Page 60 of Trapped
His grip on my waist tightened. “You’re stronger than you think.”
I leaned into him, his steady heartbeat lulling me into peace. Santino held me tight as if he could shield me from the world. Maybe he could. Maybe everything would be okay.
But deep down, I knew the truth.
Nothing about us was safe.
TWENTY-ONE
DELILAH
The first few days of detox were hell. Dr. Moretti and his nurse, Maria, made frequent house calls. They were both kind and professional, but there was no escaping the torture of withdrawal. Nausea, sweating, shaking…my body rebelled against the absence of alcohol with a ferocity that exhausted me.
Santino never left my side. He was there through every agonizing moment, holding my hand, helping me shower, whispering words of encouragement as he wiped vomit from my chin, and reminding me why I was doing this.
Each night, as the sun set over the vineyards and the pain clawed at my insides, Santino carried me onto the balcony. He’d hold me close, his words weaving a tapestry of hope that felt too good to be true.
“Imagine a life where the hardest part of your day is choosing which vineyard to stroll through.”
He painted a vivid picture of a dream so beautiful, making it seem within reach—stability, safety, and maybe love. I clung to it through the tremors and tears.
After the fourth day, cravings gnawed at me with jagged teeth. I’d catch myself staring at the phone, considering calling a local bar or, worse, trying to find a hidden stash Santino had overlooked.
But I never did. Because Santino was there. He’d notice the slight tremor in my hands and be there with a distraction—a book, a game, a walk among the grapes, or simply his presence. Other than kissing, we didn’t do anything sexual. He wanted me to focus on healing.
By the end of the first week, the worst of the withdrawal had passed. My body, though still weak, found a new equilibrium. The cravings lurked in the background, but I felt like myself again.
“I’m proud of you,” Santino said as we sat on the terrace, the Tuscan sun bathing us in its golden warmth. “You did it.”
I glanced at him. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You could have, but I’m glad I helped.”
“You kept me going. You believed in me when I didn’t.”
I was falling for him.
The realization crept up on me slowly, like sunlight spreading over my face. I couldn’t deny it anymore. I didn’t want to. Somewhere between the chaos of Boston and the quiet of this Tuscan countryside, he’d gotten under my skin, and I couldn’t shake him.
I’d started to lean on him, not just as a savior from my old life but as a pillar in my new one. It was terrifying. The more I depended on him, the scarier losing this became.
“You’ve been patient with me, and it’s been so nice here. Thank you for doing this.”
He brushed hair from my face, making my heart ache. “We’re in this together. For better or worse.”
“I—what do you mean by that?”
Santino slid his hand across my back. “You belong to me, and that’s never changing.”
Never?“That’s quite the leap of faith.”
“It’s more than that, principessa. It’s a fact.”
I chuckled, my cheeks flushing. “Okay. Take it easy.”
He smiled. “You still don’t get it.”
My face flushed. “Get what?”