Chapter 64 Breaking point

Chapter 64 Breaking point
Lucia’s POV

I don’t know where I am going at first.

I just know I cannot stay in that hallway, cannot stay in that memory, cannot stay anywhere that still feels like his words are hanging in the air and refusing to leave me alone.

I look for Alessia without thinking, almost like instinct, like she is something safe my mind is reaching for before I even realise it.

But she is not alone.

She is with Giovanni.

I stop for a second when I see them, standing too close in a way that would normally make me smile, maybe even tease her later, but nothing in me has space for anything like that right now.

So I keep moving.

I don’t even remember walking to my room properly.

I just remember closing the door.

Hard.

The sound feels final in a way I don’t like.

I stand there for a moment, breathing too fast, like my body doesn’t understand that the danger is not physical.

Then I sit at the edge of the bed. It doesn’t help.

Nothing settles. So I stand again and start pacing the room from one side to another. Then back again.

Like movement might organize what is happening inside my head into something I can actually survive.

But it doesn’t. It just repeats.

A task.

That is what he said.

A task.

My chest tightens again, and I stop pacing long enough to press my fingers against it, like I can physically hold everything in place if I try hard enough.

I don’t hear the door open. I only notice it when Dante is already inside.

He doesn’t rush in. He doesn’t ask loudly. He just looks at me.

Like he already knows something is wrong.

“What happened?” he asks.

I shake my head immediately.

“Nothing.”

The word comes out too fast. He doesn’t believe it. I see it in his face.

“Lucia,” he says, and my name sounds different when he says it like that, lower, steadier, like he is trying to pull me back into myself. “Don’t do that. I know something is wrong.”

I turn away immediately.

“I said nothing.”

I move toward the door, but he steps slightly in front of me without blocking me aggressively, just enough that I cannot pass without acknowledging him.

I stop.

My hands curl slightly at my sides.

“I don’t want to speak to you right now,” I say.

“Then don’t speak,” he replies. “Just tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you either.”

He exhales slowly, like he is trying to keep control of something I cannot see.

“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

That makes something in me snap slightly, not fully, just enough for emotion to spill over the edge of where I’ve been holding it.

“I said move,” I repeat, sharper now.

He doesn’t. And that is what does it.

Because I cannot get out. I cannot leave my own head. I cannot breathe properly.

And he is just standing there like I am supposed to be able to explain something that does not have words yet.

So I hit him.

Once.

Harder than I meant to.

Then again. And again.

It is not graceful. It is not controlled.

It is just everything inside me finding somewhere to go.

“Lucia,” he says firmly, and then his hands close around my wrists.

Not painful but firm enough to stop me.

I try to pull away immediately, but he doesn’t let go.

Instead, he moves me back.

One step. Then another.

Until my back meets the wall.

And suddenly there is nowhere else for me to go. His face is closer now, but not aggressive.

Steady. Watching me properly now. Really watching.

And something in my chest collapses slightly under that attention.

Because I cannot hold it anymore. My eyes sting before I even realise it. And I hate that I feel it coming.

His voice softens, just slightly. “Did someone say something to you?”

That is all it takes.

Not the question. The fact that I don’t have to hold it alone for one more second.

And I break. Completely.

My breath shakes as my hands drop slightly in his grip, and I turn my face away like that might help, but it doesn’t.

I can’t stop it.

It just comes.

He doesn’t say anything immediately.

He lets go of one of my wrists slowly, carefully, and the other hand moves instead to my face.

He cups it gently, forcing me to look at him without pressure.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

And that is worse. Because it is calm. Because it is not demanding anything from me.

My tears blur my vision completely now.

And I hate it. I hate that I’m crying. I hate that I cannot stop.

I hate that I don’t even know where all of it is coming from anymore; it is just everything at once, too heavy to keep inside.

Dante doesn’t ask again. He just pulls me forward slightly. And I don’t resist this time.

My forehead hits his chest, and something in me finally gives up trying to stay upright on its own.

I break completely there.

Quietly. Into him.

And for the first time since Nico spoke, I am not holding anything together anymore.