Accardi by allison franklin novel

You Were My Favorite Hurt, And My Hardest Goodbye by Ava Knight 94 Summary Matteo wakes abruptly after a night of heavy drinking, overwhelmed by grief and fear following a funeral. He struggles to clear his foggy mind and seeks out Genevieve, hoping to find her asleep in their bedroom. Instead, he discovers she is missing, which sends him into a panic. His search through their apartment and nearby rooms is frantic and desperate, especially when he finds her phone and purse abandoned, deepening his fear for her safety.

Using a tracking app, Matteo locates Genevieve's implant signal leading to a neighboring apartment. He breaks in cautiously but finds the place empty. His terror intensifies as he races to the rooftop garden, where he finally finds Genevieve startled and alone. Despite her fear, Matteo insists on getting her to safety, carrying her back to their apartment with urgency and protective determination. Once inside, Matteo's panic escalates into a full-blown attack as he obsessively secures every lock and bolt on their doors, overwhelmed by the dread of losing Genevieve.

She comforts him gently, grounding him with calm words and physical reassurance. Their shared vulnerability reveals the depth of Matteo's trauma and the strength of their bond as he admits the triggers of his panic attacks tied to past losses. Genevieve expresses concern about being his weakness, but Matteo reassures her that she has been his from the moment he first saw her picture, emphasizing his deep emotional connection despite the chaos around them. The chapter ends with a hint of mystery about the picture that captivated Matteo, leaving an unresolved tension between them.

Continue Regular Chapter Reading Below Matteo jolted awake, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as he lifted his head from the keyboard where he had dozed off the previous night. A groan rumbled from deep within him as he squinted through the haze, his eyes barely adjusting to the dim light. His gaze fell on the half-empty glass decanter sitting nearby, and he quickly did the math in his head-he must have downed nearly fifteen hundred dollars' worth of Glen McKenna just to knock himself out. Expensive, but necessary.

He pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples, trying to shake off the lingering fog as he scanned the room for the source of his abrupt awakening. Tapping his phone, he saw it was already past eight in the morning. He couldn't quite recall when Genevieve had said she was heading to bed, but he distinctly remembered reaching his fourth glass of whiskey. After they returned home from the funeral, Matteo had buried himself in work, desperate to drown out the haunting image of Genevieve in pain-her body broken by grief over the loss of one of his men.

The thought of her suffering like that if it were him lying in a coffin sent a shiver down his spine. He shook his head, silently pleading with God for just a moment's peace. Rising unsteadily, he took a few wobbly steps toward the door, steadying himself on a side table. Drawing in a deep breath, he pushed forward down the hallway toward the bedroom, hoping Genevieve was still asleep so he could sneak in a shower and try to gather himself. When he reached the room, Matteo leaned heavily against the dresser just inside the door, expecting to find her sprawled out and snoring peacefully.

Instead, his heart hammered painfully as he noticed the sheets tossed aside, revealing an empty mattress. A sinking feeling settled deep in his gut as he moved toward the bathroom, telling himself she was probably just showering. He eased the door open, but there was no steam, no sound of running water, and the light was off. "Gen?" he called softly. The silence that answered him tightened the knot in his chest. Straightening, his voice rose with urgency. "Genevieve?!" Panic surged as he dashed back through the bedroom. His socks slid on the hardwood floor, nearly sending him sprawling.

He checked every nearby room-the guest bedroom, the half-bath, the sunroom-his eyes darting frantically across the open living and kitchen areas. "Gen!" he shouted again, his voice cracking. His gaze locked on the front door, which was unlocked except for the single deadbolt. The security system was armed. "Fuck," he muttered, dread pooling in his stomach. Rushing to his office, Matteo yanked open a drawer and retrieved his gun safe. His fingers flew over the scanner, and moments later he had his handgun in hand.

Simultaneously, he grabbed his phone from the desk and dialed her number, pressing the device to his ear as he strode back toward the entrance. A buzzing sound filled his ear, but it wasn't her voice. His eyes scanned the kitchen island, where her phone lay abandoned. A cold wave of fear washed over him; she never left her phone behind. Then he spotted her purse nearby. His breathing grew rapid and shallow as the call went to voicemail. He ended the call and opened the tracking app that monitored the implants everyone carried. Scrolling through the seven names, he tapped on hers.

The screen zoomed in from the sprawling New York skyline down toward their building. "Genevieve?!" he shouted, desperation thick in his voice. Ignoring the alarm warnings, he flung open the door and stormed down the hall to the neighboring apartment. It took three forceful shoulder knocks before the door gave way, triggering the alarm inside with a shrill ping. Raising his gun to eye level, Matteo stepped cautiously inside. "Gen!" he called, his voice echoing through the empty rooms. He searched every corner, every closet-she was nowhere to be found.

Terror gripped him like a vise, sharp and merciless. It ripped through his chest, jagged and unrelenting, slicing up his spine and burrowing deep into his mind. The memory of his panic two days earlier flooded back-the time he'd returned to New York, unable to reach her, the horror of understanding why. He headed for the stairs leading down, hoping she hadn't left the building yet. That's when he noticed the rooftop garden door was slightly ajar. His apartment alarm beeped five times before falling silent. Matteo ignored it, sprinting up the stairs toward the roof.

Pushing open the door, he spotted a shadowy figure in the center of the greenhouse and dashed forward. The door slammed against the glass with the force of his urgency. Genevieve jumped up, a startled shriek escaping her lips. Her wide blue eyes locked onto his disheveled state, and she instinctively took a step back. Matteo paid no mind to her fear and moved through the greenhouse pathways into the next room. His phone rang, breaking the tense silence. "Hello," he answered without looking, his voice tight. "It's...

me," Stephen's voice crackled through the line, footsteps echoing as he hurried up the stairs. "I'm on the third floor." "It's fine," Matteo replied, returning to the main greenhouse where Genevieve still stood, eyes wide with shock. He fixed her with a hard glare. "I've got her. Tell Leo and Frank-they'll have gotten the alert too." Hanging up, he slipped the phone into his back pocket. Genevieve gave a nervous smile and lifted a small basket filled with herbs. "I... I was gathering herbs for an omelette," she said softly.

"Are you hungry?" A storm of emotions churned inside Matteo-terror, anger, sadness, relief, desperation-all colliding until they formed a hollow void that numbed his senses. He stepped toward her, and she instinctively backed away, stumbling until her calves hit a raised garden bed. Dropping the basket, she let out a startled scream as he bent down, looping an arm around her waist and hoisting her over his shoulder. "Matteo!" she yelled, clutching at the belt of his suit pants, nearly pulling them down. "What are you doing?!" He couldn't respond, his body on autopilot.

Years of training kicked in, guiding him through the disconnect from reality with one clear command: get her to safety. Jogging down the stairs, he gripped her thigh firmly to keep her secure as she squirmed, fighting not to fall. He nodded at Stephen, who was locking the other apartment behind him, before striding into their own. Slamming the door shut, Matteo turned back and roughly set Genevieve down. Without warning, his hand wrapped around her neck, pinning her against the door. Her eyes widened in shock, a sharp gasp escaping as his fist clenched reflexively.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, loosening his grip and resting his palm gently against her collarbone instead. He moved to mechanically engage every lock, sliding bolts and turning keys with trembling fingers. With each lock clicked into place, the ache in his chest deepened. It wasn't enough. They could still break in. They could still take her from him. One more lock. And another. Matteo's movements became frantic, pressing harder against Genevieve's chest with every secured latch. When he finally punched in the security code, his breath came in short, ragged gasps.

His vision narrowed to a tunnel, his heart pounding so fiercely it felt as if it might shatter his ribs. Beneath his palm, he could feel her heartbeat racing in tandem, her fear feeding his own spiraling panic. "Matteo, you're having a panic attack," Genevieve said softly, her voice a soothing balm. "I... don't... get..." he stammered, struggling to breathe. "Right, you're right. I'm sorry," she said gently, her tone tender as if calming a frightened child. "You're in control here, Matteo." He leaned his forehead against the door beside her, trying to draw in air.

His knees threatened to buckle. "You're in control. The door is secure. You're safe," she repeated like a calming mantra. Her hand slid up to rest on his chest, warm and steady. "I'm here," she whispered. His lungs finally expanded fully. Her heartbeat fluttered beneath his palm. "I'm safe," she added softly. Another deep breath. "I'm not leaving you." Matteo's fingers clenched the fabric of her t-shirt desperately. "You're in control," she said again, anchoring him. "You can't... leave me... like that," he whispered between labored breaths. "I won't," she promised.

He nodded quickly three times, resting his forehead against her shoulder as he drew in another steadying breath. They remained like that for several minutes, their heartbeats gradually syncing and slowing. Her fingers threaded through his sweat-damp hair, grounding him. "How often does this happen?" she asked after a while, her voice gentle. "The first time was February fifth, when I found out about my mom," he whispered into her shoulder. "The second was the next day, February sixth, when they told me about Tony." He swallowed hard, pausing.

"The last time was February fifteenth." Genevieve's hand stilled in his hair, tightening as she held him close. "What if I don't like being your weakness, Matteo? What if I don't want to make you feel this way?" He shook his head slowly, voice steady despite the turmoil. "I don't care. The choice was taken away before we even met. You stole my heart with a picture, Genevieve. You've been mine from that moment." Beneath his palm, her heart began to race once more. "Picture? What picture?" Fuck.

Conclusion The chapter closes on a raw and vulnerable moment between Matteo and Genevieve, revealing the depth of Matteo's turmoil and the fragile thread holding them together. His panic attack, fueled by grief and fear, underscores the emotional weight he carries, while Genevieve's calming presence offers a glimpse of hope and steady support. Their connection, marked by a complex blend of pain and devotion, highlights the struggle of navigating trauma while clinging to love as a lifeline.