Chapter Five
F our days.
He had forced himself to stay away for four days, each hour a test of will he wasn't sure he was passing. The security feeds taunted him with glimpses of Sarica, and it didn't matter what she was doing; anything she did, he wanted to do with her. For her. Or to her.
He would catch her having lunch, and he would remember the years when mealtimes were the only moments he had allowed himself to sit close to her, talking, and having a world of their own even though the rest of their famiglia surrounded them.
He would see her enter the en-suite to shower and he wanted to be the one soaping her body. He would see her asleep in bed, and it was all he could do not to join her and have her curl up next to him.
It was insanity to watch her all the time. But it was an addiction he could not control.
It killed him to keep his distance, but Giancarlo also knew the more often he visited her, the closer he could succumb to playing with fire.
In their world, all it would take was one spark.
One moment of weakness.
And everything he'd sacrificed these past sixteen months would burn to ashes.
So just stay away, Marchetti.
Go back to how you had lived your life in the past sixteen months, and all you had then were dreams of her.
Forget she ever existed, for both your sake.
But this was easier said than done, and when work brought Giancarlo back to the same office building where Sarica was kept hidden in a basement suite, the temptation proved too strong to resist.
Just one look.
He promised himself that was all he'd allow. One glimpse to satiate the need that clawed at his chest day and night. His fingers found the light switch outside her door, hesitating for just a moment. Total darkness would be safer. Would let him see without being seen. Would let him maintain the control that seemed to slip through his fingers whenever she was near.
The lock disengaged with a soft click, and he entered silently, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The sound reached him first—quiet, broken sounds that made his heart clench. Moonlight filtered through the high windows, casting just enough light to show him her silhouette.
She was crying.
The realization shattered his resolve like glass. Before he could stop himself, he was moving toward her, drawn by an instinct deeper than reason or duty or obligation. His feet carried him across the Persian carpet, past the untouched dinner tray on the marble coffee table, through the shadows that seemed to mock his attempt at restraint.
Sarica threw herself at him the moment he was close enough to touch, her arms wrapping around his neck, her legs locked around his waist.
" Gotcha ."
One breathlessly spoken word, and he realized that this was all a trap.
Tears had been her bait, and he had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.
But before he could pull away, she was already rubbing herself against him, and he hungered for her far too much to even think of denying himself.
He had her up against the wall in moments, her dress bunched around her waist, his pants unzipped, in another. While it took everything in him not to groan Sarica's name as he sank his length inside of her, the same constraints did not apply to her. She moaned his name with complete abandon—-
Giancarlo.
Please...
Please don't stop...
Would she still be this vocal if she realized that the guards stationed by the elevator could likely hear her?
A fierce rush of satisfaction filled Giancarlo at the thought of people knowing how much his Sarica wanted him, and his thrusts took on a roughness that had Sarica clawing his back.
Yes, yes, yes.
Her desire for him was his undoing.
I'm so close, Giancarlo.
I'm so—-
Aaaaaah.
They came at the same time, Sarica crying out as he suckled hard on her neck.
If only.
If only this moment could last forever.
If only .
But time was unstoppable, and Sarica's tremulous words were the first to break the silence between them.
"I already know it's you, Giancarlo."
Sarica's voice shook as her fingers found his face in the darkness, tracing the new scars, memorizing the changes sixteen months had wrought. "So p-please let me see you. And I p-promise. I won't ask any questions you don't want to answer. It doesn't matter what you say or don't say." Her voice broke, the sound piercing his heart. "I'm going to wait for you the way you waited for me all those years."
Sarica waited for Giancarlo to speak with desperate hope. But instead of words, he chose to answer her with a simple little click of a light switch, and the sound was everything.
She started to sob as she finally saw him clearly, her trembling fingers tracing the chiseled lines of the face that had consumed her thoughts and dreams for the past six months.
Thank You, God.
Thank You.
She couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop thanking God enough because she knew this would have been impossible without Him.
The silver in Giancarlo's hair had spread slightly; a wider streak that made him look even more distinguished despite his leaner and harder frame. But what broke her heart the most was his eyes, oh God.
His eyes were still the most precious windows to his soul, and in it, she already knew just how much he had suffered in the sixteen months that he was gone.
She traced his lips with care, a part of her still in shock that the Giancarlo before her was no longer an illusion. "It's really you," she couldn't help but whisper, and a sardonic smile twisted over the lips she had just touched.
"Now, you have doubts?" His tone was mocking, but she could hear the strain beneath it, could see the muscle ticking in his jaw.
"I love you." Sarica felt foolish for how desperately she needed to say them. But this time she could see his beautiful face, and her heart hurt at how his features hardened at her words.
"It seems I need to make myself clear."
" Giancarlo—- "
Sarica's voice faltered as he disentangled her limbs and put her down on her feet.
"The only reason I've shown myself is for you to understand that this has to end now." Each word seemed to cost him, seemed to carve new lines of pain around his mouth. "I want you to leave—"
"Why?"
His jaw clenched. "What happened to not asking questions I don't want to answer?"
"Because I'm sure that's not one of them." She stepped closer, heart pounding against her ribs. "Your mind says you don't want to, but your heart—"
" Don't ."
"But I lo—"
Giancarlo was gone before she could finish, the door closing behind him with terrible finality.
But this time, the sound didn't break her.
This time, it made her think.
Because she knew her Giancarlo—knew him in ways that sixteen months couldn't erase. Knew the man who had once moved heaven and earth to protect her would never cause her this kind of pain without reason.
And as she stood there, surrounded by the lingering scent of him, pieces started falling into place. The careful way he touched her, even when trying to push her away.
The pain in his eyes when she said she loved him.
The way his hands shook when she got too close to whatever truth he was hiding.
No, her white knight hadn't changed—not where it mattered.
And the only thing clear to Sarica now was that this time...
It was her turn to wait.
Her turn to hope.
Her turn to have faith for both of them.