Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Eventually, she must reach the same conclusion because she returns her attention to Ares.
He offers me a silent apology in the form of a shrug, letting me know his slip was intentional. I can’t find the energy to be angry with him, so instead, I ask the most relevant question.
“Have your men found anything?”
“Not yet. But we’re not giving up.”
A long stretch of silence follows before Mariella finally breaks it.
“Was that all you came to say?”
“Do you need anything?” His voice softens a fraction.
“No,” she answers stiffly.
He nods. “If you do, you know how to reach me.”
With that, we all part ways, but as we ride back to the house, I feel like I should be doing more.
“Can we help with the search?” I ask Mariella.
“The estate is locked down,” she says. “It’s protocol until we know who was responsible. This is the last thing Cristian asked of us.”
“What was?”
“That we’d keep you safe when he wasn’t around.”
A fresh wave of pain washes over me as I consider that his last request to his family was to protect me.
He was still thinking of me.
And I let him lie beside me for what might have been our last night together, never reaching out to touch him.
“I’d give anything to go back and change it,” I whisper.
A long beat of silence passes before Mariella answers.
“Me too.”
29
CHANTEL
For the rest of the afternoon, I lie in Cristian’s bed, clinging to his pillow.
Between crying spells, I call his number on repeat just to hear his voicemail.
Eventually, Nonna Vitale calls us all out for dinner, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. I can’t eat, but we sit together in silence, sharing the heaviness of grief.
The men don’t return that night, and it’s the only hope I have left. I know they won’t give up on their brother. But with every passing hour, despair creeps in, drowning what little faith I have left.
I’ve gone over endless possibilities, imagining how he might have survived. Maybe someone on another boat picked him up. Maybe he hit his head, and he has amnesia. Maybe he wasn’t even on the boat, and this was all a misunderstanding.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
But maybe has never felt further away when darkness turns to daylight, and nothing changes.
I force myself to shower, then join the others in the dining room. Abella tells us she’s spoken to Angelo, and there’s no news to report.
Nonna serves us tea and pastries, which we only manage to pick at.
Every movement feels weighted down by misery, and things that used to be simple now require a monumental amount of energy.
Breathing. Sipping water. Forcing words out of my mouth.
It feels like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
As Nonna comes around the table to check on us, she pauses beside me. When I glance up at her, I catch her staring at the gold cornicello necklace she gave me. She reaches out to brush her fingers over it, then kisses the Madonna medal she wears around her neck.
“Madonna mia, fa' che torni. Non hanno avuto abbastanza tempo.”
She presses another kiss to the top of my head and wanders back to the kitchen.
“What did she say?” I ask.
“She prayed to the Madonna to bring him home,” Abella answers. “She said you haven’t had enough time together.”
I swallow the pain in my throat as Abella and Gabi stare at the cornicello, and I remember Mariella and Cristian doing the same thing.
“What does it mean?”
“Nonna gifts those necklaces to welcome someone into the family,” Mariella explains solemnly. “She’s only ever handed them out on the wedding day, until you.”
The significance of that statement hangs over the table as I try to process the reason behind it. But I can’t.
“Nonna always knows,” Gabi says, her voice choked with emotion.
Mariella meets my gaze, her face unreadable. “She always does.”
I spend the afternoon pacing through Cristian’s wing, trying to dispel the crushing anxiety in my chest.
When I’ve exhausted myself, I rummage through his closet and find a T-shirt that still smells like him. After pulling it on, I curl up in his bed and lie there for hours, replaying every interaction we’ve ever had.
From the beginning of our time together at Sanctum, he showed me what real safety was. He was patient, calm, and consistent in a way that felt like a balm to my nervous system. There was so much quiet strength and protection in everything he did, leaning into him felt like the most natural thing in the world.
He never demanded trust or tried to rush the process. He didn’t raise his voice or get frustrated with me. For an entire year, he helped me work through my trauma without asking for anything in return.
He was my anchor through every storm, taming the chaos in my mind and unraveling years of tension in my body. With him, I had a refuge that felt like home when nothing else had.