Chapter 51 The quiet between us (second half)
Lina's POV
He doesn’t like that answer. I can see it.
But eventually, exhaustion wins again. He lies back down, one arm draped over his forehead. Within minutes, his breathing steadies.
I stood there long after.
Then I move.
The desk near the balcony doors is dark except for a small lamp. I sit slowly and pull out a sheet of heavy cream paper from the drawer. The pen feels heavier than usual in my hand.
I stare at the blank page.
How do you leave someone who never learned how to let go?
I begin anyway.
Carlino,
The ink looks too formal. Too final.
I stop.
I tried again.
You once told me that survival is about choosing the least dangerous option.
The words come easier now.
I’m choosing mine.
My hand trembles slightly. I steady it against the desk.
This isn’t betrayal. It’s self-preservation. I won’t be your leverage. I won’t be his revenge. I refuse to be the center of a war I didn’t start. I won't be caged up anymore.
I pause and glance over my shoulder. He hasn’t moved.
I continued.
You think walls keep me safe. But they also keep me small. And I am not small.
A faint noise from the hallway makes my pulse jump. Footsteps pass. A murmur of voices. Then quiet again.
I lower my voice instinctively, even though I’m alone.
If you come looking for me, I hope it’s because you understand—not because you want to win.
My chest tightens as I write the next line.
I did start loving you. In the only way I knew how.
Love? A strange word to be merged with a Mafia king. It happened so fast.
The word stares back at me like a wound. I set the pen down. My throat burns.
I stood abruptly and walk back toward the bed.
He’s turned onto his side now, facing my empty spot. His hand rests where I was lying earlier. His face, stripped of command and calculation, looks younger in sleep. Less Don. More man.
I kneel beside the bed without meaning to.
“You would hate me for this,” I whispered slowly.
His brow furrows slightly, like he senses something.
“I don’t want to be your weakness,” I added softly.
My hand hovers over his, then settles gently on top of it. Warm. Real.
For a second, I imagined staying. I imagined waking him up and saying, Choose differently. Let me walk out of these gates without a convoy. Trust me enough to risk it.
But I know his answer.
No.
I stand slowly and return to the desk. The letter waits.
Final.
Damning.
If I leave it, he’ll know I planned this. He’ll hunt me not just to protect, but to reclaim.
If I don’t leave it, I disappear without explanation.
Either way, he loses control.
I picked up the paper again.
My eyes skim the words.
I did start loving you.
The sentence feels unfinished.
Because it is.
My chest tightens sharply, almost painfully. “You’re a coward,” I mutter to myself.
Not for leaving. For hesitating. For being in denial.
The door handle shifts slightly. I freeze. A soft knock follows. “Donna?” a guard’s voice murmurs through the wood.
“Everything alright?” Carlino stirs faintly behind me.
I cleared my throat. “Yes.”
A pause.
“Do you require anything?” the guard asked. I glance at the letter in my hand.
“Yes,” I almost said “a way out.”
Instead: “No. Go back to your post.”
Footsteps retreated. My heart is racing now. Not from fear, from decision. I look at the bed again. Then at the page.
Slowly, deliberately, I fold the letter once.
Twice.
My fingers tighten.
And then I tear it.
The sound is louder than I expected.
I tear it again.
And again.
Until the words are nothing but fragments in my hands.
I drop the pieces into the small metal bin beside the desk and strike a match from the drawer. The flame catches quickly.
The paper curls, blackens, disappears. Smoke rises faintly toward the ceiling.
No evidence.
No goodbye.
I stand there until the last ember fades. Behind me, Carlino shifts again. “Lina?” he murmurs, half-asleep.
I walk back to the bed and slide in beside him. “I’m here,” I say.
His arm instinctively wraps around my waist, pulling me against his chest. Possessively. Protectively. Warmly.
My eyes stay open long after his breathing steadies again. The plan isn’t gone. It’s just postponed. For tonight. Tomorrow, I will decide again. But for now, I let him hold me. I let the quiet pretend it isn’t temporary.