He closed his hand around mine and my first instinct was to pull away. The small tug of my hand had him turning his head and glaring at me in a way that said I did not want to fight him right now. And as we walked, I couldn’t help but notice he held my hand awfully gently for somebody who had just threatened my life as he rammed me so hard that he almost split me in two.

He was no longer inside me, but I felt him still. My core pulsed as if begging him back.

We were causing a scene. I know this because as we walked towards the front desk, hand-in-hand, every person we passed along the way stopped mid-step to stare. And, could you blame them?

My makeup was smeared. My dress torn. The flap of Ettore’s shirt hung out at one side, over the waist of his tailored pants. His tie hung loose around his neck, boutonniere snapped in two, with the head of the white rose hanging limp by a single thread. My heels dangled from one hand. Not to mention, we were both covered in blood.

I would have stared too.

We looked like a walking crime scene.

The concierge stood wide-eyed, waiting for our approach. I should have known he would take me somewhere the staff knew his name. But that wasn’t exactly a fair assumption. The truth was, there weren’t a lot of places in this city that didn’t know who he was.

We arrived at the counter and the concierge said, “Good evening, Mr. Scala. Are you in need of medical attention?”

A firm, “No,” was all he offered, but his jaw was steeled and I could tell he was in pain.

The concierge seemed to have dealings enough with him to return, “Very well,” as she began typing. Not long after, she placed two keycards onto the counter and said, “The suite is ready for you. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate.”

“I never do,” he rumbled the impassive reply before snatching up the cards, placing his hand at my lower back and guiding me to the elevator.

The silence was welcome but I feared it wouldn’t last long. When the doors opened at the 14th floor, I noticed there was only one door in and out. I wondered where the other rooms were. I wanted to ask but didn’t want to look stupid. The truth was, I had never stayed in a hotel before. I hadn’t ever left the state. The farthest I’d ever slept from home was at Zio Como’s, four blocks away from my family home.

My father was the over-protective kind. When he passed, I thought that meant I would gain a little freedom. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to predict the point that my sister’s level of protectiveness far outweighed my fathers.