chapter 9

⬆️Diego and Ryan her two best friends.

Isabella's pov.

I woke around four in the morning to twenty missed calls from Diego. Panic surged - I'd promised to call him every day. Ugh. He's going to be furious. Should I call him back now? He's probably asleep, though. I decided to text and ask him to call me when he wakes up.

My to-do list loomed: moving stuff and finishing up work on the guns. It's kind of a fun fact; I make all the guns we sell. They have some pretty unique attachments. We've developed a new model with a fingerprint scanner, so only the buyer can use it.

I knew I had to get started; otherwise, I'd just keep putting it off. I started searching for my laptop, rummaging through my duffel bags, muttering frustrated curses under my breath. No luck. I'm sure I packed it. I was working on it the night before I got here. Where the heck is it? This is seriously frustrating! A shower would definitely help clear my head. Maybe the universe is telling me I stink?

Just as I was on the verge of a full-blown meltdown, the door creaked open. "Isabella? Everything alright?" Alessandro asked, his voice laced with concern.

"No!" I exclaimed, my voice cracking with frustration. "My laptop's gone! I know I packed it, but it's nowhere to be found!" I gestured wildly at the scattered contents of my duffel bags, my shoulders tense with anxiety.

Alessandro chuckled softly. "Let's try to find it systematically," he said, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to my frantic state. He started methodically checking each bag, his fingers deftly sifting through clothes and papers, maintaining a respectful distance. I watched him, a mixture of relief and a familiar prickle of unease. Relief that he was helping, unease at the proximity. I instinctively shifted away slightly as he got closer to my things.

Then, a soft "Aha!" He pulled a familiar silver laptop from behind a pile of clothes in a rarely-used corner of my suitcase. "Looks like it was hiding," he said, grinning.

A wave of pure relief washed over me, so intense it momentarily overrode my usual aversion to physical contact. Before I could think, before I could process the impulse, I leaped forward and hugged him tightly. The scent of his cologne, a familiar comfort, grounded me. It was a silent understanding, a shared moment of unspoken affection, a brief respite before facing the day's challenges. But even as I hugged him, a part of me recoiled, a small, internal protest against the closeness. He held me for a moment, then gently pulled back, a small smile playing on his lips, respecting the unspoken boundary that quickly reasserted itself.

Afterward, a strange mix of gratitude and self-consciousness settled over me; the hug felt both incredibly right and slightly violating of my personal space. The relief was still palpable, but the familiar discomfort with physical closeness returned with a vengeance. "Alessandro," I said, my voice trembling slightly, "could you... could you please get out?"

His face fell. The warmth in his eyes was replaced by a look of shock, quickly followed by a flicker of hurt that cut me deeper than I anticipated. He didn't say anything, just nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he turned and quietly left the room. The click of the door closing echoed in the sudden silence, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of his cologne and the heavy weight of my own unspoken emotions.

The moment the door shut, it was like a dam broke. The carefully constructed walls around my carefully guarded heart shattered. The relief evaporated, replaced by a tidal wave of panic that crashed over me, leaving me gasping for breath. My chest seized, a vise-like grip squeezing the air from my lungs. Each inhale was a ragged, desperate struggle, each exhale a shaky release of barely-controlled sobs. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the room.

My vision blurred, the edges of the room swimming in and out of focus. The floor seemed to tilt, threatening to pull me under. My body trembled uncontrollably, a violent shuddering that shook me from head to toe. I curled into a fetal position, pulling my knees to my chest, desperate for the illusion of protection. My skin crawled, a visceral reaction to the phantom touch of hands that weren't there-but felt brutally real in my memory.

The memories weren't just images; they were sensations. The icy grip of fear, the burning sting of blows, the crushing weight of bodies on top of mine-all flooded back with terrifying clarity. I could feel the rough texture of their hands on my skin, the sickening crunch of bones, the metallic tang of blood. Each touch, each blow, each violation was a fresh wound, tearing at the fragile composure I had managed to maintain. The faces of the men swam before my eyes-their sneers, their cruel eyes, their expressions of power and dominance. They were all there, in the room with me, their presence as real and as suffocating as the air I struggled to breathe.

The hug, that brief moment of unexpected comfort, now felt like a betrayal of my own carefully constructed defenses, a reminder of the vulnerability I desperately tried to keep hidden. The tears streamed down my face, hot and relentless, blurring my vision further. I was drowning in a sea of terror, the past trauma overwhelming me in a wave of suffocating panic. The silence of the room was deafening, a stark contrast to the storm raging within me. The only sound was my own ragged breathing, the frantic beating of my heart, and the muffled sobs that wracked my body. I was lost, alone, and utterly consumed by the horror of my past.

Ten minutes, maybe more, had crawled by since Alessandro left. In a frantic search for my phone-which I'd somehow managed to drop during my panic attack-my fingers, slick with tears, fumbled across the floor. The sharp edges of the screen dug into my skin as I desperately tried to unlock it. Finally, I found Diego's contact. Ringing him, I held my breath as it went straight to voicemail. Then, a miracle. He answered on the first ring.

"Hey Isabella, how are you? You didn't pick up when I called last night. What's up?" I could hear the worry in his voice, a familiar comfort in this maelstrom of terror.

"D...Diego," I gasped, my voice a strangled whisper, "help...please. I...I can't. I can't breathe." The words were snatched away by another wave of panic, leaving me gasping for air.

"Isabella, slow down," Diego's voice was calm, firm, yet laced with concern. "Take slow, deep breaths with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like this..." He paused, his voice a soothing counterpoint to the chaos in my mind. "In...and out...good. Keep going. You're doing great."

His voice was an anchor in the storm. I tried to mimic his rhythm, focusing on the rise and fall of his words, the steady cadence a lifeline in the suffocating darkness of my panic. Each breath was a small victory, a tiny step away from the edge. With Diego's help, the panic began to recede. The tightness in my chest eased, my breathing became less ragged, the frantic pounding of my heart slowed.

Finally, able to speak somewhat coherently, I managed, "I... I hugged Alessandro. The touch... it set me off."

A silence stretched between us, broken only by my ragged breathing. Then, Diego asked softly, "What happened?"

Before I could fully articulate the torrent of memories and emotions, Alessandro appeared in the doorway. He stood rigidly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles white against his tanned skin. He didn't look at me directly; his gaze was fixed on the floor, his shoulders hunched as if bracing against an unseen blow. He remained motionless for a long moment, a statue carved from grief, before he slowly, almost painfully, turned and walked away, his steps heavy and deliberate, each one echoing the weight of his unspoken sorrow. The quiet slam of the door behind him was more devastating than any shouted accusation could have been. The silence that followed was thick with the unspoken understanding of his pain, a pain I had inadvertently caused, a pain that felt as heavy and suffocating as my own. My gaze followed him, and in that moment, I saw not just the hurt, but also a flicker of something else-understanding, perhaps? Or maybe just the quiet acceptance of a pain he couldn't possibly comprehend.

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Words: 1475