Chapter 34 Atlas
Atlas
We were gathered around the low marble table in the living room, a stack of cards and a half-finished bottle of whiskey between us.
Smoke from Gianni’s cigarette curled toward the ceiling.
Alessio was losing, Marcello was pretending he wasn’t cheating, and I was fighting the urge to tear the cards in half every time my thoughts slid back to the girl sleeping down the hall.
Neve Trimboli.
With her wide hazel eyes.
Bruises blooming across her skin — none of them mine.
And a mouth that tasted like a sin I had no business committing.
I focused on the cards in my hand. The moment I did, Alessio’s expression changed — his gaze sharpened, then drifted upward, over my shoulder, toward the doorway. He went still, breaking the rhythm of the game.
Marcello muttered, “What the hell are you staring—” Then he turned.
Gianni twisted in his chair.
I felt it before I saw it — the shift in the air. Something soft but electric. Something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I turned and found her standing in the doorway, with her bare feet on the hardwood. My oversized T-shirt was hanging off one shoulder. Her hair was messy from sleep, her eyes wide and wary, still ringed with faint bruises.
She looked fragile and feral all at once. Breakable. Deadly.
Alessio’s mouth parted, admiration flickering across his face.
Mine shut like a trap before I could get the words out.
Marcello whistled under his breath. “Damn, that’s—”
I punched his shoulder before he finished the thought. He grunted and nearly spilled his drink.
Neve stood twisting the hem of the shirt between her fingers. She looked… uncertain. Like she wasn’t sure she belonged out here. Like she was waiting for someone to shove her back into that room and lock her away for good.
My jaw clenched. I stood slowly. Her eyes locked onto mine. And something in my chest shifted — tightened — burned.
“I, um…” she whispered, barely audible. “I was… bored. I just thought… I could come out. For a bit. If that’s okay.”
Gianni looked at her like she was a ghost. Alessio like she was a goddamn miracle he was about to worship. And me? My blood pounded loud enough to drown out everything else.
“Of course,” I managed, my voice thicker than I intended. “You’re free to wander around the apartment.”
Her fingers twisted again. “I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You’re not.”
I tossed my cards down. I didn’t care about the hand or the game. Everyone’s eyes were still glued to her. I moved toward her, each step slow and steady so I didn’t crowd or scare her.
“You like to read,” I rasped. Not a question. “There’s a library down the hall. You can watch TV in there, too. It’s quiet.”
She nodded, her lips pressed together. “Okay.”
I gestured for her to follow me. She fell into step behind me, small and silent.
But I could feel her. Every breath. Every heartbeat. Every flicker of uncertainty she tried to hide.
The hallway felt too narrow for the two of us. The soft lamplight painted her skin gold and shadowed, and something dangerous twisted in my gut.
I pushed the library door open and let her slip inside first.
The room hit us with the scent of old paper and polished cedar. No dust, no neglect — the cleaning staff kept this place immaculate, even though I barely set foot in it.
She stopped dead center and looked around like she’d stepped into a cathedral. And then she walked toward the shelves. Slow. Reverent.
Her fingers brushed the spines — light, trembling touches — as if each book might burn her if she pressed too hard.
I leaned against the doorway, my arms crossed, trying not to stare like a fucking idiot.
She trailed her fingertips over titles. Italian classics. Brutal histories. A few ancient leather-bound volumes no one had touched in years.
Then she pulled down a book, opened it carefully, and lifted it to her face. She inhaled. And I swore something in me snapped.
I wanted that breath. I wanted to be the air she dragged into her lungs. I wanted to be close enough to feel her tremble. I wanted—
Fuck.
She lowered the book, her voice small. “It smells like… time.”
I didn’t know why that was the thing that made my pulse stutter. I stepped further inside. She stiffened, sensing me even with her back turned.
“You can stay in here as long as you want,” I told her. “No one will bother you.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “…Not even you?”
My breath halted. Her eyes held something raw. Something accusing yet curious.
I held her gaze. “Not unless you want me to.”
Her throat bobbed. She looked away fast, hugging the book to her chest like a shield. The room filled with her silence. And my restraint.
She sank into one of the armchairs, curling her feet beneath her. I stayed standing a moment longer, watching her settle, watching her breath even out, watching her finally look… almost safe. Almost.
I forced myself to step back, my hand on the door handle.
“If you need anything, call for me.”
I closed the door behind me and stood there, my hand still on the handle, my forehead resting against the wood like I was trying to hold my skull together. My pulse was out of control — heavy and uneven.
I’d bled out on warehouse floors and stayed calmer than this.
Across the hall, I heard Marcello laughing at something Gianni said. Alessio shuffled cards. Someone poured more whiskey. The normal hum of men who’d stared death in the face too many times to tremble at it.
And me? I was trembling at a twenty-two-year-old girl who smelled old books and breathed like she was afraid her lungs weren’t hers anymore. Pathetic.
I pushed off the door. The hallway was too hot. I yanked at my collar even though my shirt wasn’t tight. I headed back toward the living room. The guys kept playing cards, but all three pairs of eyes cut to me the second I entered.
Marcello smirked. “You look like somebody set your suit on fire.”
I ignored him.
Gianni raised a brow. “She okay?”
“Fine,” I grunted.
Alessio grinned — way too fucking pleased with himself. “She’s real pretty.”
Something inside me snapped. “Don’t.”
The room went still.
Marcello whistled low. “Jesus, Atlas. Possessive much?”
I shot him a look sharp enough to make him shut up.
I dropped into my chair but didn’t pick up my cards. My knee bounced. My hand went to Marcello’s pack for a cigarette. The irony was that I’d quit two years ago. My brain kept replaying the moment she’d lifted that book and breathed it in. The soft sound she’d made. The way her lashes had lowered.
She had no idea the effect that had on me.
Marcello leaned back. “You need to calm down before you walk back in there and propose marriage.”
I kicked him in the shin under the table. Hard.
He cursed and kicked me back.
“Children,” Gianni muttered, shuffling the deck.
The room tried to fall back into its rhythm. But I wasn’t in it. I was stuck against that library door in my head, inhaling her breathing, imagining what she looked like now.
I shouldn’t have given a damn. I should have kept her locked in that damn bedroom.
My blood spiked at the memory of Alessio’s face when he’d seen her. His admiration. His interest.
I almost kicked the table over.
“Fuck this,” I muttered, standing.
Marcello groaned. “Where are you going now?”
I grabbed the whiskey bottle from the counter but didn’t answer.
Gianni lifted his cards. “Atlas. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I stopped in the doorway, my jaw clenched. “Define stupid.”
Alessio snorted. “Anything you’re currently thinking.”
He wasn’t wrong.
I left the room before I embarrassed myself further. My footsteps echoed down the hallway. The closer I got to the library, the heavier my breath got.
I wasn’t going in. I wasn’t.
I stopped outside the door but heard nothing. No rustling of pages and no sighing. There was no movement. My pulse spiked.
I wondered if she was asleep. Or if she’d fainted. Perhaps she’d tried to escape. I cursed under my breath, my hand reaching for the doorknob, then stopped myself.
No. No, I wasn’t doing this. If I walked in… I didn’t know what I’d do.
I leaned my back against the wall instead, staring at the ceiling, trying to force logic into a skull that hadn’t used it since she’d come into my life.
She was here because she had nowhere else to go and because I refused to let death take her again. Nothing more.
It didn’t matter that she was beautiful, or that kissing her had felt like releasing something I’d held caged for an eternity.
She was a problem. Nothing more. An old threat.
But as I stood in the hall like a man possessed, listening through a closed door for the sound of her breathing… I knew the truth of the matter was that I was afraid of what she made me want.
I tore myself away from the door and stalked down the hall toward my room, every step heavier than the last. My pulse dragged like thunder through my veins — slow, brutal, impossible to ignore.
Tomorrow I’d have to look her in the eyes again — those eyes that should hate me, fear me — and pretend I wasn’t fighting the urge to claim what wasn’t mine.
I was losing that fight.
And when the last thread snapped, there wouldn’t be a goddamn thing left in me resembling restraint.