", Natalia."

"Are you okay?"

"Open this door right now!"

It's about twenty minutes after Nero stops calling me from the hall, and I'm still sprawled out across my carpet.

Except, hearing Natalia's voice snaps me out of my daze, and she sounds so sincerely scared and I'm wondering why the hell she's here as I go to let her in, checking through the hole even though I know it's her.

As soon as my door opens she pushes her way inside, pulling me into her arms and slamming the door shut.

"Fuck, Rosalyn. Are you alright?"

All I can do is nod and swallow, starring at her numbly.

She makes sure the door is locked, sits me down on the sofa and makes me tea and eventually she manages to get the story out of me.

Having her here makes me feel so much better, and I let her fuss over me, let the warmth of the hot tea spill down my throat and melt away the freezing paralysis I had slipped into before she came.

Eventually I'm capable of clear thought, full sentences. "Natalia, how did you... Why are you here?"

She gives me a thin smile. "Nero called me. He asked me to come over to make sure you were okay."

I don't hide my surprise, and she seems surprised too. "Really?"

"Mhm. He sounded worried." She studies me, wrapped in my blanket, and I know that she's piecing things together, working it all out. "Rosalyn?"

"Yeah?"

She tilts her head to the side, running a hand through her dark hair. She speaks slow, hesitating. "I don't think I have ever heard Nero sound concerned or worried or anxious about anyone. He never calls me. He definitely never asks for my help."

I don't meet her eyes, focusing instead on a spot on the wall across from us. I don't say anything, and that is confirmation enough.

"He wants to know that you're okay, you know." I think she can see that this is a sore subject, and she chooses her words carefully. "I know you have every right to hate him, but..."

"There is no but."

"I know, but..." She sighs. "Damn it, Rosalyn. I really don't know what to tell you."

I give her a wry smile. I could never be mad at her, but for once it seems like she's going a little easy on him.

"That man came into my home and assaulted me! He made it sound like he and Nero work together or something." The thought agitates me, and my voice is so damn weak. "Nero already threatened me, remember?" I close my eyes, trying to banish the memory of earlier, of Marco, pushing me harshly against the door. "I don't understand why, I mean..." The rawness in my throat is almost painful. "Why did he let this happen?"

There is silence for a long time. Natalia lets me fight away the tears, and it's a while before she responds.

"You know I'm never on his side, right?"

I nod. It's clear she's trying to find the right words.

"And I know you've just been through hell, but maybe, I mean..."

I raise an eyebrow, and she sighs. "Just talk to him sometime, okay? Not today or tomorrow, just... eventually."

She must see the look on my face, because she takes my hand and laughs a little. "I know, I know. But Rosalyn." She leans in, like she's about to tell me a secret. "My idiot cousin actually cares about you, and that's really weird, but I get it." I can see how this surprises her. "I'm not stupid." She arches an eyebrow, knowing. "I'm not going to ask, because I know you don't want to talk about it, but I can see it, and I'm telling you that maybe if you talked to him you would feel better. Just, maybe."

She can tell that I won't meet her eyes and it's clear that she knows, at least a little, of the secret I've been keeping from her.

Everything she's just said, everything that has happened, just makes me so tired and it makes me hurt, and it just aches all over.

"Will you be okay tonight, or do you want me to stay?"

I give her a tired smile. "I think I'll be okay, but thank you, Natalia." I try to get her to see exactly how grateful I am that she came to make sure I was okay. "Thank you so much for everything."

I let her hug me before she goes. "Anytime, Ros. You know you're like a sister."

It's because she's dating Daniel, but it feels like we're connected through so, so much more.

After she leaves, I'm too tired to do a lot of thinking, but even as I'm asleep everything still hurts.

•§•

I consider calling in sick but work is exactly what I need. I check through the peephole before I leave, because I'm officially paranoid, but it looks clear.

Just as I step out I almost trip on something outside my door, but when I see the plate of pastries, my heart drops, and I get that annoying tug in my chest that is shamefully and completely reserved for only one person.

I take the warm croissants inside and I'm still upset but I read the note, and I feel warm and cold all at the same time.

Dolcezza,

I am so fucking sorry.

We need to talk, later.

I hope you're okay.

Nero

Damn it, Nero.

It's as if he actually cares. And, he's sorry? How do I know this isn't all his fault?

I shiver as memories of a man's voice fill my head, the smell of his breath, the feel of the knife.

'I'm not as nice as that bastard next door.'

What else did he say? That he wanted to make sure I got the message?

My head pounds on my way to work, the entire morning, the entire day. By lunch I'm still trying to figure out what happened, why, who's to blame.

And is it terrible, horrible, sick, that some parts of me want Nero to hold me in his arms, tell me that it wasn't him, that he would never do that to me? To tell me he's sorry, that he cares?

Because, there are a few things that could have happened.

Nero grew soft. He started to like me, to go easy on me.

But other members of his gang or whatever still thought that I was trouble. Found out about me, somehow, about what I know?

And one of them just came to my place and... assaulted me to keep me quiet, just in case Nero had stopped doing his job. I shiver, still smelling the rancid breath that will haunt me for weeks to come.

That's the nicest explanation, though it's a little self-indulgent. It's the part of me that kissed him and the part of me that still wants to that is giving him the benefit of the doubt, but I don't know if the rest of me believes it.

Nero is a monster who cares about no one but himself. He's in the fricken mafia. I have to stop making excuses for him.

Stockholm syndrome is what it is.

Yeah. Sure.

Maybe he couldn't bring himself to do it, so he got someone else to. I mean, he's in charge. He knows everything that goes on—he makes the decisions, gives the orders.

The thought depresses me, because I thought that maybe, just maybe, we got to a point where he trusted me. Maybe even liked me. Stupid, naïve, idiotic. It hurts far more than it should.

•§•

or not to go to the first part of the appeal. I really do. All I know is that I told Caleb and Daniel and my dad that I would be there. I even booked off of work weeks ago.

But I don't want to be anywhere near that trial, those people, the mafia and courtroom or any of it. I imagine that Marco will be there, that he'll see me and think I've told and then kill me then and there. If not Marco, then some other violent mobster I haven't even met yet.

Or, one that I have.

Despite the note that he left me a couple mornings ago, I've been avoiding him. He knocks on my door and I ignore him, he calls my name from the hall outside my apartment and I pretend not to hear it. If I go tomorrow, I'll have to face him, and I'm not ready for that.

I'm not ready to look into those dark eyes and hear his low voice tell me how sorry he is, have him press me softly against the wall, his face inches from mine, Caleb in the other room. I don't even know if I'm strong enough to stop myself, to stop him. If I listen to him, if I let him explain? I know. I'll believe him, and it will be the end.

Honestly, I like to think that I respect myself enough to stop that from happening, but I'm not even sure.

As pathetic as it sounds, I miss him. I haven't seen him in forever—months—and the dumb thought of him caring about me, like Natalia said, makes me warm all over.

Wouldn't that be nice? Ruthless mafia warlord falls in love with innocent girl next door, they live happily ever after.

Love? I didn't say that. Fairy tales and romance novels are all fictional, untrue. Deluded, like the small parts of me that should know better.

I'll sleep on it. I have the day off tomorrow whether I go to court or not.

As I slip out of wakefulness, Marco's sneering face and sour breath and thick fingers raking across my skin is all that fills my thoughts. I haven't let myself imagine the horrifying, sickening things he could have done to me; as my eyes close it is a fear that consumes all else.

Thanks for reading! Please consider voting if you're enjoying BTW. Votes help books do well in the Wattpad stats. ❤️