Sixty five
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The air between them seemed to hum with electricity — the kind born of fear, confusion, and something far more dangerous. Frank stood by the window, his shadow cutting through the pale morning light. Delia remained frozen against the sill, her breath catching in short, trembling bursts.
He’d said it so casually. I took care of it.
As if the words could erase the blood on his sleeve, the chaos in the apartment, or the horror of the last few minutes.
Delia’s voice cracked when it finally emerged. “You took care of it?” Her tone trembled somewhere between disbelief and rage. “That’s what you call this?”
Her voice rose sharply, echoing off the walls. “There’s blood on the floor, Frank! Someone tried to break in — someone shot at us — and you just… what? Handle it?”
Frank didn’t flinch. He never did. His expression remained unreadable, though something flickered behind his eyes — a ghost of fatigue, or maybe guilt.
“They won’t come back,” he said simply.
“That’s not the point!” she cried, her hands shaking as she pushed herself away from the window. “You told me we were safe here. You swore they couldn’t find us!”
“I didn’t think they could,” he admitted, his voice low. “They shouldn’t have. Someone must have leaked the location.”
Delia let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, great. Leaked. Like it’s some office memo. Meanwhile, I’m here hiding like some terrified fugitive while you disappear for hours and come back looking like that!” Her gaze dropped to his bloodstained sleeve. “Tell me, Frank. Whose blood is that?”
He glanced down, as if noticing it for the first time. “Not mine,” he said quietly.
Something inside her snapped.
“Do you even hear yourself?” she shouted, stepping toward him. “Do you even care what you’ve dragged me into? I don’t even know who you are anymore!”
Frank’s jaw tightened. “I’m the one keeping you alive.”
Her breath hitched. The truth of it stung, but it didn’t ease the anger burning through her veins. “Alive?” she repeated bitterly. “You call this living? Locked away, terrified, waiting for someone to break down the door again? I’m pregnant, Frank! I can’t do this!”
The words broke on a sob.
Frank’s mask faltered — just for a second. He stepped closer, slow and careful, like a man approaching a wounded animal. “Delia,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head violently, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You promised my parents you’d protect me. You said I’d be safe, that nothing would happen to the baby. But you’re hiding things, Frank. You’ve been hiding everything.”
“I had to,” he said, his voice rougher now. “The less you knew, the safer you were.”
“That’s not good enough!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “You owe me the truth!”
The demand hung between them, heavy and trembling.
Frank stared at her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling slowly. Then, with a quiet sigh, he said, “The men who came here — they were from the Giancarlo family.”
Delia’s eyes widened. “The same people after Thomas?”
“Yes.”
Her heart dropped. “Then this is about him. About what you’re hiding from me.”
Frank didn’t deny it. “I took Thomas because he’s the only leverage we have. Samantha and the Giancarlos won’t stop until she gets what she wants — and Thomas is her obsession. But her family… they don’t negotiate. They eliminate problems. You, me, Thomas — we’re all problems to them now.”
Delia pressed her shaking hands to her mouth, trying to hold back another sob. “So that’s it? I’m just—collateral damage?”
Frank’s composure broke. He stepped forward, his voice rising for the first time. “Don’t say that. You’re not collateral, Delia. You’re the only person who—”
He stopped himself, his jaw tightening again.
She blinked through her tears. “Who what?”
He didn’t answer.
That silence — that refusal — was the final crack in her control.
With a cry of frustration, she shoved him in the chest. “You can’t keep doing this! You can’t shut me out and expect me to just—just trust you!”
Frank caught her wrists before she could push him again. “Delia—”
“Don’t touch me!” she snapped, twisting against his grip. “You think you can control everything, even me, but you can’t. You can’t fix this, Frank. You can’t protect me from everything!”
“Maybe not,” he said quietly. “But I’ll die trying.”
Something in his voice — raw, unguarded — made her freeze. For the first time, she saw the exhaustion etched into his face, the faint tremor in his hands. He wasn’t just a stoic protector. He was a man barely holding himself together.
Her anger wavered, turning into something else — fear, grief, longing. “Why?” she whispered. “Why do you care so much?”
Frank released her wrists slowly, as if afraid she’d shatter. “Because I gave my word,” he said. “And because somewhere along the way, keeping you safe stopped being an obligation.”
Her breath caught. “Then what is it now?”
His answer came out low, almost a growl. “Everything.”
Delia’s chest ached. The words hit something deep inside her, something she hadn’t let herself feel in months. She wanted to hate him for it — for making her care, for keeping her in the dark — but instead, all she felt was the unbearable pull of him.
“Frank…” she began, her voice trembling. “You can’t—”
“I know.” His voice broke slightly. “But I can’t not.”
The tension between them snapped like a wire under too much strain. One heartbeat they were standing apart, the next he had stepped forward, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears that hadn’t yet fallen.
“Don’t,” she whispered weakly, but she didn’t move away.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his breath unsteady. “And I will.”
But she didn’t. She couldn’t. The space between them vanished — anger, fear, grief, all dissolving into something fierce and undeniable.
When their lips met, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, aching, the kind of kiss born out of chaos and confusion, where every emotion collided — fury, fear, love, regret. For a moment, everything else disappeared: the blood, the danger, the lies. There was only them.
Then Delia broke away, gasping, tears still streaking her cheeks. “This doesn’t fix anything,” she whispered.
“I know,” Frank said quietly. His forehead rested against hers. “But it’s the only thing that feels real right now.”
She closed her eyes, torn between the instinct to run and the desperate need to stay. Somewhere deep down, she knew this moment was a mistake — but it was one she couldn’t make herself regret.
Outside, sirens wailed faintly in the distance, the world inching closer to their door again.
And in the dim light of Frank’s shattered apartment, Delia realized something that terrified her even more than the men who hunted them.
She wasn’t just trapped by circumstance anymore.
She was trapped by her heart.