I open the door and find him with a drink in his hand at the window. I ignore him and walk into the closet to get dressed. I don’t hear him when he comes up behind me, but I feel him.
“I’m sorry; it was a moment of poor judgment.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “I told you to let go.”
“It was fury,” he bites out.
I shake my head, still staring at my dresser, refusing to look at him because if I do, I’ll unravel. “Fury about what? I don’t get it; explain it to me.” My voice rises, demanding.
His tone shifts; harder, deeper, unsettlingly calm. “Victor wasn’t there for the tournament. That was a cover. It’s one of his games. He’s interested in touching what’s mine.”
I turn toward him slowly, and he’s already watching me, jaw tight, eyes burning, that dangerous mix of control and resentment simmering under the surface. “Touching what’s yours?” I ask, my voice coming out thicker than I intended. “And what exactly is yours, Gabriel?”
For a second, something flashes across his face; raw, unguarded. His eyes widen, not in fear but in the shock of admitting the truth out loud.
“You,” he says, his voice breaking into a growl, deep and possessive. “YOU. He wants to touch you. He wants to take what’s mine to get to me. He wants to hurt the woman I love.” Hesteps closer, breath warm, gaze locked on me like he’s claiming me with his eyes alone. “To hurt me.”
The world stops.
My breath catches so hard it hurts. His words slam into me, shaking everything inside me.
My lips part, but nothing comes out. My throat locks around the mix of shock, relief, obsession, happiness; everything I’ve been holding like a damn secret under my skin since the day I met him.
Did he really just say he loves me? After everything, did I finally hear the words I’ve been waiting for?
My heartbeat isn’t just racing; it’s begging, clawing, burning.
Because I’ve wanted this. I’ve ached for this. Forhim. For exactly this moment.
“What did you just say?” My voice comes out as barely a whisper, even though I heard every word. Every syllable burned into my bones.
“I said,” he repeats, stepping closer until there’s no air left between us, “he wants to hurt the woman I love to hurt me.” His hand comes up, fingers strong and warm as they cradle my face, tilting it up so I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “I’m so in love with you,” he says, voice breaking into a rough confession, “that I’m terrified to say it out loud. Terrified that the moment I admit it, something will rip you away from me.”
My breath stutters. His fear is raw, right there in his gaze. And God, it does something to me. It destroys me and rebuilds me all at once.
“You’re an idiot,” I whisper fiercely, grabbing his wrist, holding him as tightly as he holds me, “if you think I’d let that happen.” I step closer, my chest brushing his. “I didn’t just accept this marriage, Gabriel. Ichoseit. I walked away from my position by my brother’s side; my power, my world, because I knew what I wanted.” My voice trembles with emotion, andanger, and want. “I’m not some fragile target waiting to be taken.”
He exhales sharply, like my words gut him in the best way.
“But,” I bite out, never looking away from him, “I still need to understand why Victor would hurt me just to get to you.” My fingers slide up his arm, gripping his bicep. “Tell me the truth, Gabriel. All of it. Because I’m not walking into this blind, and I will burn anyone who thinks they can touch me just to get to you.”
His gaze lingers on me, like he’s bracing himself before ripping open a wound. “Victor is part of the Albanian mafia,” he finally says. “In our first match, and also my first match ever, he told me I would not win, and he would make sure of that. I took it as a challenge and won every single match I had.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Last time, he said he was coming for what was mine. I thought he meant the match. But it was… more than that.”
He falls silent. The kind of silence that vibrates with things he doesn’t want to say. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a thing. So, I step into the quiet, demanding, “What was he coming for?”
He shuts his eyes and exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. When he opens them again, they’re darker. Haunted. “Naomi.” The name hits the air like a ghost. I freeze, but I don’t look away from him. I force him to continue.
“Naomi was my fiancée,” he says, voice stripped bare. “We met when she began to train at Boris’s gym. Boris made me work with her, saying she would be a champion one day. One thing led to another, and we were a couple, despite the fact that she was not from our world. I proposed to her.” His throat works as he swallows, but his voice stays steady. “I was just a foot soldier, like my father. Salvatore’s father didn’t even see me, so being married to an outsider wasn’t an issue.” He looks at me then. Really looks. The pain is there, but so is something sharper; something that’s only for me. “And Victor made her a problem.”
“What happened?” I now remember why she looked familiar; she has changed, though.
He lets out a humorless chuckle. “He came for what was mine,” he says, voice low and bitter. “Victor made sure to take her away from me. I didn’t have money; whatever I earned from my matches, I paid for my way out of Cosa Nostra to Salvatore’s father. And she… saw an opportunity in Victor’s money and status. I found them in bed together the night before our match. The night before I gave everything up.”
A cold, sharp anger twists in my chest not for her, but for him.
I tilt my head to the side, studying him. “Is that why you pull away every time we get closer? Why you shut down? Are you afraid I will hurt you?”
His eyes lock onto mine. “Maybe.”
