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He’s covered in blood and ash, and a gash splits his eyebrow, but his eyes fix on me like I’m oxygen and he’s been drowning.
He reaches up, his fingers closing around my wrist, his touch burning. “You’re trembling,” he remarks, his thumb pressing against my pulse.
“You’re not any better, and you almost died.” Tears blur my vision.
My hands shake with jangled nerves as I attempt to apply a fresh dressing made from our damaged clothes on his wound. Our proximity fills my body with heat, reminding me how much I’ve missed him. The way his breath warms my neck. How his eyes light up like a confession when they meet mine. Without warning, he leans in and pushes back a lock of hair from my cheek.
The part of me that was convinced I could just walk away loosens.
I kiss him before thought catches up, tasting the salt and iron on his lips. His hand tangles in my hair. I grip his shirt, pulling him closer—needing him closer—like I can fuse us together through sheer will.
All of the pain pours out of me. Every lie. Every betrayal. Every moment apart.
His hand glides to the back of my neck, tugging me toward him even more. Everything around us becomes breath and heartbeat. The tempest outside could rip the heavens asunder, and still, I would remain buried in the kiss. He kisses back desperately, hungrily, like a starving man who’s finally found sustenance.
He’s the first to withdraw, his forehead still on mine, his chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. His trembling thumb traces my jaw. “You don’t have a clue what you’re doing.” His voice is wrecked. Hoarse. “Coming here. Finding me. After everything—”
“I do.” I push back. My hand presses flat against his chest, feeling his heart pound against my palm. “I love you. Even the scary parts.”
His eyes squeeze shut like the words physically hurt. His grip on me tightens—almost painfully—like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
When he opens his eyes, they’re wet. Raw. Vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen.
“Sophia…” His voice breaks, and his throat bobs with effort. “I don’t deserve you. I’m not a good man.”
“Then allow me to love you until you become one.”
His thumb traces my cheek. Reverent. Trembling. He looks at me like I’m sacred, something he doesn’t know how to hold without breaking.
“I love you,” he whispers. “God help me, I love you so much, it terrifies me.” He kisses me again, this time more slowly, more deeply, as if he’s trying to memorize the moment. His hands slips down my waist, squeezing tightly enough to leave marks. I react by hauling him closer still. The flavor of gunpowder and sweat on his body—raw and real—intoxicates me.
Under our weight, the bed groans like a living creature. The wind outside howls through a broken window. Our bodies clash in a way that feels like both home and war.
His fingers thread through my hair, and my nails dig into his shoulders. Each motion screams I’m still here, and I’m not going away again.
The worshipful way he calls my name vibrates within me, causing my heart to skip a beat. I respond with an exhalation that feels very much like forgiveness.
The universe ceases to exist. Only breath, heartbeat, and skin remain. No sides. No bloodlines. Just the two of us, ruined and restored.
“Mine. You’re mine, Sophia.” The rough, desperate claim pours into my soul. “Mia. You hear me?”
“Yours,” I gasp, the word spilling out of me in a mess. “I’m yours, Enzo.”
At the end, I sprawl across his chest, his heartbeat steadying under my ear while I graze his old scars. I touch each one with unsteady fingers, like a scholar mapping the history of a sacred text.
Finally, I lift my head to find his softened eyes. “You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, but this time it’s like he’s making peace with that thought.
I grin back. “Get used to me being around.”
The corners of his mouth lift slightly, as if he’s offering a ghost of a smile. “You could’ve had calm. Security. A spotless life.”
“Security is overrated.” I shrug. “Besides, you still owe me one violence-free date.”
His laugh fades into a sigh. “You’re a hard nut to crack.”
“But you still love me.”
He grasps my hand, his fingertips drawing circles on my skin. “God save me, I do.”
