Chapter 24 - marco

"Show me the real Marco."

Poor foolish girl had no idea what she was asking for; she didn’t really want to meet the real Marco. The day that happened, Angela would run from me like the devil flees from the cross.

But as she asked me to reveal the reason for my scar, I struggled to keep the memories of that night buried deep.

Every minute of the hell I lived through threatened to surface, and her touch was doing an excellent job of distracting me—right when I needed all my focus not to let the hatred, disgust, and sadness of the worst moment of my life rise to the surface.

"Why won’t you let me in" she asked softly, her warm breath brushing against my skin as her brown eyes searched my face.

"Because that’s where I keep my demons, and someone like you should never enter a place like that." I was honest, and once again I grabbed her wrist, wanting to stop her from touching me. It was already horrible enough to think about those things with her by my side and in my room for the first time.

"I just want to know you better, to understand more about you and how you became the man you are today. And that includes your dark side."

She was right. Sooner or later, she would find out how fucked up I was, how I became a killer so young, and why I had set aside most of my humanity.

But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to tell her what had happened that night.

"I was six years old... when it happened." I forced myself to speak, seeing that she wouldn’t give up. "The war between the mafias was brutal; people died every day. It was the darkest era in the history of the families. People wouldn’t even dare say the names of the clans, afraid of what might happen."

I just needed to find a way to tell only what was necessary to satisfy her curiosity.

"My mother told me about that dark era, but I didn’t know you had lived through it."

"Mel was just a baby, and Nero and I were children when things got even worse. It took a while before the first agreements were made and truces began." I hoped she’d cling to that and want to talk about the war and the peace treaties, leaving aside what had happened to me. But she wasn’t satisfied.

"And how did you end up in a crossfire? They don’t usually attack children directly; that’s dishonorable, even for us, the mafia."

She truly had no idea about the world surrounding her. I touched her face, feeling pity as I realized how pure and innocent she was—a terrible mix for people living in our world.

"One night our house was invaded. Gunshots everywhere. The whole house became a battlefield—screams, blood, shattered glass, dead people." I took a deep breath, trying to recall the hell I had grown used to. "Every destroyed painting, every bullet-riddled piece of furniture was a memory stained by war."

"I can’t even imagine how terrifying it must have been to survive that night and see all of it the next day."

"There was no next day. We left the house that same night, and when we came back, everything had been replaced. The house looked brand new." I murmured in response, remembering the moment I walked in expecting to find the same carnage from the night before—the night that would haunt my nightmares forever.

But instead, I found everything new. Fresh paint, new paintings, new furniture. Overnight our house had been destroyed and rebuilt, as if to remind us that nothing lasts forever.

"Who hurt you? Who could do that to a child?" Angel insisted, running her fingers again over my scar, making me shut my eyes tightly.

Then everything hit me. I could even feel the hot blood running down my face, the dizziness from the blow, as I tried to fight off the men.

"After a long time, they finally broke into the room where my brothers and I were hiding. They came straight for me, and all I remember is being thrown against the wardrobe where my brothers were hiding. My head hit the glass, and everything went dark." I said it all at once, needing to end that subject.

My heart was racing, my muscles were tense, hard enough to make my body ache—just like that night. I squeezed my eyes even tighter, trying to keep the buried images from reaching the surface.

Pain, loss, sorrow—those were feelings I had known far too early, felt them on my skin, carved into me forever like that scar.

"I’m so sorry." I heard her whisper, and then her lips touched my scar, making me flinch in surprise, but her hands held me firmly in place. "I... I’m sorry for everything that happened to you that night, even if you’re not telling me everything."

Angel caressed my face, ignoring how much I wanted to pull away, ignoring how disturbed my expression must have looked in that moment.

"My mother died that night, in that room. She gave her life to save mine. That night, part of me died too, Angel. A part I’ll never get back." She sighed, and I saw compassion fill her beautiful eyes, shimmering with sadness as she looked at me. "And that’s why I say there’s a lot you shouldn’t know about me, or you’ll end up giving up on marrying me."

I was changing the subject and didn’t care to make it obvious. I hadn’t even wanted to start this conversation; all I wanted when I brought her there was to fall asleep breathing in her natural scent.

"You’ve been more honest with me today than any other man in my life. And even if you’re hiding things, your honesty about this only makes me want to stay with you even more." She rubbed her nose against mine, getting closer until there was no space between us. "But I’m looking forward to the day when you’ll trust me completely, enough to tell me about your greatest nightmare, my Camorra demon."

She planted a quick kiss on my lips, but I pulled away. I couldn’t kiss or touch her in that moment—not with all the shit running through my head.

I turned her around and pressed my nose to the top of her head, inhaling her scent.

"Then stop stalling and give me a date for the wedding." I murmured, trying to hide my sudden change in tone. "Or do you want me to ask your father’s blessing directly? Now rest. We have a long day ahead tomorrow, starting with your training."