Something flickered in Vittorio's eyes—something raw and unguarded. "I will always come for you."
"Why?" The question escaped before I could stop it. "I'm nothing to you. Just Antonio's leftovers. Just a problem."
His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, wiping away tears I hadn't realized were falling.
"Is that what you think?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "I didn't believe you'd come. When I heard the gunfire, I thought—I thought it was Falco's men, finishing the job."
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
I raised my eyes to his.
"I killed eleven men to get to you," he said. "I would have killed a hundred more."
The intensity in his voice made me shiver. This wasn't the cold, calculating Vittorio who'd kept me prisoner. This was something else entirely—something dangerous in a completely different way.
"I didn't think I mattered," I whispered.
His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer until our foreheads touched. "You matter."
The simple words hung between us, heavy with meaning. I studied his face in the moonlight—the sharp angles softened by shadows, the ice-blue eyes that had once terrified me now warm with something I'd never expected to see.
When I was in that warehouse," I said slowly, "when I thought I might die, the only thing I regretted was never telling you…" I stopped, the words catching in my throat.
"What?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
I looked away, suddenly terrified. "I can't. It's too soon. Too complicated."
"Sophie." His hand found mine. "Tell me."
"Somewhere between hating you and fearing you… I stopped knowing where the line was. I don’t even know what this is anymore."
The confession hung in the air like a live wire. Vittorio went perfectly still, his eyes searching mine as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard.
"Sophie," he said, my name a broken sound on his lips.
"I know it's complicated. I know it doesn't make sense. But when I heard those gunshots, when I thought I might never see you again…" I reached up to trace the hard line of his jaw. "I realized that you're not my captor anymore. You're my choice."
Something cracked in his expression—a wall finally crumbling. "I was terrified," he admitted, his voice rough. "When I found that empty room, when I realized they'd taken you… I felt the same helplessness I felt years ago when I lost someone I cared about. Her name was Livia, and I’m almost certain that my brother had her killed. But this was worse. Because losing you would destroy everything I've become." "You won't lose me," I whispered. "Not unless you push me away again."
"Never," he said fiercely. "Never again."
My breathing slowed, matching his. The panic receded, replaced by something warmer, more urgent.
"Vittorio," I breathed.
I placed my hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. His skin was warm, his muscles taut beneath my touch.“I need you,”I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.
For a moment, he froze, his eyes searching mine as if looking for a reason to refuse. But then, his control fractured. His hand slid down my back, pulling me against him, his body hard and unyielding. I felt the heat of him, the strength, the raw power that seemed to radiate from every inch of his being.
“Sophie,” he growled, his voice thick with restraint. “Are you sure you're ready for this?"
I was. I needed this—needed him. My hand slid lower, tracing the ridges of his abdomen, my touch deliberate, needy. “I’m ready,” I whispered, my lips brushing against his.
He hesitated again, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. But then, with a growl, he surrendered. His mouth crashed down on mine, hungry and demanding. His kiss was fierce, his tongue tangling with mine, tasting of sleep and something darker, wilder.
His hands moved with purpose, sliding down my body, mapping every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. I felt his fingers trace the bruises on my arms, the tenderness in his touch at odds with the raw hunger in his eyes.
