I wear his name like a scar.
Alessandro Rossi stole everything from me; my freedom, my future, the lie I told my father to keep him alive. He thinks I'm a tool to be used, a bride to be displayed, a Fraga to be broken. He thinks the ring on my finge...
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2 hours ago.
The doctors Pietro called arrived in under twenty minutes, and they got to work.
Luckily, wounds were life-threatening, but the sheer amount of blood was enough to turn my stomach.
I stayed close to my father, holding his hand tightly as the doctor stitched him up. His grip was firm, almost bruising, but his face showed no reaction, no hint of the pain he must have been in, even as the needle worked through his skin.
"No anesthesia," he'd barked at the doctor earlier.
The doctor had hesitated, glancing at me for reassurance, but I could only nod. This was my father-stubborn, relentless. Pain was something he dismissed as inconsequential.
Now, sitting beside him, I couldn't help but notice the storm in his eyes. He didn't wince, didn't flinch, but his jaw was clenched tight, and I could feel the anger radiating off him like heat.
"Papá," I murmured, unsure of what to say. I just needed to reach him, to pull him back before he did something reckless.
He didn't respond, didn't even look at me. His gaze was fixed ahead, dark and furious. "They came into our home," he said finally, his voice low and cold. "Shot at our family."
"Sir," the doctor said, cutting him off as he tied off the last stitch. "You're done. But I'd suggest-"
"Leave," dad interrupted firmly. The doctor didn't even bother trying, just packed his stuff and scurried out.
I squeezed my dad's hand harder, forcing him to look at me. "Papá, you can't go after him like this."
His eyes finally met mine, dark and unrelenting. "I'm not letting that bastard get away with this," he growled.
Fear gripped my chest. He was angrier than I'd ever seen him, and I knew how dangerous that could be. His rage would consume him, driving him into action-actions we might never come back from. "Please," I whispered, my voice breaking. "You can't go against the Famiglia. Let Alessandro handle this. Don't do something you'll regret."
A bitter laugh escaped him, dry and devoid of warmth. He pulled his hand away from mine, his expression hardening further. "A miña filla, (my daughter)" he said, his voice devoid of any softness, "regret left me a long time ago."
Melinda stepped into the living room, her gaze darting around, her breaths shallow and erratic.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice shaking slightly as my eyes landed on the blood staining her wedding dress.
