Time is almost up
1516 Words
“You saved my life tonight, Elena. The least I can do is make sure you do not spend another night with nowhere to go.”
She took a small step back.
“You do not even know me.”
“I know enough.”
He shifted slightly on the bed, the pain clear in the tight line of his jaw, but his eyes stayed on hers.
“And I know what it looks like when someone has been thrown out into the rain with nothing.”
The room fell quiet except for the distant sound of rain dripping from the roof.
Elena’s heart beat hard against her ribs.
Before she could answer, a soft knock came at the door.
Lucia poked her head in, a tray in her hands.
“I brought food—” she started, then stopped when she saw the look on Elena’s face. “Everything okay?”
Elena forced a small smile.
“Yes. Just… talking.”
Lucia glanced between them, uncertain, but set the tray on the small table anyway.
“Eat something,” she told Elena softly. “Both of you.”
She gave one last worried look before slipping out again.
Damiano waited until the door clicked shut.
Then he said, “Thirty minutes, Elena. You can say no. But if you say yes… things will change for you. Quickly.”
He watched her, waiting.
Elena looked at the tray, at the clean bandages on his stomach, at the phone still resting on his chest.
She thought of the DeLuca house. Of the locked storage room. Of ten years of trying to be grateful for scraps.
Her fingers curled at her sides.
Then she met his eyes again.
“Tell me one thing first,” she said.
Damiano tilted his head, waiting.
“Who are you, really?”
A faint smile — smaller than before, but sharper — touched his lips once more.
He answered without hesitation.
“The man whose life you just bought.”
He let the words settle between them.
“And right now,” he added quietly, “I am deciding whether to pay you back… or keep you.”
The rain outside had almost stopped.
Elena stood perfectly still, heart racing, as the weight of what she had done tonight finally settled over her like a second skin.
Chapter 8
Elena stood perfectly still, heart racing. The weight of his words hung in the air between them like smoke.
She took a slow breath and met his eyes.
“No.”
Damiano’s faint smile didn’t fade, but one eyebrow lifted slightly.
“No?”
“No,” she repeated, firmer this time. “I’m not going with you.”
He tilted his head, studying her the way he had in the alley.
“Why?”
Elena folded her arms across her chest.
“I don’t know you enough to tell you anything about me,” she said, voice steady but quiet. “But all you have to know is this: I just walked out from hell. I’m not following a total stranger into another one.”
Damiano stared at her for a beat.
Then, unexpectedly, a low chuckle escaped him. It turned into a soft giggle that made his shoulders shake once before he winced and pressed a hand lightly over the bandages.
Elena’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re laughing?”
He tried to stop, but another small laugh slipped out.
“You really are something else,” he said, still smiling. “Most people would jump at the offer. You look at me like I just offered you poison.”
“Because I don’t know what it is,” she shot back. “And I’m done taking chances on people who hide things.”
Before he could answer, the sound of engines rumbled outside. Bright headlights swept across the orphanage windows, cutting through the drizzle like sudden daylight.
Elena turned toward the glass.
A line of sleek black cars had pulled up in front of the gate. Doors opened in perfect sync.
People who had been peering from the upper windows quickly pressed closer, whispering.
“What is happening?” Elena murmured.
An elegant woman stepped out of the lead car. Tall, dressed in a tailored black coat that looked far too expensive for this part of the city, her dark hair falling in perfect waves. Even from the window, her presence felt sharp.
Mrs. Clara rushed out the front door, shawl clutched tight around her shoulders.
“Lucia, stay with the little ones,” Clara called back. “The children are frightened—go calm them.”
Lucia was right behind her anyway, eyes wide.
Elena moved toward the door. “I should go see—”
Damiano’s hand shot out and caught her wrist, gentle but firm.
“Don’t bother,” he said calmly. “They’ll come in by themselves.”
Elena looked down at his fingers around her arm, then back at his face.
“Who exactly are you?” she asked. “Are they here for you?”
Damiano released her slowly and leaned back against the pillows.
He gave her that same faint, unreadable smile.
“Well… I’m a businessman.”
Elena stared at him.
Of course that was a lie. She could feel it in the way he said it—too smooth, too quick. But she didn’t push. Instead she smiled, small and tight, and said nothing.
Before she could form a reply, the door burst open.
The elegant woman strode in like the room belonged to her. The moment her eyes landed on Damiano, her entire face changed. She rushed to the bedside, coat swirling, and dropped to her knees beside him.
“Damiano!” Her voice was soft, almost trembling. “Oh God, look at you. Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay. I came as fast as I could—why didn’t you call me sooner?”
She reached out and brushed her fingers along his jaw, eyes scanning the bandages.
“I was so worried. The others said you were shot. I thought”
Damiano’s expression stayed calm, almost polite.
“I’m fine, Isabella.”
Isabella turned her head sharply toward Elena. The warmth vanished instantly. Her gaze dragged over Elena’s borrowed clothes, her damp hair, the faint stains still on her skin. Pure disdain flashed in her eyes.
“And who is this?” she asked, voice icy.
Elena lifted her chin.
“I saved his butt,” she said simply.
Damiano smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Yeah, she did.”
Isabella’s eyes narrowed, but she only murmured, “Thank you,” in a tone that made it sound like an insult.
Elena watched the way Isabella hovered over him—touching his arm, checking the bandages, murmuring soft words under her breath. They must be dating, she thought. Or at least something close. The way the woman looked at him was too familiar, too possessive.
Elena took a quiet step toward the door.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” she said.
She had barely turned when the hallway filled with heavy footsteps.
A line of six men in dark suits walked in, moving like they owned the building. The lead bodyguard stopped at the foot of the bed, bowed his head slightly, and spoke in a low, respectful tone.
“Boss. The doctor is outside with the full medical kit. The cars are secure. No one followed us.”
The rest of the bodyguards bowed in perfect unison.
“Good evening, Boss.”
Damiano raised two fingers in a small, lazy gesture.
The men straightened at once, eyes forward, waiting.
Just then the door opened wider.
Mrs. Clara stepped in, Lucia right beside her, followed by two other caretakers. All of them froze at the sight of the suited men, Isabella on her knees, and the sudden tension thick enough to cut.
Lucia’s eyes went straight to Elena.
“Elena… what is going on?” she asked, voice low but urgent. “There are cars everywhere. The children are scared. Who are these people?”
Clara looked from Damiano to Isabella, then to the bodyguards, her face tight with worry.
“Sir,” she said carefully to Damiano, “we are grateful you are recovering, but this is an orphanage. We cannot have… this kind of disturbance. The children—”
Isabella rose smoothly to her feet, smoothing her coat.
“They won’t be here long,” she said, tone sweet but edged with warning. She turned back to Damiano. “Right, caro? Let’s get you home where you belong.”
Damiano’s eyes, however, stayed locked on Elena.
He didn’t answer Isabella.
Instead he said quietly, almost only to her, “Thirty minutes are almost up, Elena. Last chance.”
Elena felt every pair of eyes in the room shift to her.
Her heart hammered.
She looked at Lucia’s worried face, at Mrs. Clara’s protective stance, at the bodyguards standing like statues, at Isabella’s cold stare.
Then back to Damiano.
She opened her mouth to speak~~~~
- Writer
