The Mafiaso And The AD 1024

Echoes of Pain

Donte's PoV

Days had passed, yet the pain in my chest was far from fading. Physically, I was healing-thanks to the quick intervention of Marcel and the others-but the wound in my heart felt deeper than any knife could have cut.

I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

Amara.

Her name was a constant echo in my mind, a whisper that wouldn't leave me alone.

The memory of her standing over me, tears streaming down her face, replayed over and over like a cruel loop.

I could still feel the cold steel of the knife as she drove it into my chest and the broken look in her eyes when she spat those hateful words at me.

But I knew the truth. I saw the conflict in her, felt the hesitation in her touch.

She didn't want to do it-she was being forced or manipulated. Whoever had taken her, whoever was pulling her strings, would pay. I swore it on my life.

Marcel came in and out of my room, checking on me, keeping me updated on the search for Amara. But I could see the worry in his eyes.

He knew how much this was eating away at me, and he was right to be concerned.

Today, though, I was done lying in bed. I needed to get up to do something. Lying here, helpless, wasn't going to bring Amara back.

I pushed myself up slowly, feeling the stitches pull at my skin.

The pain was sharp, but I welcomed it-it was a reminder that I was still alive, that I still had a fight left in me.

As I swung my legs over the side of the bed, Marcel appeared at the door, a tray of food in his hands.

"You shouldn't be moving around yet," he said, his tone more worried than commanding.

"I can't just sit here anymore," I replied, my voice rough from disuse. "I need to find her."

"We're doing everything we can," he assured me, setting the tray down on the bedside table. "But you're no good to her if you collapse."

He was right, but it didn't make me feel any better. I glanced at the tray but had no appetite.

The thought of food turned my stomach. "Any leads?" I asked, deflecting the topic away from my health.

Marcel shook his head, frustration clear on his face. "Nothing solid. But we're closing in. We'll find her, Donte."

I nodded, though the words didn't bring me much comfort. I stood up slowly, steadying myself before taking a few steps. The pain flared again, but I pushed through it, refusing to let it stop me.

"Donte," Marcel started, his voice softening, "we will get her back. But you need to be ready-mentally and physically. We don't know what state she'll be in when we do."

His words hung heavy in the air, and I clenched my fists, anger simmering beneath the surface.

"I know," I said, my voice low. "And whoever did this to her, whoever made her hurt me, will regret it."

Marcel didn't respond, but the look in his eyes told me he understood. I wasn't just going to get Amara back-I was going to make sure no one ever touched her again.

I took a deep breath, feeling the fire reignite within me. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Amara was out there, and she needed me. I wasn't going to let her down. Not now, not ever.