31. Duty and Desire
CHAPTER 31
DUTY AND DESIRE
R affaele
As we walk through the immense gates of the Colosseum, the grandeur of ancient Rome engulfs us, its history echoing through the vast, open air. But I can’t even enjoy it, not fully. I scan the area instinctively, noting exits, potential threats, and the distances between us and other groups. But even as I perform my duties, my attention splits—mostly because of Massimo and that stupid smile on his face as he stands way too close to my client.
Fuck, even in my head the term feels wrong. It doesn’t encompass an ounce of what Isabella has become to me. Even now, pissed and confused as all hell about last night, I can’t keep my eyes away from her.
"Imagine the spectacles that once filled this arena, Isabella," Massimo says, drawing my attention to the pair as they saunter through the dim corridors. His voice is rich with passion, and it only pisses me off more. He paints a vivid picture of gladiators and roaring crowds, and I can almost hear the clash of swords and the shouts of thousands.
Damn him for being such a good storyteller.
Isabella's eyes light up with each word, her fascination clear, and I’m jealous, so damned envious that it’s her professor getting to share this moment with her. This is my city, and she’s my client. She moves closer to him, hanging on his every word. Occasionally, their hands brush, and though each touch seems casual, it grates on me like sandpaper. It’s hard not to see every accidental touch, every smile between them as a calculated move by Massimo.
Dio , I will strangle the bastardo if that hand brushes her ass one more time.
My role demands invisibility and silence, traits I’ve mastered over the years, but today, it feels impossible. Not after last night’s shitshow. After I stormed out like a coglione , I paced the block in front of the apartment for hours. I never dared roam too far, even with two guards stationed inside with Isabella and the usual three along the outer border of the apartment building.
I’d clearly lost my mind snapping at her like that. She didn’t owe me anything, not a blow job, not sex. I’d been dying to taste her pussy for months; I did it because I wanted to, not because I expected anything in return. But in retrospect, I’m sure that’s how it came off.
No, the real reason I freaked out is worse still.
I was fucking hurt.
Hurt that she thought so little of that pivotal moment between us.
I fully realize how insane that sounds since I was the one that insisted this would never happen again, but Dio , it was so much more than I ever could have imagined. Kissing her, touching her, tasting her, it was everything.
Over the past few months, Isabella has become so much more than just my principal. Every day, she peels back another layer—showing her resilience, compassion, and genuine nature—and it's slowly breaking down the professional walls I thought were solid.
Watching her now, laughing in the soft afternoon light with Massimo, something inside me starts to change. It’s not just about duty anymore; it's about a deep need to keep her safe. Not just from the obvious dangers, but from anything that might dim that bright light in her eyes. Her happiness, her safety, it’s become part of what drives me, and it’s completely unsettling. I’m beginning to realize that my feelings for her might be the one thing I can’t protect myself against.
The good professor and Isabella continue on to the next alcove, and I follow behind them, trying my damnedest to focus in spite of the suffocating rage. Every muscle in my body is tense, and my jaw is clenched so tightly I'm sure I could crack a tooth. I stay close, always watching, always ready, but today the threat feels personal, and it's infuriating.
As they wander slightly ahead to a quieter section, Massimo leans in to whisper something to her, his words clearly meant only for her ears. The intimacy of the gesture is like a shout, and I ball my hands into fists, fighting the urge to physically remove him from her presence.
Isabella must be paying more attention to me than she’s pretending because she glances back, her lips pulling into a pout. Realizing I probably look like a psycho, I force my features into a neutral mask and focus on a detailed carving on the wall. " Signorina ," I start, using her title to remind her—and myself—of our respective roles, "these markings here tell stories of great Roman victories, each one a chapter in the history of this city's glory."
Isabella joins me in the little nook while Massimo remains behind to continue reading the ancient text. The moment we’re alone, I’m filled with the most overwhelming desire to pin her against the wall and—. No… Shaking my head free of the heated delusions, I delve into a discussion about historical strategies and the empire's legacies instead. Anything to refocus my thoughts. The professor isn’t the only one with knowledge of this great city. Ha!
She watches me, carefully, a hint of awe in her expression, and satisfaction surges all the way to the tips of my toes. Because clearly, I’m a child. For a moment, I’m just her guard again, discussing, not defending. But the tension doesn't fully dissipate. It simmers under the surface, a silent standoff between duty and whatever the hell is developing between us.
Nothing is developing, coglione .
Last night was a mistake, a monumental, gigantic error.
As soon as we get back home, I have to apologize. Neither of us was even drinking so I can’t blame it on alcohol, which would have made the whole awkward conversation that much easier. Instead, I have to suck it up and admit the truth.
Whatever that is…
As we continue the tour, I can't help feeling like a gladiator myself, caught in an arena forced to endure a battle with my own self-restraint. Every time Massimo looks at her or touches her, I find myself reaching for an invisible sword. If I could, I’d run him through with it like one of those ancient Roman warriors. Here, in the shadow of Rome’s most famous battleground, I’m reminded that not all wars are fought with swords—they are sometimes silent, fought in the depths of one’s own heart, under the weight of duty and desire.
We finally wind around the entire circle and find ourselves at the exit. Thank, Dio . Bloodied half-moon marks line the inside of my palm from the restraint it took to keep from shoving Massimo off my client and into one of the fighting pits.
“Well, that was amazing, Massimo. Thanks so much for the guided tour.” She’s beaming at him, like he hung the fucking moon.
“It was my pleasure. But the night is still young, Bella. Would you like to have dinner with me?”
“Nope, sorry, not going to happen.” I step between the pair, shaking my head. “All locations must be vetted by my team beforehand.”
Isabella opens her mouth to likely rip me a new one, but Massimo cuts in. “Oh, come on, Raffaele, it’s a small little trattoria on the outskirts of town. Isabella will be perfectly safe.”
“That’s what we thought about the aperitivo the other night and look what a disaster that turned out to be.” I bristle and tower over the idiot, meanwhile cursing myself because we still know nothing about who was behind that shooting.
“That was an isolated incident. I’ve never seen anything like that in my ten years at the Policlinico .”
“Well, Isabella’s life is my responsibility so I’m sure you’ll understand why I don’t take my duty lightly.” Glaring at him, I inch closer to Isabella, and I’m surprised she doesn’t scoot away. She hasn’t spoken more than a word to me since last night.
“How is Jeff?” Isabella blurts, cutting through the rising tension. “Have you visited him at the hospital yet?”
Massimo nods. “Yes, I went this morning. He’s recovering well from the surgery. You did everything right last night in caring for the wound, Bella. I am very proud of you.”
“ Grazie .” Her cheeks flush that rosy hue that has my thoughts instantly flying to the night before. “Anyway, I’m still pretty exhausted from the adrenaline rush of last night so let’s do dinner another night, okay?”
“ Si, certo , of course I understand.” He leans in and kisses her on both cheeks, and I barely restrain the growl building at the back of my throat.
As relieved as I am about not having to endure dinner with these two, I’m also dreading the talk we’re about to have. Whatever this thing is between us, I must nip it in the bud or else my performance will suffer and ultimately Isabella will pay the price.
And I would never let that happen.
The quiet car ride was bad enough, and now here we are lumbering around the apartment in an even more charged silence. Isabella plucks a take-out menu from the fridge, reading through the assortment of pizza though I know damned well she’s already memorized every item on the pamphlet. It’s our go-to pizza place.
“You hungry?” I call out.
She doesn’t even spare me a glance, only continues to stare.
Isabella gets the same thing every time, the Pizza Prosciutto e Rucola which is more of a salad than a true pizza if you ask me with all that arugula on top. She continues to stare at the menu, avoiding my gaze so I step closer. Still not a twitch in my direction.
“Do you want me to order something?”
No response.
Finally, I step in front of her and snatch the little flyer right from her hands.
“Hey!” she squeals.
“Ah, she speaks.” I hold the menu just out of reach, so she stands on her tiptoes jumping up and down trying to grab it.
“Give it to me,” she hisses.
“Why? We already know what you’re getting.”
She shoves me against the refrigerator, and I’m actually impressed by her strength. “You do not. You don’t know anything about me, you ass.” Her tone is biting, laced with some deeper emotion that sounds a lot like hurt.
I recognize it easily because I’ve been drowning in the same feeling since last night.
I pin my gaze to hers, still trapped between her and the fridge. “I’m sorry, okay?” Dragging my hand through my hair, I heave out a breath. “I fucked up last night, big time.”
She stills, her entire body tensing. That vein across her forehead pulses, and I can practically see the gears spinning in that gloriously devious mind of hers. Still, she says nothing, waiting for me to continue.
“First of all, I never should have allowed any of that to happen.”
Her eyes flash, and fuck me, I’m just digging myself into a deeper grave.
“Despite how much I wanted it to,” I add.
The hard line of her lips softens a touch.
“Second of all, before I ran off like a stronzo , I wasn’t implying I expected you to fuck me. I would never assume anything like that. I just thought that was what you wanted and then you caught me off guard, and?—”
She stares up at me like I’ve lost my mind, which I kind of have because of her. This woman drives me absolutely batshit crazy. So I start all over again. “I have strict rules when it comes to my clients?—”
“No shit?” Her eyes dance with a hint of mischief, the corner of her mouth tilting up ever so slightly.
“My rules exist for very good reasons, Isabella. They could mean the difference between life and death… your life. I never should have been so irresponsible with something so precious.” I shove my hand in my pocket to keep from reaching out to caress her cheek.
Her lips purse, a faint exhale squeezing through. My head tips forward because I’m a complete masochist, desperate to take in her breathy sigh.
“I just don’t understand why it’s such a big deal…”
“You know how I am, how important the routine and procedures are to my success. How am I supposed to focus on that when all I can think about is the next time I’ll get to touch you? Or feel your lips against mine? Just one night and the sounds you made are already permanently emblazoned in my mind, living rent free for all eternity. I haven’t even brushed my teeth since last night just so I can savor your taste on my lips…” I force my tongue to still before I say something we can never come back from. Because just speaking the words is already making me hard. “Fuck,” I grind out. “I never should have taken this job.”
“But you did,” she snaps, knotting her arms across her chest. “And now we’re stuck together for the next two and a half months.”
“Well, we’ll have to figure out a way to make it work.”
“I don’t see how we can.” Her words aren’t biting like they have been throughout the conversation, instead, a hint of sadness laces them. And it cuts the deepest of all.