[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.

Liliana couldn't help but wonder what would have happened to him, to his brothers, if she had not called for Sophia's aid, or if Sophia had not appeared when she did, would they have made it to the hospital in time? Would Liliana be mourning her husband right now instead?

"I hate what that bastard has done to you, what he forced you to go through," Marcello spat. His voice was rough from sleep, and Liliana quickly reached for the jug of water and a glass at his bed side. He gratefully took it, sipping at the water slowly, barely able to lift his head up to drink properly.

"What happened? Where is he?" Marcello licked at his dry lips, brows furrowed.

Of course, he wouldn't remember anything. He had been half passed out from blood loss, too concerned with staying alive to understand anything else that was happening around him in the basement.

"He's dead."

"Dea-"

"I shot him."

Marcello was silent, the pain in his expression so very apparent.

"How," he licked his dry lips again, his voice suddenly so quiet and hesitant. "How are you coping?"

She had killed four men tonight.

That made five lives she had taken, in total. The blood of five men to taint her soul for the rest of her life.

"I'm okay." Liliana answered, honestly unsure whether she was lying or not. She'd spent the last few hours fretting over the life of her husband, that she hadn't had any time to process what had happened.

"I'm fine now," he assured, "I'm fine, you don't have to be strong, not for me. Let me be here for you. It's okay to not be okay. It's okay to struggle with this."

He wasn't fine, he wasn't anywhere near fine. Marcello still looked as if the grim reaper would appear at any moment. There was a deep purple beneath his eyes and a yellow tinge to his olive skin. He was laying in a hospital bed for heaven's sake, his body hooked up to various equipment, unable to move because of the excruciating pain he was in.

"I've never cut someone's throat before with a shard of glass," Liliana swallowed. "I've never felt their blood on my hands, never felt their body pressed against mine as I watched the life leave their eyes. That was scarring, and I wasn't okay after that first attack." Liliana shook her head, hands holding onto Marcello too tight. "But there's something disgustingly detached about shooting someone. And... and I had to, or I couldn't have found you."

She blamed herself, that first time she had killed someone. If she hadn't had been in the hallway at that specific time, she never would have run into the intruder and both of them would have been left unscathed, regardless of the fact that he was there to steal from them. But those other kills – the Italian men and her grandfather - she didn't blame herself. Those men had broken into her home seeking to hurt, to kill, her family. She had had no choice but to retaliate. No choice but to stop them.

Liliana knew she would never be able to forget the sight of Valentino Fiorenza clutching at his bleeding chest with disbelief in his eyes as she had been the one to betray him. She knew she would never be able to forget that feeling of the gun, warm and heavy in her palm, or the ringing in her ears that masked the sound of Valentino's body hitting the concrete. But if she hadn't shot him, she knew without a doubt that Valentino would have put another bullet in Marcello, and he would not have survived.

Liliana was only thankful that Valentino had allowed his ego to drive him. He had been so determined to enjoy every second of the torture, and he had been so sure that nothing could touch him, that he had dragged out the D'Onofrio's deaths just long enough for her to have time to stop him.

"I'm so, so sorry." The apology spilled out of Marcello in a broken whisper. "I'm sorry you've been subjected to this because of me."

He pulled back, as much as was possible in his delicate state, moving away from her touch. He wouldn't meet her gaze and Liliana's overwhelming urge to cry was back. She couldn't stand to see Marcello like this.

"Don't blame yourself for the actions of Valentino." Just saying his name left a bitter taste in her mouth. She hoped to go the rest of her life without ever having to mention the man again.

Her hand came to rest gently on her stomach. She would go the rest of her life without her child ever knowing of the filth that was her family - her child would only know the love of Zia Adelina and her cugini, and never of her father, grandfather and Adelina's husband.

"Our pain is in the past. What was done to us wasn't your fault and you can't start to blame yourself. Don't shut me out, don't withdraw, don't take all of the blame for this out of misguided guilt."

With his head pressed back against the hospital pillow, Marcello clenched his eyes shut. He didn't believe her. She knew he would hold on to this, and she feared this would only push him back into the darkness that was his depression.

Marcello had never uttered a word about his mental health, never called out his depression by its name, but it was clear in his actions, especially this past week. It was his depression that pushed him into the poisonous embrace of alcohol, that told him he was not worthy of love or compassion, and that urged him to distance himself from those who only wanted to help.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked after a breath of silence.

"A few hours, maybe?" Liliana said quietly. "All three of you have been in surgery. I'm not even sure what time it is, or what day. I don't know how long I've been sat here waiting for you to wake up."

She'd not eaten since she'd arrived, but she didn't feel hungry or tired, just numb.

"And are they..."

"Everyone's alive." For now. That was all she had heard from the doctors. After Mercello had been released from surgery she hadn't left his side much at all, too afraid that she'd miss something crucial, if she did.

"I'm tired." Marcello sighed suddenly, his eyes already closed.

"I'll be here," Liliana assured. "I'll be right next to you."

***

It was when Liliana was leaving Marcello's room for the first time since arriving at the hospital, that she heard the sound of familiar voices arguing down the corridor of the hospital ward. She was certain that one of the voiced belonged to Marco.

"I don't care that you killed him," Marco hissed at someone, a sharpness to his tone that could cut through bone. "I care that you took away my chance to do so without any consultation. It felt as if you confided more in the D'Onofrio's than you did me."

The hospital ward was quiet, it was late and visiting hours were over but Marcello's influence in this city was too strong for them to even try and kick her or her family out. Still the buzz of nurses and doctors on the night shift overlapped with Marco's conversation and she had to strain to hear what was being said.

"I've always worked for them." Anton. His accent was unmistakable. The man sounded so tired and exasperated. Liliana had to fight the urge to peak around the corner to confirm if it were really him.

"But you were in a relationship with me."

Lilina froze, blinking at the wall in front of her as she waited with bated breath for what was to come next. Even she could felt the tension palpable in the air. This was not a conversation she should be listening in on, this was deeply personal and yet she made no move to distance herself. Lilian heard a heavy sigh, of which she presumed to belong to Anton. The man cursed; the words weak on his lips as if he was losing the energy to continue the conversation.

"Your father was terrorising your mother for years. I acted as soon as I became aware of the situation. I will not apologise for that. We do not suffer abusers gladly, we discipline, and we punish. We live by a code, and I thought you did too."

"We do."

Liliana dared to finally look, in time to see Anton shaking his head, his upper lip curling. "You allowed your mother to suffer for far too long, and yet you punish me for freeing her? What Marcello did was a mercy, and you should be thankful to him." Anton scoffed, exclaiming, "Why are we even talking about this? Now is not the time. I'm here for them, not for you."

What exactly was it that Mercello had done to tear such a rift between Marco and Anton?

"Do you always eavesdrop on your family?" Angelo's dry, boyish chuckle appeared from behind her.

With a gasp Liliana was clutching at her chest, jolting back away from her position and spinning to shoot him a glare.

"I-" She tried to think of an excuse, all the while still straining to hear the rest of Anton and Marco's conversation.

"Save your excuses, I'm trying to hear what they're saying too," he joked, shooting her a wicked grin that he shouldn't have been able to muster in the terrible state he was in. In a wheelchair, he was still in a hospital gown with a painful looking red swell to half his face that was already starting to turn purple. His leg, after a long surgery, was fixed into a metal frame. How the youngest D'Onofrio managed to find humour so soon after everything that had transpired astounded her.

Looking at him like this, he really did look his age. In this moment, he wasn't the powerful D'Onofrio third child, he was just a twenty-year-old man who had been through hell and back.

"Should you be wandering the halls right now? How much pain medication are you on?" Liliana asked with a frown. Angelo waved her off flippantly.

"So..." Angelo drawled, his amusement not fading. Liliana dragged her attention completely away from the private conversation around the corner to the injured boy in front of her. "Daddy Fiorenza, ay?"

Her heart leapt in her chest, skipping a beat for a microsecond.

"What do you mean?" She cleared her throat. She had no other response.

"I always suspected Sebastiano wasn't my real father, though I didn't know who was." Angelo laughed, though nothing about the situation as funny. "I think Sebastiano knows it too, can't understand why he ever let me take his name and didn't cast me out at the first chance but... Valentino's finally confirmed my suspicions. Bet our kiss is starting to seem really awkward now, huh sis'?"

"Don't remind me of that."

"I can promise you I never intended to actually make a move on you. I was an ass, and everything I did was purely just to fuck with Marcello. I knew he was home that day in the lounge. I'm aware how much of a dick-head that makes me. Man, our family is fucked."

Liliana was quick to scowl at the wicked grin on Angelo's face but it quickly faded as she processed everything he had said.

Angelo D'Onofrio, the youngest of the D'Onofrio sons was in fact a Fiorenza by blood. He was her brother. Or half-brother. But the half barely mattered enough to mention when she'd only ever had one parent - the point was they shared a father. A horrible despicable father.

Her father's affair after all these years was still wrecking lives and wrecking lives well. Liliana wasn't enough, Angelo had to be dragged down to Antonio Fiorenza's hell also.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he shrugged, the movement a little too slow. "It doesn't affect anything. Sebastiano has likely known this whole time - he often does, he just very rarely shares his secrets. He isn't such a bad father to have."

Unlike Antonio Fiorenza.

But Sebastiano was still not what she would call a desirable father-figure. The brief glimpses into Marcello's childhood, from what little he had been willing to share, proved there was something still left to be desired by Sebastiano's parenting. Marcello's childhood scarred him into adulthood, and she blamed the D'Onofrio patriarch entirely.

Liliana only hummed a response, keeping her thoughts to herself.

"You disagree?"

"I'm glad you avoided a life with Antonio. You certainly wouldn't be the man you are today if you were raised by that coward," she confessed in lieu of an answer to his question. "Where's Sophia?"

Angelo sighed, running a hand through his thick, dark hair, and looking away from her to the other end of the hallway.

"She's been in Giovanni's room. He's still sedated; she hasn't left his side once."

Giovanni. In the mess that had been her husband's near death, she had been so thoughtless towards the other D'Onofrio brother. Not once had she thought to check up on him.

Giovanni had always been there for her in these past months, in his own reserved and sometimes disgruntled way of his. He always knew when to support her and when to call her out on her wrong doings, even if it went against his brother's view, and even if she didn't always agree. He was a good, loyal brother-in-law and he deserved more than to be forgotten completely by her in the panic of it all.

"Is- Is he going to be okay?" She asked, quietly, ashamed.

"We don't know." Angelo paused. "I don't know what we'll do if..."

"Don't." Liliana couldn't bare for him to finish his sentence, and from the sudden glassy appearance of his eyes, neither could Angelo. Liliana knew that if Angelo started to cry, there would be nothing to stop her tears either, and then the two of them would be nothing but emotional messes. She needed to stay strong.

"We'll just have to wait," Angelo sighed, sounding resigned. Liliana hated the lack of hope in his voice. Giovanni's condition was serious. If Angelo seemed worried – the boy who was so good at using humour to hide his emotions – Liliana knew the dread eating away at her composure was warranted.

***

"We should go get some rest."

Sophia was lent against the hospital doorway, arms crossed as she eyed Marcello sleeping. Her sombre expression didn't lift when she set her sights on Liliana at his bedside.

Liliana knew she didn't look much better than her husband.

The swelling of her nose had only grown more prominent, the underneath of her eyes were stained purple, and the cheek from where Valentino had struck her ached. She was dressed in a set of oversized sweats that Gavino had brought her, that she suspected belonged to Marco, that were so large on her that she'd had to considerably roll the ankles and sleeves up.

Gavino and Federico had tried to get her to return home for food, a shower and sleep but she hadn't wanted to leave Mercello's side. She had promised she wouldn't leave him.

Valentino Fiorenza was dead, but that didn't mean Marcello no longer had any enemies, and here in the hospital he was vulnerable. The D'Onofrio's had guards in the hospital that Angelo had arranged with the help of her cousins, but they had lost a lot of men after the break in. All of Liliana's personal guards had been killed. Thanks to Dino, who had used his relation to the D'Onofrio's to gain access to the manor, Valentino's men had been able to storm the grounds and overpower them. Without Dino, the whole operation could have failed.

"I'm fine," Liliana assured. "I've been sleeping in the chair. One of the nurses gave me a blanket."

"Liliana..." Sophia breathed. She looked so tired, the bags under her eyes prominent. "You have to get some proper rest, and you need to clean up."

"I'm good, honestly, I'm not tired and I use Marcello's bathroom here, and-"

"Liliana." Sharp, and unwavering, Sophia's voice snapped her into silence.

Sophia pushed off from the doorframe, strode across the room with a strong sense of purpose and a grim, stern expression glued to her face, and fixed Liliana with a stare she thought only Zia Adelina had mastered. She looked so intimidating, even in the soft comfortable clothes that again, were three sizes too big and so obviously didn't belong to her.

Though at least Sophia looked as if she had been taking care of herself enough to wash and comb her hair; and while her face was bare of makeup, it didn't hold a greasy sheen that suggested it was unwashed - unlike Liliana's.

"I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm smart enough to know wasting away in this hospital is not a good use of my time. You need rest, you need proper food, and you need to take care of yourself. So, get up, and come with me."

"I-" Liliana's voice broke, tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "I don't want to go back to that house."

Her words stuck a visible realisation in Sophia - her shoulders slumped, her bravado disappeared, and the familiar soft eyed woman that Liliana recognised as her best friend reappeared.

"Not there, never there," she whispered. "We're going to Barbato's house, where it's safe."

A tension that Liliana didn't realise was coiled tight inside her unravelled, and she felt herself relax ever so slightly. She didn't ever want to step foot inside the D'Onofrio manor ever again. That building had only caused her pain time and time again in the short period she had lived there. She would be happy if it burned to the ground.

"What about Marcello?" Liliana pressed, casting her sleeping husband a glance. "I don't..."

"Your cousins have arranged for people to watch over him. People we can trust, that are separate from your grandfather's empire. Please Liliana," Sophia begged.

Liliana agreed to follow her friend home, but every step away from the hospital felt so wrong. Back at the Barbato mansion, Liliana didn't eat; she didn't shower, or change her clothes, or stop to say a word to her cousins Federico and Gavino who were waiting for her arrival. As soon as she had entered into the grand hallway, Liliana was already rushing towards the familiar bedroom she had stayed in not too long ago. The first thing she noticed, when she had stepped into the room, were some of her misplaced or forgotten belongings arranged neatly on the bedside table, and the same bedsheets that had been seemingly unchanged. It appeared that Barbato had kept things in place for her, should she ever return.

Liliana hated the tears that were so quick to fall for the thoughtful old man. She had barely known him and yet he left such an impact on her. He had been truly the only father figure she'd had left, and the only one that had turned out to be truly good to her. It was another aspect of her life that had been ruined by Valentino.

Buried under the thick bedsheets, Liliana reached for the pillow that Marcello had used when he had stayed that one night, hugging it to her chest. She pressed her nose close to the fabric, inhaling deeply, hoping to find Marcello's familiar scent to comfort her but it had been too long, and any evidence of him had faded.

Liliana wanted to sob and scream until her throat was raw, but she remained frozen, curled into herself and wrapped around the pillow, her silent tears dampening the material. She felt so numb - nothing and everything was a tricky emotion to endure. It felt as if her heart was being split open, yet all she wanted to do was lie in this bed forever and never speak to anyone ever again.

At least while she was beside Marcello, Liliana had been forced to keep herself together. Now, alone, and in the safety of her own company, there was no need for pretences. Whatever she had told Marcello, no matter how much she had promised him she was okay, she was not; she realised that now.

Physically, she was fine, the doctors at the hospital had cleared her. She had gotten so extremely lucky, even her nose miraculously had not been broken - the only visible results of the attack once all of the blood had been washed from her face, was the bruising.

But inside, psychologically, she was a mess.

Marcello was alive, he was healing, he would survive. He would. But she had been so close to losing him. She had been so close to losing all of the D'Onofrio's. And she had lost all her childhood as she knew it. Everything had been a lie, every moment with her precious papa and nonno had been a lie.

Valentino Fiorenza had taken so much from her, and he had been so close to taking everything.

There was a knock on her door. A short, solid rapping against the wood, and whoever was there didn't wait for a reply before the door began to open.

Marco.

Her eldest cousin stepped into the room, pity in his expression as he surveyed the tearful mess that Liliana was, half buried beneath the bed sheets with only her eyes peeking out. He sighed, deeply and moved towards the bed with heavy feet and slumped shoulders.

"Little Lili." Perching shyly on the edge of the bed, his words were a resigned whisper. He looked pained, and she imagined it was due to the the sorry sight of her swollen, teary eyes, the flush of her face and the overall look she had gained from not showering or brushing her hair for two days.

Liliana didn't offer him a response. The only sounds she emitted were the sniffling of her nose.

"I've been meaning to talk to you..."

Liliana watched as Marco always cracked his knuckles – an unusually nervous action for a man who insisted on seeming so calm and in control at all times. He was always softer with her than his brothers, but still very rarely expressed any vulnerability.

"About?" Liliana croaked, her voice cracking.

"We spoke in Italy about your mother, about her death..."

"Please," Liliana was quick to cut him off, almost moaning in despair.

"I said I needed some time to confirm things and-"

"I can't," Liliana interrupted again, "I don't want to know. Not now. It doesn't matter now."

It was all too much. The mystery of her mother's death, the drama of her father's affair – it all seemed so far away now. Liliana couldn't bring herself to care anymore, not while more important matters existed. Her husband and his brothers were still in hospital. That's where her attention needed to be. They could discuss her mamma another time.

Valentino had demonstrated all too well how dangerous it was to cling to the past so desperately. If she spent the rest of her life chasing the demons that plagued her mother, that existed before Liliana was even born, how could she look towards the future and enjoy the life she was to have? She didn't want to follow in Valentino's footsteps, darkened by the endless need to enact revenge on any wrongdoings against her family.

Marco shifted on the bed, and Liliana watched as he hesitantly reached out towards her, his hand finding hers and squeezing it in a comforting grip.

"He's going to be okay. He woke up after his surgery didn't he?"

Liliana nodded meekly, taking in Marco's encouraging smile.

"When he woke up, do you know what he said to me?" Liliana asked with a tight smile in return, the false sense of amusement bitter on her tongue.

Marco shook his head softly.

"He said," Liliana broke off with a tearful laugh. "He said, My love... I love you. He's never said that to me before."

"Oh, oh -" Marco shifted where he sat, looking away for a second. He cleared his throat, asking tentatively, "And do you feel the same?"

"I don't know, I'm not - I -" She groaned, eyes clenching for a second, but she met her cousin's sympathetic expression. "He was on a lot of pain medication. He probably doesn't even remember our conversation."

"I don't think that's something Mercello would say if he didn't mean it, drugs or otherwise."

Liliana covered her face with the bed sheets, groaning into them.

She never thought she'd be discussing her love life with her eldest cousin, especially when it involved a man she knew Marco despised. It seemed so silly though, to be chatting with him as if it were about her school crush, and not her husband. Sometimes she forgot though, that she was only nineteen years old.

It was often, that from a young age, a girl would have to act like an adult and mature ahead of her time, or risk being eaten alive by their world. That was the curse of being a woman it seemed; you could never remain just a girl. After pretending for so long she was a strong, confident woman – it felt so odd, so wrong, to feel this young and inexperienced once again.

"I think this is a conversation you should have with him when everything's settled once again," Marco suggested, standing to his feet. "Do you want some time to be left alone?"

Liliana, still hidden, felt her lower lip begin to tremble.

"No." Her voice shook. She felt so weak, so vulnerable as she asked, "Can you stay with me please?"

She pulled back the bed sheets, leaving room for Marco in the bed. Her cugino didn't say a word as he joined her, welcoming her into his arms so that she could press her tear stained cheek against his chest and sob in the comfort of his embrace.



Oh my gosh guys, we're really near the end now!! I don't like this at all, what will I do without the constant task of writing a new chapter? I'll never write with Liliana and Mercello again!! I've literally been writing this story for about 4+ years, maybe more (which is ridiculous) but it's such a big part of my life. It's going to be weird without Tainted Faith.

This was meant to be the last chapter with an Epilogue to come but I'm gonna need more words to wrap this story up. So the next (and final) update will be a whole chapter, and there will be no epilogue. I have written a prologue for a sequel already (not focusing on Lil and Mer) but don't know when I'll be ready to upload it to be honest, I still need to cement more of the plot.

Q. What would you want to see from the last chapter? And are you as heartbroken as I am that TF is ending?