Page 85 of The One
“So, you’re fine with bloodshed?” I ask, partly to lighten the mood, partly curious.
“Yeah, as strange as that sounds. It’s these small injuries that freeze me.”
He pauses, lifting his hand and staring at the back of it. Two faint scars mark the top of it, barely noticeable unless you know they’re there or look very closely. A somberness fills his gaze, like a curtain of darkness falling across his face.
“When I was six, Tiero took me fishing at the pond on our property. Our mother had just passed, andpapàwas so lost in his grief that we barely saw him. Fishing was somethingpapàand Tiero usually did together, and I was thrilled that Tiero would take me. I was excited to get out of the house and leave all that sadness behind, even if just for a little while.”
A flash of that little boy’s excitement crosses his eyes, but it fades quickly.
“I ran ahead with the fishing rod, too eager to wait for Tiero. I threw the line, and somehow, I hooked my own hand. When I tried to pull it out, it only dug deeper.” He closes his eyes for a moment, reliving it.
“I panicked. Completely lost it. I screamed and cried, carrying on like I’d never stop.”
He swallows hard, still staring at the two little marks on the back of his hand.
“My blood seemed so red. Looking back, it was like a spotlight exposing all the pain I’d buried inside aftermamma’s death.”
I watch his face as he speaks. He’s right back there, experiencing every bit of that pain as though it’s happening now, his voice almost lost in the memory.
“I don’t know how Tiero managed to get the hook out with me thrashing. But he did, and then he held me as I sobbed.”
He lets out a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the scars.
“Ever since, when I see a little blood, I freeze.”
I take the hand with his scars and hold it between mine, trying to engulf him with warmth and understanding.
“I’m glad your brother was there for you,” I whisper, feeling a deep ache for the little boy who lost his mother so young.
“He always has been. He’s the one person in my life I trust implicitly. We always have each other’s backs. It’s so rare in our world, and I keep reminding myself never to take it for granted. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“Your bond with your brother is the true strength ofla famiglia.Don De Marco is a formidable leader, but with you by his side, there’s the real power. Together, the two of you are unbreakable.”
“I pray you’re right.” His gaze finally lifts to mine, vulnerability still glimmering in his eyes.
The fact that he doesn’t hide it from me makes me feel special, privileged, even. Few people would ever get to see him like this, and as soon as he steps out of this room, the mask of power and control will slip back into place.
“Do you think less of me now?” he asks, almost cautiously. “Because I have this weakness I can’t control?”
“What? No! Of course not. This isn’t something you can help.” I squeeze his hand, trying to reassure him.
I’d love nothing more than to wrap him in my arms, to hold him close and make sure he knows he doesn’t have to hide this part of himself from me.
“My sister Mia is like that with needles,” I offer quietly. “Even a hint of one, and she panics. There’s nothing any of us can do to stop it. Her mind takes over. She knows it’s irrational, but no amount of reasoning helps. So I get it. I really do.
“She developed her own ways to cope. She brings her favorite music, something upbeat, to distract her. Sometimes, she’ll count backward, or she’ll focus on breathing really slow. It gives her something to hold on to when everything else feels out of control. And it helps when someone’s there, too, talking to her. She can focus on that voice instead of her fear.”
“You talking to me helped. Thank you.” He glances down at my hand again, rubbing a thumb over the freshly cleaned skin, almost as if he’s testing himself.
“Do you have any phobias?” he asks, lifting his beautiful brown eyes to mine.
I chuckle, but it sounds tired. The adrenaline rush from earlier is wearing off, leaving me feeling worn and raw.
I shake my head. “After tonight, I might have developed a phobia about being shot at.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mateo
