Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 48

Davina's POV:

The world was a swirling, painful haze. I drifted in and out of a strange, terrifying dreamscape, a feverish reality where shadows danced and voices whispered. My head throbbed, a dull ache that resonated with the frantic beat of my heart. I was so cold, yet so hot, shivering uncontrollably even as sweat slicked my skin.

Faces flickered through the gloom. My father, his eyes filled with a familiar despair, then Ivan’s sneering grin, morphing into the cold, calculating gaze of Ezra’s father, Lorenzo. They were all talking about the debt, about payment, about me being used. I tried to scream, but no sound came out, my throat raw and burning.

Then, through the darkness, a different voice. Soft, deep, reassuring. It was Ezra’s. But it couldn't be. He was the cause of all this pain. Yet, a part of me, a deep, primal yearning, clung to the sound. I felt a comforting weight, a solid presence. Was I dreaming?

My mind conjured images of home, of my mother's gentle hands, my sister's laughter. I missed them so terribly. I called out for my mother, a desperate whimper escaping my lips, wishing for her comfort, her unconditional love.

But then, the deep voice was closer, a whisper against my ear, murmuring words that somehow soothed the frantic beating in my chest. A strong arm wrapped around me, pulling me against a solid warmth. It felt so real, so safe, so much like… him.

"Ezra…" I mumbled, my tongue thick and heavy. Why was I calling his name? He was the one who broke me. But in the hazy confusion of my fever, logic dissolved. Only the raw, unfiltered feelings remained. "Don't leave…" The words spilled out, a desperate plea born from a subconscious fear of abandonment, of being alone in this terrifying, burning world. "Please… don't leave…"

I felt myself being held, a large hand gently stroking my forehead, wiping away the sweat. The touch was familiar, sending a strange current through my feverish body, a mix of safety and the lingering pain of betrayal. I didn't know if it was real, if it was part of the fever dream, but I instinctively leaned into the warmth, clinging to it like a drowning person to a lifeline.

Through the night, the delirium ebbed and flowed. Sometimes, the comforting presence was just a phantom, and I’d whimper, lost again in the dark. Other times, it was solid, real, holding me steady, urging me to swallow bitter medicine. I would cling to the warmth, to the scent that was undeniably his, even as my conscious mind screamed at me for doing so. A part of me, the part that was raw and honest in its fevered haze, just wanted him to hold me, to make the pain go away.

I might have confessed more than just a plea not to leave. In the blurred lines between reality and nightmare, feelings I'd fiercely suppressed might have slipped out, whispered into the void, or into his ear, if he was truly there. The warmth, the safety, the feeling of being protected... it was intoxicating, dangerous, and all I craved.

I drifted into a deeper sleep, the fever finally beginning to break, cradled by a presence that felt both forbidden and utterly necessary.

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Ezra's POV:

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