Sabrina, the sweet, bubbly girl next door, never imagined being pulled into a world of danger. But meeting Julian, a captivating mafia member with a dark past, changes everything.
As she falls for him, she's torn between love and the dangerous secr...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I felt like I couldn't breathe the entire drive back.
The sight of her—broken, bruised, bleeding—kept replaying in my head.
I couldn't shake it. Every cut, every mark, every tear in her skin, was because of me.
They did this to her because of me. And she wouldn't tell them anything. Even when it could've saved her from the pain, she didn't give them what they wanted.
She wouldn't betray me.
Even if it cost her, her life.
The guilt burned hotter than any rage I'd ever felt.
When we finally pulled up to the house, I didn't waste a second. I got out, opened her door, and scooped her into my arms as carefully as I could.
She whimpered at the movement, and it shattered me all over again.
"I've got you," I murmured, holding her close as I carried her inside.
She was barely holding herself together, her head resting against my chest, her breathing shallow.
Once we were inside, I set her down gently on a kitchen chair. She flinched as her body shifted, and I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm.
"I'm going to take care of you," I said softly, crouching down to her level. "Just sit tight for me, okay?"
She gave a weak nod, her eyes glassy with exhaustion.
I grabbed the medical kit from the cabinet and returned to her. As I unzipped it, I hesitated for a moment, afraid of what I was about to see.
My stomach twisted.
Her torso was littered with bruises—deep, angry purples and blacks that made my blood boil. There were cuts too, some fresh, others shallow but still painful-looking.
Her stomach wound was the worst, though. The bleeding hadn't stopped, and it was deeper than I thought.
"Sabrina..." I whispered, my voice barely audible.
She looked down at herself, then back at me, her lip trembling.
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. I grabbed the disinfectant and some gauze, trying my best to be gentle as I cleaned her up.
But the moment the antiseptic touched her skin, she let out a sharp cry, her hands clutching the edge of the chair.
"I know," I said softly, my chest tightening. "I'm sorry. I have to do this."
She nodded, biting her lip to stifle her sobs.
As I worked, I noticed how pale she was, how shaky her hands had become. A wave of panic hit me, and I stopped for a moment.
"Sabrina," I said, my tone serious, "when was the last time you ate?"
She blinked at me, her brow furrowing as if she was trying to remember. "I don't know," she whispered.
