He'd hate himself for it. He'd punish himself later, retreat into that cold silence, rebuild every wall I've spent weeks chipping at. But in the moment? With my hands on his chest and his name in my mouth?
He wouldn't say no.
I press my palm flat against the door. Close my eyes.
On the other side, I hear a thud. Soft. Like a forehead resting against wood.
We stay like that. Wanting. Craving. Denying. Until his footsteps finally retreat down the corridor. Slow. Heavy. Like a man walking away from the only thing he wants.
I sit on the floor for a long time after he's gone.
Then I climb into his bed, pull his pillow against my chest, and press my face into the fabric that smells like him.
I don't sleep.
But I stop pretending I don't want to.
Chapter Seven: Leone
Ilastthreemoredays.
Three fucking days of the chair. Three fucking days of listening to her breathe in my bed, the sheets rustling every time she shifts, the soft sound she makes when she's almost asleep but not quite. Like a sigh caught halfway in her throat.
Three days of walking away from that door with my hands shaking and my jaw wired shut and every nerve in my body screaming at me to turn around.
I throw myself into the war instead. I coordinate strikes on Castillo supply lines. I debrief Aurelio on the financial trails Alexandra uncovered. I sit in meetings that last six, eight, ten hours, surrounded by men who would die for the cause, and I stare at maps and casualty reports until the numbers blur.
None of it works.
She's in my head. In my chest. In my goddamn bones. I catch myself checking my watch during strategy sessions, counting hours until I can go back to the room. Not to see her. to be near her. to sit in that chair and listen to her breathe and pretend the proximity is enough.
It's not enough.
Claudio corners me in the corridor after a late briefing. He leans against the wall, arms folded, that shark smile tugging at his mouth.
"You look like shit," he says.
"Noted."
"When's the last time you slept? Actually slept. Not whatever you're doing in that room."
I keep walking. He keeps pace.
"The men are talking, Leone."
"The men can talk."
"They're saying you're compromised. That the girl has you by the—"
I stop. Turn. Whatever he sees in my face makes him take a half step back, and Claudio doesn't take half steps back from anything.
"Finish that sentence," I say quietly.
He holds my stare. Then he lifts his hands, palms out. "I'm on your side. You know that. But you need to get your head straight before Aurelio starts asking questions neither of us can answer."
"My head is fine."
"Your head is three floors up in a room that smells like a woman you won't touch." He drops his voice. "Either touch her or let her go. This middle ground is going to get you killed."
