Page 83 of Lord of the Dark

He laughed softly, placing a hand on mine. "It’s going to be amazing. Florence, Fiona. Can you believe it? A few days just for us."

Florence. The mere thought of that city felt wrong, like a shard lodged in my consciousness. Carter spoke of romance,of relaxation, of a vacation—yet I couldn’t shake the gnawing doubts. Three weeks had passed since I last saw Russo—three weeks that had hung over me like a painful shadow.

I had suffered, more than ever before in my life. The nights had been the worst. Sleep was impossible in my bed, which still seemed to carry his scent no matter how many times I changed the sheets. My apartment, once my safe harbor, had become a prison, saturated with his presence, his dominance lingering even in his absence. Every room was steeped in memories of him—his touch, his scent, the way he dragged me into the depths while simultaneously destroying me. He had consumed me, devoured me, claimed every fiber of my being—only to leave me shattered and hollow in the end. It had felt as though he hadn’t just left me, but had taken a part of me with him—a part I desperately wanted back and yet cursed.

But time had forced me to function. Carter had been pleased when I drew close to him again. My body was betraying me. No matter how hard I tried... it wouldn’t give in to Carter anymore — even as my thoughts kept pulling me back to Russo. I had convinced myself that everything Russo had told me about Carter was lies, the words of a man who wanted to manipulate and destroy. And yet, in quiet moments like this, it was hard to separate those lies from the truth.

"Fiona?" Carter’s voice dragged me back to the present. He frowned, concerned by my silence.

"Sorry," I murmured, forcing myself to look at him. "I’m just tired."

He nodded, satisfied with my answer, and I watched as he organized his travel documents while I let my gaze wander. The large glass facade offered a view of the runways, where planes took off and landed like steel birds. It should have been soothing, but instead, a strange restlessness spread through me.

Then, suddenly, I felt it. Not a conscious decision, but aninstinctive knowing—a pull deep inside me. My eyes locked onto a figure moving through the crowd. Broad-shouldered, with a self-assured stride, dark hair swept back neatly. My heart stopped before it began to race. Everything about that silhouette screamed Russo.

I froze, tried to look away, but couldn’t. A tingling spread across my skin, so familiar and yet so unwanted. My body reacted instantly, irrationally—like a traitor. But my mind screamed against it.

"Everything okay?" Carter asked again, but I couldn’t speak. My gaze darted back to the figure, now disappearing into the crowd. My pulse hammered as I fought the rising panic. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t.

I swallowed hard, gripped my suitcase. Look away, Fiona. Look away! But my body refused. I stood paralyzed, torn between fleeing and the fear of actually facing him.

It was panic that overwhelmed me—not of him, but of myself. Of my body’s reaction, starved of his nearness yet craving it. I knew how deeply he had hurt me. I knew I would never let him close again. But would I be strong enough? Could I really resist if he stood before me?

"I… I need to use the restroom," I finally stammered, releasing my suitcase and stepping back hastily. But it wasn’t a search for him—it was an escape. A flight from the possibility that he could be here.

I moved quickly, the air around me stifling despite the vast, bright space. I kept my eyes fixed forward, forcing myself not to look back, not to search for him. I couldn’t see him. Not now. Never again.

Finally, I stopped in a quiet corner of the hall, away from the bustle. I leaned against the cool wall, trying to steady my breathing. But the heat inside me didn’t fade; the storm in my mind raged on.

I knew he couldn’t be here. And yet, it felt like his presence still clung to me—a shadow that had never truly let go. I wiped my brow, tried to ignore the trembling in my hands as I forced myself to return.

Carter waited with a worried expression, but I fixed my false smile in place as if nothing had happened. "Everything alright?" he asked softly.

"Yes," I lied, grabbing my suitcase and following him—but the unease remained. The thought of Alessandro remained. And I knew, no matter how far I traveled, I wouldn’t escape him. Not as long as I still carried him inside me.

"Fiona!" Carter’s voice snapped me out of my daze, and when I turned, I saw him approaching. His concerned gaze was like a cold shock, dragging me back to reality.

"I thought you were going to the restroom?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Yes… I… I got turned around," I lied.

He only shook his head lightly, took my hand, and led me back toward the gate. I let him, because in that moment, I didn’t know what else to do. But as I walked, the restlessness still coiled inside me—the feeling that he had been here. That he had never truly let me go.

Rome greeted us with the humid heat of an Italian summer. Fiumicino Airport was overcrowded, a constant ebb and flow of travelers, voices in countless languages echoing through the air. There were no direct flights to Florence, so Carter had planned a brief stop for sightseeing in Rome before we would finally travel to Florence—to that place which made every fiber of my being recoil.

Carter pulled our suitcase through the terminal while I trudged beside him, exhausted, my thoughts still dulled from the hours on the plane. It felt surreal to be here now, in this city steeped in history and culture, while inside me, chaos still raged.

Carter seemed unfazed by the bustle around us. He was in his element—cheerful, energetic, ready to savor every second of this vacation to the fullest. "I can't wait to get started," he said, squeezing my hand gently. "Rome, Fiona. We're in Rome! Can you believe it?"

I gave a weak smile and nodded, but my excitement was muted. Of course, I was looking forward to this trip, but my thoughts kept circling back to what—or rather, who—I had left behind.

Finally, we found our driver, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a charming smile, holding a small sign with Carter’s name. "Benvenuti a Roma," he greeted us, taking our suitcase. His English was fluent but laced with a melodic accent that captured the spirit of the city.

We followed him through the crowd to the parking lot, where a sleek black Mercedes waited. I sank into the back seat, the cool air from the vents soothing my overheated skin. Carter slid in beside me, buzzing with anticipation as the driver navigated Rome’s chaotic streets. The city rushed past us, alive yet ancient—narrow alleys, Vespas darting past with impatient honks, towering ruins mingling with modern architecture, creating a scene as mesmerizing as it was overwhelming. Carter was enthralled. He pressed against the window, pointing out every landmark—the Colosseum, Castel Sant’Angelo, St. Peter’s Basilica in the distance. For him, this was a dream come true.

But I couldn’t fully share his wonder. The city was breathtaking, yes, yet I was worlds away from the lightness Carter felt. I was a stranger in my own life, merely watching this trip unfold without truly being part of it.

Half an hour later, we reached our hotel—a grand building in the heart of Rome, just minutes from its most famous sights. The doorman welcomed us with a warm smile and helped with our luggage. The lobby was vast and opulent, marble floors, high ceilings, frescoes evoking the glory of ancient Rome. We were ledto our room, and as the door clicked shut behind us, I collapsed onto the plush bed. The room was luxurious—elegant furniture, a spacious terrace overlooking the city, a bathroom like a spa. Carter set our suitcases aside and sat next to me.

---