Tainted Faith

Forty One: Quarantuno [re-written 09/12/21]

[RE-WRITTEN]

With every incessant beep that filled the hospital room, Liliana found herself closer to losing her patience. Logically however, she knew that the irritating sound was a good thing; it assured her that her husband was still alive, and with image of Marcello so pale injured, she needed such a reminder. The blood, his blood, had been cleaned from his hands but the memory of it was so strong that it was hard to stop the bile that climbed up her throat at the sight of her husband now lying so still and lifeless in the hospital bed. While the blood had been washed away, the skin of his wrists was broken and swollen from where he had fought against the restraint of the zip ties. 

For a moment, back at the manor, Liliana had been certain that Marcello would not make it. Seeing him now, she was still not convinced he would. 

Tentatively, her fingers stretched out to first brush against Marcello's bruised knuckles, and then his fingertips as she gently took his hand in hers. He wouldn't leave her, he couldn't. She wasn't sure she wanted to endure a world as brutal as this without him at her side. 

"Amore mio." Mercello's rasp had the breath catching in her throat.

"Marcello." She breathed his name, immediately up from her chair and leaning over him, her hands framing his face. She pressed her forehead to his, and allowed her yes to close as she experienced the feeling of the heat from his skin and the steady rhythm of his breath against her - true confirmation that he was alive. With a quiet hiss, he lay on of has hands atop hers.  

"Ti Amo."

I love you.

She pulled back instantly. A knot formed in her throat, and she couldn't find the right words to respond. His eyes were barely open, and she could see his focus drifting in and out. He was barely lucid.  

On so much medication, she knew he would need more time to rest until he became completely aware of where he was and what he was saying. She stayed with him as he fell asleep again, holding his hand, a horrible ache in her chest despite the relief that he had finally awoken.

The next time he awoke he was far more coherent and able to hold a full conversation with her.

"How dare you nearly die on me," she joked, trying to sound stern but failing. A watery glare fixed on her face as tears began to stream down her cheeks. The sound of Marcello's throaty chuckle – despite the wince that followed – only exasperated her tears.

There was more colour to his face now, and he no longer looked two seconds from death. But she knew looks could be deceiving. Marcello was in no shape to even get out of bed and his recovery would be long and painful.

Liliana cupped his jaw, feeling the prickly stubble against her palm. He lent into her touch with a sigh, his features softer than she'd ever seen them.

"Are you hurt?" Marcello was quick to ask with a hoarse voice, gently brushing back the thick curls of her hair away from her face. Liliana softly shook her head, unable to take her eyes off him. It felt unreal, her stoic, strong husband confined to a tiny hospital bed. She saw his eyes drop, and watched him survey the clean clothes she was wearing with a frown. The last he had seen her, her clothes had been covered in the blood of her grandfather's men, and her own blood stained her face. Sophia had since wiped it all away, but her face was still tender and painful.

She saw the beginning of a snarl ruin Marcello's face. He tried to sit up, a grimace warping his features.

"I couldn't stay in the room, not when I knew you could be in danger. I had to get to you, get to all of you no matter what." Her voice cracked at the confession, and her words seemed to do little to calm him. Not that she expected they would.