I flinched violently, a broken sob escaping my throat before I could stop it.

The doorknob rattled softly.

“Aria.”

“I can’t breathe,” I whispered shakily.

The words terrified me.

Admitting weakness always made things worse.

But instead of frustration, Dante’s voice lowered further.

“Unlock the door.”

I hesitated.

Fear twisted sharply inside my chest.

Not fear of him hurting me.

Fear of being seen like this.

Weak.

Broken.

Pathetic.

“Please,” he said quietly.

The softness in his voice destroyed the last of my resistance.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, I unlocked the door.

Dante entered immediately.

His dark hair looked slightly messy from sleep, and the sleeves of his black shirt were rolled upward carelessly. But the moment he saw me sitting on the bathroom floor shaking apart, something dangerous flashed across his expression.

Not disgust.

Rage.

For me.

No.

For whoever had made me this way.

The realization hit me hard enough to ache.

Dante crouched carefully in front of me.

Not too close.

Not touching.

Giving me space to breathe.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

I tried.

My vision blurred too badly.

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

His voice remained impossibly steady.

Grounding.

Safe.

“Focus on my voice.”

Another painful breath tore through my chest.

Dante watched me carefully for several seconds before speaking again.

“Tell me five things you can see.”

I blinked rapidly.

“What?”

“Five things.”

“I…”

My thoughts tangled uselessly.

Panic made everything blurry.

“Aria.”

His tone sharpened slightly.

Not cruel.

Firm.

“You’re here with me. Not there. Understand?”

My throat tightened painfully.

Slowly, shakily, I looked around.

“The sink,” I whispered.

“Good.”

“The mirror.”

Dante nodded once.

“The light.”

Thunder rumbled again outside.

I flinched automatically.

Dante’s jaw tightened visibly.

“Keep going.”

“Your watch,” I whispered while staring at the silver metal around his wrist.

His gaze softened slightly.

“One more.”

My eyes landed on him fully for the first time.

“You.”

Silence filled the bathroom.

Something unreadable flickered through Dante’s expression before disappearing again.

“Good girl,” he murmured quietly.

The praise hit me strangely.

Not humiliating.

Not controlling.

Warm.

And somehow that almost made me cry harder.

My breathing remained uneven, but slowly the panic loosened enough for oxygen to reach my lungs properly again.

Dante stayed exactly where he was.

Patient.

Still.

Like he understood sudden movements might shatter me further.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered weakly.

His eyes closed briefly.

“There it is again.”

Heat crawled into my face instantly.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You had a nightmare, Aria. You don’t apologize for that.”

“I should be able to control it.”

“Trauma doesn’t work that way.”

The word hung heavily between us.

Trauma.

Nobody had ever called it that before.

Weakness.

Drama.

Oversensitivity.

Those were the words I knew.

Not trauma.

Dante leaned back slightly against the bathroom wall while studying me carefully.

“Did you have them often back there?”

I knew what he meant.

Nightmares.

Panic attacks.

Fear.

I nodded slowly.

“What happened when they heard you crying?”

My stomach twisted violently.

I looked away.

“That bad?” he asked quietly.

Sebastian used to unlock my bedroom door only to scream at me for being pathetic.

Elena used to tell me nightmares were punishment for disobedient daughters.

Sometimes they laughed.

Sometimes they ignored me.

Neither felt survivable.

“I learned to stay quiet,” I whispered finally.

Something cold settled across Dante’s face instantly.

Dangerous.

Deadly.

For a brief second, I remembered exactly who he was.

The Devil of Chicago.

A man people feared more than death itself.

And yet somehow—

Somehow—

He was sitting on the bathroom floor helping me breathe through nightmares.

Nothing about that made sense.

“You’re shaking again,” he observed softly.

I hadn’t even noticed.

Exhaustion dragged heavily through my body now that the panic attack had started fading.

My limbs felt weak.

Heavy.

Dante stood slowly.

Fear flickered instinctively through me before I could stop it.

His eyes caught the reaction immediately.

And something about that seemed to genuinely bother him.

“I’m getting water,” he said quietly.

Oh.

Embarrassment flooded me instantly.

He returned moments later with a glass in hand before crouching again in front of me.

“Drink.”

I obeyed automatically.

Cold water soothed my burning throat slightly.

Dante watched silently while I drank.

Then—

Unexpectedly—

His hand lifted slowly toward my face.

I froze.

Not because the movement looked threatening.

Because it didn’t.

His fingers paused briefly near my temple like he was giving me time to pull away.

When I didn’t—

He gently brushed damp hair away from my face.

The touch barely lasted seconds.

Soft.

Careful.

A forehead touch.

Nothing more.

But my chest tightened painfully anyway.

Because nobody had touched me gently in so long that my body almost didn’t recognize it anymore.

Dante’s thumb brushed lightly against my skin once before he pulled away completely.

“There,” he murmured quietly. “Better.”

I stared at him silently.

Confused.

Overwhelmed.

My pulse beat unevenly beneath my ribs.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Dante’s expression shifted slightly.

“What?”

“Being kind.”

The question seemed to genuinely catch him off guard.

His gaze held mine steadily for several quiet seconds before he answered.

“Because someone should.”

Emotion rose suddenly and violently inside my chest.

Dangerous emotion.

The kind that made broken people hopeful.

I looked down quickly before he could see tears threatening again.

“I don’t know how to be normal anymore,” I admitted softly.

Silence.

Then Dante spoke in a voice so calm it almost hurt.

“Then we’ll start with breathing.”

My throat closed painfully.

We.

Not you.

We.

Nobody had ever spoken about my pain like it was something they would help carry.

The realization settled somewhere deep inside me.

Careful.

Fragile.

Terrifying.

Dante stood afterward before holding his hand toward me.

I stared at it uncertainly.

“You can walk,” he said dryly. “Or sleep on the bathroom floor. Your choice.”

A tiny startled sound escaped me.

Not quite a laugh.

But close.

His eyes narrowed slightly like he noticed.

Interesting.

Slowly, hesitantly, I placed my hand in his.

Warm.

Large.

Steady.

Dante helped pull me gently to my feet without rushing me.

My knees nearly buckled from exhaustion anyway.

His hand immediately moved to my waist to steady me.

I stiffened instinctively.

Dante released me at once.

“Sorry.”

The apology startled me more than the touch itself.

“You apologized,” I whispered.

His mouth twitched slightly.

“Don’t get used to it.”

For one impossible second—

I almost smiled.

Dante's POV

She fell asleep holding onto my shirt sleeve.

I stared down at the small hand curled tightly around the fabric near my wrist while Aria slept beside me beneath the blankets.

Exhaustion had finally dragged her under after another hour of shaking and restless breathing.

I should have moved.

Gone back to the couch.

Maintained distance.

Instead, I sat against the headboard beside her while the storm continued outside.

Watching.

Thinking.

Remembering.

Her voice still echoed inside my head.

Why are you being kind?

Not trusting it.

Not understanding it.

Like kindness was something suspicious instead of normal.

Rage simmered slowly beneath my skin again.

Toward Viktor.

Toward Sebastian.

Toward every person who had looked at her fear and done nothing.

My gaze drifted downward toward her sleeping face.

Even unconscious, she looked tense.

Like her body had forgotten how to fully relax.

A faint crease remained between her brows.

Tear stains still marked her cheeks.

Too thin.

Too quiet.

Too used to pain.

Something dangerous twisted inside my chest again.

Possession.

Protectiveness.

Obsession.

I didn’t like the intensity of it.

Didn’t trust it.

But when Aria shifted slightly in her sleep and tightened her hold on my sleeve—

I stayed anyway.

And sometime before dawn finally arrived, one brutal realization settled heavily into my mind.

If anyone ever hurt her again—

I would burn the entire world for it.