Page 67 of Veil of the Past
She nods, her eyes never leaving mine. I kneel beside her, keeping her hand in mine, squeezing it tight. “I’m right here,” I whisper again, trying to pour every ounce of reassurance into those three words.
Callahan stands beside her, his demeanor calm and collected, a stark contrast to the turmoil that’s painted over her features. She sits on the edge of the examination table, her fingers intertwined with mine, gripping tightly as if I am her only lifeline in this chaotic reality. The flickering fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow on her pale face, highlighting the bags under her eyes—a testament to the hours she’d spent in the clutches of Helen.
“Okay,” Callahan begins, his voice steady and reassuring, “we’re going to take this one step at a time.” He meets her gaze, his expression warm but focused, and she nods slightly, her breath hitching as she prepares herself for what comes next.
He moves closer, his hands steady and sure as he approaches her. I can see the determination in his eyes as he works quickly but methodically. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he starts to check her arms, running his fingers along her skin to assess for any bruises or cuts. Each gentle press is a reminder that she’s not alone, that someone is here to care for her.
“Just a few questions,” he says, maintaining a tone that is both professional and compassionate. “Have you felt any pain anywhere? Any spots that are particularly tender?” She shakes her head slowly, her voice barely above a whisper when she replies, “No, I don’t think so.”
As he continues his examination, he moves to her back, carefully lifting her shirt just enough to inspect the skin beneath. I watch her flinch slightly, the memory of her trauma flickering behind her eyes. Callahan pauses, glancing up at her with a reassuring nod. “I know this is difficult,” he says softly, “but I need to make sure you’re okay.”
She squeezes my hand tighter, grounding herself in my presence. The connection between us is palpable, her need for comfort evident in the way her body leans closer to mine. I can feel the tension in her muscles, the way she holds her breath, as if each moment is a reminder of the vulnerability she feels.
Callahan’s hands glide over her skin with the same care and thoroughness he has shown from the beginning. He checks for any signs of injury—bruises, cuts, or anything that could indicate the severity of her ordeal. His movements are practiced and precise, ensuring that he doesn’t miss a single detail.
“How about emotionally?” Callahan asks, his eyes remaining fixed on her. “How have you been feeling?” She hesitates, looking away for a moment, the weight of her experiences crashing down on her. “It’s hard,” she admits, her voice trembling. “I feel... lost.”
Callahan nods, his expression understanding. “That’s completely normal after what you’ve been through,” he reassures her. “We’ll get through this together.”
As he finishes the examination, he gently helps her sit up straight, his hands lingering on her shoulders for a moment longer. “You’re stronger than you realize,” he tells her, and I can see the flicker of hope in her eyes as she clings to my hand.
Finally, he stands, turning to Emiliano and me. “Minor injuries,” he says, his voice professional, but I hear the undercurrent of concern. “Some bruising, a few sprains. No signs of a concussion but keep a close eye on them. If there are any changes, any dizziness, nausea, memory issues, call me immediately.”
I nod, a bit of tension easing from my shoulders. “Thanks, Callahan.”
He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “It might be beneficial for them to see Katherine. She’s good with trauma, understands what it’s like in our world. She might be able to help them process this.” Katherine’s the daughter of an Underboss, and she’s the shrink for the Camorra. Unofficially, of course. Mental health is still something considered to be a taboo amongst the Camorra members, despite Eli’s effort to reform it.
Emiliano frowns, thinking it over. “You think they need that?” he asks, a hint of doubt in his voice.
Callahan nods, his face serious. “They’ve been through a lot. It’s not just the physical injuries we have to worry about. Katherine gets it. She knows how to handle this kind of thing.”
I glance at Emiliano, weighing the suggestion. I’m not thrilled about bringing in a shrink, but Callahan wouldn’t suggest it if he didn’t think it was necessary. “Alright,” I say slowly. “We’ll consider it. Thanks, Callahan.”
He nods, packing up his bag, but before he leaves, he turns back, his eyes meeting mine. “Keep an eye on them,” he repeats, his voice softer, more earnest. “And think about Katherine. It could make a difference.”
I watch him go, then turn back to Emiliano. “What do you think?”
He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, his features drawn and tired. “I don’t know, Rom. I just… I want them to be okay. I want this nightmare to end.”
I nod, feeling the same weight pressing down on my chest, the same frustration clawing at my insides. “Yeah,” I mutter, my voice low. “Me too.”
We stand there in the heavy, oppressive silence, the weight of what happened hanging over us like a dark cloud. I look at Alessia, still trembling, still holding onto me like I’m her lifeline. And I know, deep down, that this is just the beginning. That the storm isn’t over yet. I also know that I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her, to protect all of them.
Even if it means calling in a damn psychiatrist.
"Alright," I say, finally breaking the silence. "Let’s keep moving. We've still got a lot to do."
35
ROMIRO
Istand in the kitchen, trying to keep my hands steady as I slice through a loaf of bread. The early morning light filters through the blinds, casting long, pale lines across the counter. Alessia is still asleep in my room, buried under a mound of blankets, her breathing steady but shallow, like she’s trying to hold on to some last bit of comfort. She looks so small there, so fragile, and it twists something deep in my chest, something raw.
I glance at my phone sitting on the counter, Katherine’s number still pulled up on the screen. She’d responded to my message in less than five minutes, a quick reply with her availability. I know I need to speak to her, to figure out how to help Alessia, but the thought of leaving her alone, even for a moment, feels like a betrayal. My thumb hovers over thecallbutton, but I hesitate, my eyes darting back to the bedroom door.
It’s been a long night, and I’ve been watching over her like a damn hawk, listening for every small noise, every change in her breathing. She’s already had three panic attacks in the past few hours, each one hitting like a freight train. I’ve held her through all of them, trying to keep her grounded, whispering reassurances I’m not even sure I believe myself. I know I should reach out for help. Katherine’s the best there is—she knows how to handle this kind of thing. But leaving Alessia… I just can’t do it.
I set the knife down and grab my phone, deciding to call before I can second-guess myself any further. Katherine picks up on the second ring, her voice calm and professional. “Romiro,” she greets, a slight warmth in her tone. “I’m glad you called. Callahan filled me in, and there’s been some whispers floating around.”
