Chapter 7
941 Words
Elena
The days were starting to blur.
Not in the way they had in the beginning, where fear clung to her like sweat, and every shadow looked like it might reach out and grab her.
This was different.
Quieter.
More dangerous, somehow.
She woke to the smell of coffee.
Fresh. Bitter. Real.
A tray had been left on the dresser, black coffee, warm croissants, fruit sliced into delicate pieces.
There was no note.
There never was.
She hated that she looked forward to it now.
Hated that she even noticed the details. That the strawberries were always cut the way she liked. That the coffee was never too hot. That the croissants had started coming with little jars of honey.
Like someone was listening.
Like someone cared.
She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the tray for a long time before reaching for the cup.
It burned her tongue a little, and she didn’t mind.
---
She found Damiano in the garden.
He was standing by a stone fountain that no longer ran. Overgrown ivy curled up the sides, and the roses beside it had gone wild—gorgeous and untamed, like no one dared to prune them.
He didn’t turn when she approached.
“You’re up early,” he said.
She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He glanced at her then. The bruises under her eyes must’ve given her away.
“Nightmares?”
“Something like that.”
He looked back toward the fountain. “This was hers too.”
“Your mother?”
He nodded. “She used to sit here every morning. Said the birds talked to her.”
Elena gave him a look. “Did they?”
“She swore they did.”
There was a pause.
Then she asked, “Did she know what your father was?”
Damiano’s jaw worked for a second before he spoke.
“She knew enough. She knew who she married. What it would cost.”
“And she stayed.”
He didn’t answer.
That was the answer.
Elena’s chest ached with something she couldn’t name.
“She must’ve loved you a lot.”
“She did,” he said quietly. “But love doesn’t always protect you.”
Elena studied him. The way the early light cut across his face. The faint scar near his brow she hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t look like a man who wanted power.
He looked like a boy who never got to be one.
---
They walked for a while.
Not talking. Just breathing.
She didn’t know when silence had become this comfortable. When it had stopped feeling like something to fill.
He stopped suddenly and turned to her.
“I need to take care of something in town.”
She blinked. “Okay?”
“I want you to come with me.”
Her heart stopped. “Outside?”
He nodded.
“I… I thought I wasn’t allowed to leave.”
“You’re not,” he said. “But I trust you.”
Her breath caught.
She hated the flutter that stirred in her chest.
It wasn’t hope.
It was something worse.
“You trust me not to run?”
He didn’t smile. “No. I trust you to come back.”
The words hit her like a slap and a kiss at the same time.
She didn’t say yes.
She just followed him back inside.
---
Two hours later, they were in the back of a sleek black car, winding through narrow roads that felt unfamiliar and foreign after so long inside stone walls.
Elena stared out the window, every part of her on edge.
The world hadn’t stopped. People still laughed. Walked dogs. Bought pastries.
It felt obscene.
That the world had kept going while hers had been frozen in place.
She pressed her hand to the glass like she needed to prove it was real.
Damiano watched her.
She could feel it. That quiet intensity that made her skin burn.
“Scared?” he asked.
“No.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
He didn’t tease her.
Didn’t call her weak.
Just nodded like he understood.
Because maybe he did.
---
They stopped outside a small, old church.
Stone walls. Wooden doors. Cracked steps.
Not a single guard in sight.
Elena turned to him, suspicious. “Why are we here?”
Damiano looked up at the cross above the door. “To visit someone.”
She followed him inside.
And when they reached the front pew, her breath caught.
It was a grave. Inside the chapel.
A woman’s name carved into marble.
Valeria Moretti.
His mother.
Damiano kneeled.
Elena stood still, her body tight with tension.
He didn’t cry.
Didn’t speak.
Just bowed his head.
Elena watched him, a lump rising in her throat.
She couldn’t remember the last time she saw someone grieve without noise.
Without drama.
Just quiet, unbearable love.
“I didn’t know you came here,” she whispered.
“I come every month,” he said. “Even when it hurts.”
Especially when it hurts, she thought.
He stood slowly and turned to her. “She would’ve liked you.”
Elena’s chest caved in a little.
She didn’t know what to do with those words.
Didn’t know what to do with any of this.
So she didn’t speak.
She just stood there, angry, confused, soft in places she didn’t want to be.
---
On the ride back, Damiano didn’t touch her.
Didn’t speak.
He just let her sit in silence.
And that… somehow made her feel seen.
Because love isn’t always loud.
Sometimes, it’s just letting someone fall apart in peace......
- Writer
