Chapter 11
Dario
She hasn’t forgotten what I did in her room three days ago.
That much is obvious. The way she looks at me as though she’s still trying to reconcile the man she thought I was with the one she saw that night that tells me everything I need to know.
She doesn’t speak about it, but even peace can be loud when someone is forcing themselves to accept an ugly truth.
Still, she comes to me.
“I need to run.”
It’s late, and she stands in my office doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. Her hair is damp from a shower, the scent of something floral curling into the room.
I watch her for a moment. “You think running will fix what’s in your head?”
“I think staying locked in here is making it worse.”
Fair enough.
I glance at the clock. “I’m coming with you.”
She lets out a dry laugh. “Didn’t realize I needed a babysitter.”
I push off the desk and step toward her. “You don’t. But if you collapse in a ditch, I’d rather not deal with the paperwork.”
“There’s paperwork for ditch collapses?”
“There is when you’re under my roof.”
Her lips twitch, but she fights it. “Sounds like a terrible system.”
I shrug. “Blame the management.”
She shifts her weight, her arms still crossed, but I don’t miss the way her fingers flex against her skin, like she’s resisting the urge to reach for something—maybe brace herself, maybe me.
The damp strands of her hair cling to her collarbone, the scent of whatever she used in the shower still clinging to the air between us.
Floral, but not delicate. Something richer, headier.
Like jasmine at night, when the bloom is fullest, when it pulls you in before you even realize you’re breathing it in too deep.
I shouldn’t care how she smells. Shouldn’t care how the dim light catches the drop of water sliding down the curve of her throat. But I do.
She’s close, but fuck it’s not close enough.
It would be easy—too easy—to close the distance, to test if her skin is as warm as I know it must be. To see if she’d push me away or pull me in.
Her lips part like she has something else to say, but she hesitates, tongue darting out to wet them.
I could kiss her. If I leaned in just a little, if I reached for her, she’d have to decide to let me or walk away.
And damn it, I want to know which she’d choose.
Instead, she exhales and looks past me, like she’s already moving forward and taking herself away from whatever is going on between us now.
The moment snaps. “So at dawn, we leave.”
I nod once. “At dawn.”
***
The park is quiet, just a few early risers making their rounds, bundled in hoodies, lost in their own thoughts. She stretches, rolling her neck and testing her limbs like a caged animal about to be let loose. Then she takes off.
I match her pace easily. She’s fast, but I’m faster. The wind pushes against us, cold against my skin. Her breaths are stable, determined, but there’s something else underneath—a kind of desperation. Like she’s running from something she can’t outrun.
We push harder, the world narrowing to the rhythm of our feet hitting the pavement. It’s only when she starts slowing that I do too, following her to a bench beneath an old sycamore tree.
She braces her hands on her knees, catching her breath. “You…you really don’t get tired, do you?”
I smirk, stretching my arms across my chest. “You were the one who wanted to do this.”
She flops onto the bench, sighing. “Yeah, well. I forgot how exhausting it is.”
I sit beside her, and watch the early sunlight cut through the trees. The world feels different here. Less suffocating. She leans back, eyes closed, her skin still warm from the run.
“You’re staring,” she mutters.
I don’t deny it. “You like it.”
Her lips press together like she’s trying to suppress a smile. “That’s what you think?”
“That’s what I know.”
She exhales and shakes her head. “You’re so—”
I don’t let her finish. Shifting closer, I slide a hand over her thigh, my fingers pressing lightly into the fabric. She stiffens, but not in the way that means stop. In the way that means she’s overthinking.
“Dario,” she warns, but there’s no weight to it. Just the echo of hesitation.
“No one’s watching,” I murmur, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
She turns her head, scanning the park. “It’s broad daylight.”
“And?”
“And I’m not—” she huffs, pushing at my chest when I lean in. “We are not doing this here.”
I catch her wrist, my grip firm but not unkind. “Why not?”
She looks at me like I’m insane. “Because people exist, Dario. People with eyes.”
I glance around. “Nobody cares.”
Her face flushes, and she shakes her head. “I care.”
That’s new. She cared about what people thought before, but this is different. This is her trying to hold onto something—a sense of control, maybe, or just the illusion of it.
I should let it go. I should lean back and give her space.
But I don’t.
Instead, I slide an arm around her waist and pull her onto my lap. She stiffens, her fingers digging into my forearm, but she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t push me off.
“Dario.” Her voice is quieter now. Less sure.
“Tell me what happened that day.”
We hadn’t talked about it since—for good reason. I couldn’t stand the thought of her reliving it, so I gave her space. Let her push it down, ignore it, pretend it hadn’t left a mark.
But now, out here, away from the house, with nothing but the open space and the quiet between us, I need to know.
I killed a man because of her.
And I’d do it again.
When I look back at her, I can’t shake the worry that she’s still holding back. I reach for her hand, wrapping my fingers around hers. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t lean in either.
When she says my name again, it’s breathy. Rehearsed. Like she’s been working up to this.
“Tell me.” I press.
She hesitates, then—“How do I know you won’t turn around and do something like that to me?”
The words land harder than I expect. Not because I doubt myself—but because she does.
I tighten my grip, just enough to make sure she feels me.
“I will never hurt you.” She should know this by now, but I remind her anyway, so she never forgets.
“I will always protect you. I’ll hurt anyone who tries to touch you.
” My voice lowers, composed. Certain. “You know I won’t show mercy when you’re in danger. ”
She lets me pull her into the safe comfort of my arms. I wrap my arm around her shoulders as she sinks her head against my chest. Her breathing is soft and stable, and suddenly all I can think about is whether there’s a part of her that wants me here as desperately as I want her.
“He wasn’t trying to hurt me at first,” she says. “At least, not in the way you think.”
I pull her slightly away so I can see her face, noting the worried frown that has settled on her beautiful features. “What do you mean he wasn’t trying to hurt you? He had his hands on you—”
“Yeah, but only after I rejected his advances.”
“What?”
She exhales. “I asked him for his phone to call my husband. He said he’d help—but only if I slept with him. He promised not to tell, but when I changed my mind at the last second, he got angry and grabbed me. I slapped him first. He only retaliated.”
Even though I should be goddamn furious that she still tried to reach out to her husband, I can’t ignore what this moment means. It’s the first time she’s opened up to me, despite knowing I might not like what she has to say.
She told me.
It means she trusts me.
And yet, all I can think about is his hands on her. My pulse pounds, my vision narrows, and rage coils tight in my chest. “That makes me want to kill him all over again.”
She gives me a watery smile, something caught between humor and relief. “You already killed him, didn’t you?”
“Are you kidding me?” My words come out in a growl. “He tried to fuck you. I should have slit his throat, but not so he dies immediately. I’d want to sit and watch him suffer for even thinking about you.”
She hesitates, swallowing hard. “But why?”
“Because you're caught in my hold. You exist in the space I carve for you. Do you understand? You burn for only me, Vittoria, and no one else.”
“Dario…”
I drag my thumb over her lip. “Tell me to stop.”
She doesn’t.
She just exhales, tipping her head back, eyes darting to the empty walking path before locking onto mine. And for a second, I think she might give in. Might let herself forget about the world outside of us.
She looks soft and inviting, and I feel a deep longing rise within me. I want to kiss her. I want to lay her bare on this soft, dewy grass and map her body so I’ll never forget it.
Still, I force myself back to the present. I glance upward, straining to see the grey clouds parting for a hint of sunlight. Thankfully, it’s still dark enough for us to have a moment’s privacy, but I can sense we’re nearing the end of our rope.
I pull her closer, my hands drifting under her shirt to cup her breasts. She’s wearing a gym bra, so with a slight nudge, her breasts fall free. Her nipples harden as I rub my thumb across them.
“No one else gets to touch these perky little breasts.” I cradle each one, and she stares at me, mouth slightly open.
So far, she hasn’t pushed me away, and I take it as an invitation to continue because I know I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if she’d told me she wasn’t interested.
“You feel so soft… so gentle. Fuck, I’m so turned on right now I think I could break you. ”
She lets out a soft gasp. “Please…”
My hands travel from her breasts to her navel. She sighs contentedly when I hover there, mapping her with my fingers. “No one gets to touch your body or claim you as I do.”
“Yeah…” she breathes, and my cock twitches.
I pull my hand from her stomach and push through the band of her leggings. She isn’t wearing panties. “You’re a danger to my soul, baby. I’m a mess at your feet.”
“Ohh… put your fingers in me, damn it. Your teasing is torture.”