23. Look At It

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❝ look at it ❞━ DOMENICO ━

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❝ look at it ❞
━ DOMENICO ━

"You need to eat."

With my gaze on Farrah's still body, I lower myself onto the bed beside her and rest a hand on her cheek. On the side table — which she hasn't moved her eyes from — is the drawing she'd collected from the Irish doctor a week ago.

"I'm not hungry." She sounds weak, not herself. And it's not something I blame her for. She lost someone really close to her. Someone she was about to take into her family.

I brush the curls from her face, "I can get a nurse to connect an IV." I tell her, "You need to stay hydrated and you haven't touched that water since you got home."

"No."

And the conversation ends. That's how most of them have been since that night. I've killed people and looked their parents in the eyes, yet nothing has unnerved me as much as Farrah's silence.

Laying a soft kiss on her temple, I stand from the bed and exit the room. Antonio is standing in the kitchen, a stack of pancakes in front of him and a can of whipped cream in his grasp.

He pipes a smiley face on the stack and sends me a cheesy one of his own. I narrow my eyes at him and his smile falls.

"Mi dispiace, capo. Pensavo che questo l'avrebbe tirata su di morale. (Sorry, boss. Thought this would cheer her up.)" He slides the plate away and bows his head.

"She won't eat."

He shrugs and pouts like a child, "She could still look at it."

"Per favore, non costringermi a ficcarti il ​​piede in gola oggi. (Please don't make me shove my foot down your throat today.)"

My phone rings and at the sight of the name on the screen, I can't help the exasperated sigh that escapes me. "What?"

Alessia chuckles at the sound of my voice, "Answer more aggressively, why don't you...." I roll my eyes.

"I don't have time for this." I deadpan.

"Of course you don't. You're a busy man." She scoffs, "You're needed in Italy."

"I'm needed?" My eye twitches.

"Yes. Nazar has requested a meeting."

And now this shit. "Fuck no."

She sighs, "Mr. Santino. I understand the situation is —"

"No, you don't seem to understand shit. The woman I —" I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. She's just the messenger — she doesn't deserve to be on the brunt end of my anger and frustration, "I'm sorry." A pause. "When?"

━━

That night, in bed, Farrah rolls onto my chest and sinks her fingers into my skin. I say nothing and do nothing, allowing her to use me for her mourning.

I hold her, my hand caressing the back of her neck and the other tracing a pattern into her arm.

The sounds of Chicago traffic are muffled with her closed window across the room.

"Her favorite color was pink." Farrah breaks the silence between us.  "And she knew mine is yellow." I feel a cold tear drip on my skin, "And she drew that picture. She called me her mom, Nico."

I kiss her forehead in comfort, "She loved you, Farrah."

"And I loved her." She sobs, "She was always smiling. Even when she didn't have the energy to lift her arm, she smiled and always made me smile."

I listen intently, feeling as she releases her grip on me. She traces my cross tattoo. "She wouldn't want me to cry. She would want me to smile and think about one of those corny jokes Jan would tell her."

"Farrah..." I trail off, feeling as she leans up and peers up at me. "You're allowed to mourn."

She shakes her head and swings her leg to the other side of me so she straddles my hips, "I've been mourning for a week, Nico. I'm tired of it." I don't know whether to be relieved or concerned. "Val doesn't want me to be sad over her death. She wants me to be happy that she lived."

Or both at the same time.

"She told you that?" I ask, staring up at her. I don't mean to be patronizing but her sudden snap is making me nervous. And that doesn't happen often.

Farrah rolls her eyes before removing herself from my lap and swinging her legs off the bed instead. I watch her carefully as she rolls her shoulders, "I'm hungry."

"Lay down. I'll get you some food. What would you like to eat?" I eye her and lean toward her back, planting kisses up her shoulder.

She turns her head to the side and with a quiet tone, answers, "I don't know."

I scan the way her jaw clenches and her lashes flutter closed. "Okay." Kissing her neck one more time, I exit the bed and grab my phone.

Before I leave, however, I turn to her and crouch below her. She avoids my gaze but that doesn't stop me from saying my next words, "I'm going to Italy for a couple of weeks." She blinks blankly, "I want you to come with me."

She has no fight left in her — a dim light in her eye. Her hands are cold and her jaw is clenched, "I'm annoyed with you."

Out of everything I hoped she would say, that wasn't on the list. "Why are you annoyed with me?"

"Valeria is dead." She deadpans and I tilt my head in shame, "I get that. That doesn't give you a right to tell me how to grieve. I miss her — I always will, but it's been a week. I've learned how to cope. Until it gets bad, I'll do what I can to keep a smile on my face."

I stare at her for a moment longer before nodding in understanding, "Okay. I'm sorry for invalidating your way of grieving. I didn't mean for it to come out like that. Just promise to be honest with me if it does get bad. I will drop everything I'm doing to make sure you're okay."

She pauses then nods, "I promise. And yes, I'll go to Italy with you."

THE COMMUNICATIONNNNNN <3333333333

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THE COMMUNICATIONNNNNN <3333333333

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