Page 44 of Forbidden
A man yells back, “Call 911, he’s bleeding bad!”
Footsteps crunch glass as a stranger’s face peers through the wrecked window, wide-eyed. “Hang on, buddy, help’s coming!”
But I’m slipping, my breath shallow, her name stuck in my throat as everything goes black.
This life was always a gamble. I knew loyalty, blood, and power mattered and I played it hard. I have no mercy, no regrets. I built walls, kept my crew tight, but it’s dust now. Sophia’s gone. Penelope’s out there, holding my heart, which I never gave her properly, and I cannot tell her goodbye. I wanted to be her shield, to be her chance at something good, but I guess life hadother plans. I’m just another body on the road, and the last thing I feel is her, burning bright as I sink into nothing.
At least I might see Sophia again, her little arms reaching for me. That softens the sting, makes this cold less bitter.
Chapter 16
Penelope
The mattress creaks beneath me as I twist in the sheets. Tonight, my apartment is suffocatingly quiet save for the drip of that damn sink I never fixed. It’s 2:47 a.m., the red glow of the clock mocking me, and sleep’s a distant bitch tonight. My skin’s clammy, sticking to the thin tank top I threw on after pacing the room raw.
I grab my phone off the nightstand, the screen’s glare slicing through the dark, and there it is, Adriano’s text from an hour ago. His words unravel me, pulling at stitches I did not even realize were barely holding. Line after line, he bleeds onto the screen, raw and unguarded, stripping away the walls he always keeps so high.
The last line sends my heart beating so fast...
But I want to learn. For you, I would try anything. Call me, please. I miss your voice more than I can stand.
My throat knots up, a sob forcing its way out as I clutch the phone like it’s his hand. Tears blur the screen, hot and useless, spilling down my cheeks. I miss him too—fuck, I miss him so much it’s a physical ache, a hollow gnawing at my ribs. My fingers tremble as I type back:
Adriano. I am a mess without you. These three days have been hell, and I keep hearing your voice, seeing your face, feeling you even when you are not here. You ripped me open too, showed me your scars, and I love you for it, for trusting me with that ugly truth. I miss you so much it chokes me, and I am counting the seconds until I can see you, hold you, tell you I am yours. We are fucked up, but we are real, and I want us.Just the way we are. Loud, messy, all of it. I love you too, you crazy bastard. I miss you too. And even though every second’s dragging like a lifetime. I’ll be there at dawn, I promise.
I hit send, press the phone to my lips, and taste salt. It’s not enough, it never is but it’s all I’ve got until the sun comes up.
Till then, the words he wrote circle in my mind.
I’m not just something he wants, but something he needs. Something he is willing to fight for. He calls me his heartbeat, his reason to look up in the morning. I stare at the words, my pulse hammering, my throat tight. My hands tremble, and I grasp the phone harder, like I can hold onto this moment, this impossible, terrifying truth that I am something more to him than just a complication. Than just a mistake he is too afraid to claim.
He loves me.
The realization crashes over me, a tidal wave I am not prepared for. Not in the way I thought it would be. It is not soft or sweet. It is a free fall, an earthquake, a fucking firestorm burning through me because this—this is everything. This is the thing that will ruin us or save us, and I do not know which one scares me more.
My fingers hover over the screen. He asked me to call. He misses my voice. I want to hear his too, need to hear it, to know this is real and not just some fever dream I will wake up from. I press the button, lifting the phone to my ear.
Ring.
Ring.
No answer.
I swing my legs out of bed, barefoot on the cold tile, and shuffle to the kitchen for water. The doubt presses in and as I fill a glass, my mind lurches back to that night years ago. The night that broke everything.
Flashback: Three Years Ago
17 years old
The night starts normal, or at least what passes for normal in this house. It’s just us three, a Friday night that feels normal until it doesn’t.
The smell of pizza grease clings to the air, empty boxes stacked on the coffee table. The TV hums low, half-forgotten, as I sit curled up on the couch with a warm buzz in my veins. The cheap red wine burns my throat, but it makes everything softer, easier. I’m seventeen. I shouldn’t be drinking, but Adriano poured the glass himself and slid it across the table like it was nothing. Like I wasn’t sitting there, hanging onto every slow, deliberate movement he made.
Sophia’s in the kitchen, laughing as she rummages for a soda, her voice bouncing off the cabinets. I hear the hiss of a soda can popping open, the shuffle of her socked feet against the tile.
Adriano drops onto the couch beside me, too close, his knee brushing mine. He’s got a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, the ice clinking as he swirls it, and his eyes catch mine with a glint I’ve seen before—teasing, testing, but sharper tonight.
After a few minutes he shifts beside me, stretching an arm along the back of the couch, his fingers dangerously close to my shoulder. It’s nothing. It’s everything. He’s always been a little too charming, a little too aware of what his presence does to people, and I’ve always been too stupid to pull away.
