Love? Another Word For Weakness

Thorne

Sweat.

The air conditioner was well active but it wasn't powerful enough to stop me from sweating.

Lucia’s hands moved across my shoulders, kneading the tension that refused to melt.

Her touch was practiced, trained to soothe, to tame. But tonight, it did nothing.

“Stop,” I said, my voice low, sharper than I intended.

She paused immediately, hands lingering on my skin.

“I have a normal temperature,” I murmured, staring at nothing. “But my head’s burning.”

Lucia tilted her head. “Fever?”

“No.” I stood, shrugging off the robe she had draped over me. “It’s inside. Here.” I tapped my temple, then pressed a flat palm to my chest. “And here. Like something is clawing out.”

She didn’t speak. She never did unless she knew it was safe.

I turned my back to her, gripping the edge of the table. The weight of memory sat beside the growing chaos. Luna.

After her, I swore never again. Never again would I leave myself open to that kind of love again.

But now… now there’s even a child. Growing inside the woman I broke.

I should feel nothing but regret. Should want to erase her and every trace of my mistake. It would be cleaner that way, final. That’s how I’ve always handled it.

But I can’t.

It’s not just the child. That would have been easier to contain. No, it’s Elena.

The way she trembled when she looked me in the eye but still didn’t flinch. The way her silence screamed truths I didn’t want to hear.

And something in me, something stupid and human wants her alive.

Lucia finally spoke, her voice laced with caution. “You’ve always discarded the ones you wrongly punish. You said it was necessary. So they don’t return… for revenge.”

I didn’t answer.

Her words lingered like smoke.

She stepped closer, soft but firm. “You have to do the same with her.”

No, I can’t.

I turned slowly, my gaze meeting hers.

“I’ve done it before,” I said. “Over and over. Mistaken people. Executed them. Burned their names out of the world and moved on.”

Lucia nodded, encouraging.

“But this time,” I said quietly, “I can’t stop thinking of her. Of them. Her and the child.”

My hands clenched. “What if… what if I want to keep her?” My voice cracked against the walls of my own mind. “What if I already can’t let her go?”

She didn’t move. Her silence felt like judgment.

But I wasn’t waiting for her approval.

Because the truth was already too loud to ignore.

I don’t want Elena dead. I want her alive… even if it ruins me.

She stayed quiet for a moment, watching me, lips pressed together like she was trying to seal in words she knew better than to say.

But she said them anyway.

“She’s your weakness,” she murmured, stepping around me. “That girl will destroy everything you’ve built, and you know it. The others didn’t get this kind of mercy. Why should she?”

I turned away, jaw locked.

Lucia didn’t stop. “If you can’t do what needs to be done—” her tone sharpened, bitter “—then I will. I’ll make sure she disappears like the others. I’ve done worse for you.”

My silence must’ve looked like permission. Because she moved, barely a step and that was enough.

I moved faster.

In one blur of motion, I was on her. My hand closed around her throat and I shoved her back, slamming her against the wall so hard the plaster cracked behind her.

Her eyes widened. She gasped, clawing at my wrist, but I didn’t let go.

“You will not touch her.” My voice was low, venomous. “You will not speak of her like that again.”

She choked slightly, the fear flashing in her eyes even stronger than the pain.

I leaned closer, the grip firm, cold, deliberate.

“Elena is not one of the others,” I said, each word a blade. “She carries my child. You don’t go near her unless I say so. You don’t think about lifting a finger unless I allow it.”

I held her there a moment longer, long enough for her to feel the edge of death creeping in.

Then I let go.

She dropped, coughing and gasping, one hand around her throat, her eyes stunned and damp.

I stepped back, not looking at her again.

“She’s mine,” I said.

Then I walked away, because if I stayed, I’d lose whatever part of myself was still trying to hold onto control.

And the war inside me had only just begun.

I met Scott in the hallway, the shadows long and slashing across the walls. My steps were uneven. My head ached with too many thoughts, too much fire.

I grabbed his shoulder, fingers digging in like I needed his weight to stay upright.

“Scott,” I muttered, voice hoarse. “If you ever met a woman... as a Mafia leader... if you ever had the misfortune of falling in love, what would you do?”

The question bled out of me before I could swallow it down. It had been eating me alive.

He looked at me for a beat, searching my eyes like he already knew what I was talking about.

Then he gave a cold, quiet answer.

“It’s either I throw away everything and protect her,” he said. “Or I kill her before I make things worse. I highly recommend the second. Killing… it saves a lot of pain.”

His words landed deep, sharp, and unmerciful.

“Killing...” I echoed, almost like I was tasting the word.

A bitter laugh crept up my throat, strangled by fear. “Then we’ll do just that.”

I walked past him, heart pounding. My decision made.

But even as I said it, my hands trembled.

Because deep down, I wasn’t sure which one I was trying to do.

Kill her? It seems like the right path to go for.