What We Left in the Dark

Thirteen

I hadn't intended to get this close. Taking on the Gilded case was supposed to be an opportunity—an investigative venture where I could dig around and understand the Ricci family's workings from a safe distance. But now, with Luca's touch still lingering on my skin and the memory of his voice calling someone "brother," I realized just how deep I had gone. Worse still, I was on the verge of seeing Giancarlo again, the one person I had spent years trying to forget.

My breath hitched as panic seized me, my thoughts spiraling out of control. I hadn't seen Giancarlo in years, not since the last time he appeared in my life, unannounced and uninvited, ready to mend the mess he had left behind.

I was holed up in my apartment, surrounded by stacks of LSAT prep books and the notes I had been poring over for weeks. The weight of the upcoming exam bore down on me, and every wrong answer felt like another nail in the coffin of my future.

My eyes burned from the hours of studying, and the sense of inadequacy gnawed at me relentlessly. I'd given up on focusing, the pressure overwhelming. Tears had started streaming down my face without me even realizing it, and soon I found myself sobbing at my desk, the noise echoing in the silence of my small apartment.

And then I heard it—a knock on the door. It was firm, insistent, cutting through the haze of my despair. I ignored it at first, assuming it was just another package or a neighbor with some trivial matter. But the knock came again, louder this time, more urgent.

Through my tears, I managed to drag myself to the door, peeking through the peephole. My breath caught in my throat as I saw him standing there—Giancarlo, after all this time. He looked almost the same, though the two years in Italy had added a sharpness to his features, a seriousness in his eyes. He held a bouquet of flowers, but there was nothing soft about his presence.

I opened the door slowly, too stunned to speak, my tears still flowing freely. I didn't move toward him, didn't offer a hug or a greeting. I just stood there, overwhelmed by his sudden reappearance.

Giancarlo's expression shifted as soon as he saw my face, the anger flaring in his eyes almost instantly. His jaw clenched, and he stepped forward, his voice a low growl. "What the fuck happened?"

The possessiveness in his tone was unmistakable, a promise that he would burn the earth to find whoever or whatever had made me cry. His eyes were wild, darting around as if searching for the source of my pain, his hand gripping the doorframe with a white-knuckled intensity.

I stepped aside, letting him into the apartment. He didn't waste a second. Giancarlo scanned every room, his steps quick and deliberate as he ensured no one else was there. It was as if he expected to find someone hiding, waiting to hurt me again. The sight of him prowling through my space, eyes sharp and calculating, brought fresh tears to my eyes. He didn't trust that I was safe here, even in my own home.

When he finally finished his sweep, he approached me cautiously, his eyes softening slightly as he placed a hand on my arm. "No one did something to you?" His voice was laced with concern, but there was still an undercurrent of tension, as if he were holding back his anger.

I shook my head, wiping at my eyes. "It's not like that," I managed to say, my voice trembling. "I'm just... overwhelmed. I have to be perfect—better than perfect. It's all on me, and if I fail, everything I've worked for will fall apart. I can't handle the waiting, the not knowing."

Giancarlo listened, his expression hardening as I spoke. When I finished, he nodded slowly, the tension in his jaw still visible. "I know I haven't helped that feeling," he admitted, his voice low.

"Not really," I replied, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "But you made it clear I had to worry less about you."

His reaction was immediate. Giancarlo's jaw clenched, the muscles tightening into a perfect, taut angle. Anger flashed in his eyes, the possessiveness from earlier returning with a vengeance. "You should have just moved on if I wasn't worth worrying about," he snapped, his voice sharp.

I shook my head, feeling the frustration bubble up inside me. "How was I supposed to know you were still there, Giancarlo? You rarely reached out to me. I figured you'd distanced yourself on purpose. I can't beg someone to stay who doesn't want to."

His anger flared, and before I could react, he grabbed me by the hair, pulling me close. "You are mine," he hissed, his voice dark and dangerous. "Now, later, and forever. No matter where I go, I will always come back to you. I've told you before, you're a part of me."

I swallowed hard, the fear mixing with something else, something I couldn't quite name. His grip was tight, painful, and I could see the intensity in his eyes, the conviction behind his words. But there was something else too—something that made me question everything.

"Is it normal for you to neglect a piece of yourself then?" I asked quietly, my voice trembling as I stared up at him. "Or am I expendable?"

For a moment, Giancarlo's eyes flickered with something that looked like doubt, a crack in the armor he always wore so confidently. He released my hair, his hand falling to his side as he took a step back, his expression unreadable.

The silence between us was thick, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his anger and something softer, something that made him hesitate. But he didn't answer my question.

Instead, he turned away, running a hand through his hair, his movements tense and restless. He exited my apartment, the same as he had when he left me, without sparing a second glance back at me. His flowers lay on the floor where he tossed them before performing a full sweep of the house.

And in that moment, I realized that whatever Giancarlo felt for me, whatever he thought he was protecting, it wasn't enough. Not if it meant he could abandon me so easily, only to return with demands and possessive declarations that I was no longer sure I believed.

The memory of that day faded, the last time I saw Gian, leaving me shaken and breathless in the darkened hallway of my apartment. I leaned against the door, my heart pounding as I tried to process the flood of emotions that had surfaced. Giancarlo had always had that effect on me—stirring up everything I thought I had buried, making me feel raw and exposed.

But now it wasn't just about him. Luca was here too, complicating everything, pulling me deeper into his world that I wasn't sure I could handle. And if Luca was talking to Giancarlo—if they were connected in ways I hadn't anticipated—then I was in even more trouble than I had realized.

I pushed away from the door, my thoughts a tangled mess as I moved through my apartment, trying to find some semblance of calm. But it was useless. The fear, the uncertainty, the memories—they all crowded in, refusing to be silenced.

I crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, but sleep was impossible. My mind kept returning to that single word: brother. The implications of it, the way Luca had said it—everything left me questioning what I really knew about him, about Giancarlo, and about the world I was getting pulled into.

I turned over, trying to find a comfortable position, but my thoughts wouldn't quiet. The darkness that Luca promised had already begun to seep in, and I was no longer sure if I wanted to resist it—or if I even could.