I pushoff the counter and take a step toward her. “My reputation precedes me, I must admit. But that’s not entirely true. I’m simply a son who took over for his father. And now I can only hope to increase the legacy of the Davacalli name.”
“I see.” She nods. “Thank you… for coming to my rescue yet again.”
“Always,” I say instantly, taking another step toward her. “I told you, I will always be there when danger comes lurking near you.”
I’m not talking about the damn spider, and we both know it.
“And sorry about Giacomo this morning. He was very…”
“Creepy? Gross? Completely inappropriate? Take your pick.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “A bit… much.”
I hold my hands up. “Hey, who am I to judge a morning fuck session?”
She sputters out a laugh. “Whoa, calm down, big guy. Nobody was having morning sex. We were on a call with the wedding planner.”
I try not to look relieved—but I am. I hate the idea of that man being anywhere near her, let alone inside of her.
“You look better since the last time I saw you.” I change the subject, wanting to get to the core of the issue. I’m not a man who beats around the bush.
Beatrice tenses as she realizes what I’m trying to imply. Her eyes shift to the floor and then back up again to meet mine. I see the slight flicker of discomfort that moves over her gaze.
The pain she won’t name.
The truthshe won’t say aloud to herself.
“I can handle him,” she says.
“You can’t handle a man like Giacomo. He’s like a wild bull—you either gun him down or run.”
She doesn’t respond.
And the silence between us feels louder than her earlier scream.
She stands there, arms crossed, shoulders tight, staring down into her glass of water as if it holds an answer she’s too afraid to hear. I know she hears the truth in my words.
“I meant what I said,” I tell her, keeping my voice low, not wanting to startle her.
“That’s the problem,” she says quietly.
I step closer, but not too close. I need her to come to me this time.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t afford to get used to that,” she whispers. “To you showing up. To you being there. To you being my hero. Not when there is a torrid history between the two of you.”
My chest tightens.
She finally looks at me, and there’s fire behind the fear. Something breaking. Something desperate trying to hold the pieces together. She is hanging on by a thread.
“I’m in this situation because of my family,” she continues. “Because I chose to protect the people I love. That choice doesn’t leave room for… feelings. Not for you. If I fall apart, if I lose focus—people get hurt. There will be consequences.”
I nod slowly. “And what about you, Beatrice? Who’s protecting you?”
She doesn’t answer.
And I know why. Because the truth is—no one is. She is going through this alone, drowning in an ocean with no lifeline.
