Chapter twenty-six
Vince carries me into the house as if I'm on the brink of death, despite the fact that it's just my arm that's injured.
His grip is unyielding, his jaw clenched so tightly I swear his teeth might crack under the pressure.
He hasn't spoken to me since we left the hospital—though, to be fair, we never needed to go there in the first place.
The injury wasn't serious. A deep cut, yes, but nothing life-threatening.
Certainly not worth the storm cloud that's been hovering over Vince's head.
The front door swings open, and before I can fully process it, Angelo comes rushing out of the kitchen, his face contorted with panic.
I roll my eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake, that's enough. I'm fine! It's literally just a small cut," I huff, shifting in Vince's arms, trying—and succeeding—to free myself.
Vince doesn't acknowledge my protests, nor does he spare Angelo a glance as he brushes past him. He's a wall of silence, his entire body radiating tension.
Angelo sighs, running a hand through his hair, "Are you sure you're okay? Vincenzo didn't say much over the phone."
I nod stiffly and lift my bandaged arm, the thick white gauze now wrapped around it like an unnecessary badge of honour.
Vince's gaze locks onto it, his expression unreadable—except for the guilt swirling beneath the surface, dark and oppressive.
But this wasn't his fault. He couldn't have protected me and fought off everyone on his own.
Without a word, he turns on his heel and storms toward his office.
Angelo lets out another sigh, shaking his head. "Here we go," he mutters before casting me a small, reassuring smile and following after him.
I remain by the door for a beat, listening. It doesn't take long before the sound of Vince's fury erupts from behind the office walls. A violent crash echoes through the hallway, followed by another. I can hear his heavy, uneven breathing, the raw edge of his rage barely contained.
Cautiously, I push the door open just enough to peek inside.
Angelo sits calmly on the leather sofa, seemingly unbothered by the storm raging in front of him. Vince, on the other hand, is a man possessed. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, his chest heaving as though the air around him is suffocating.
"I WILL MURDER THEM!" he roars, his voice a force of nature. "SHE IS MINE!"
Angelo exhales. "You need to calm down."
"CALM DOWN?" Vince's head snaps toward him, his entire body trembling with barely restrained fury. "THEY WANT HER! THEY WANT TO KILL HER BECAUSE OF ME!"
A chill snakes down my spine. Who exactly wants me?
And why does he sound so certain? I've never been safe—not really.
Being the daughter of Regina and Leonidas Castillo meant growing up in the shadow of countless enemies.
But Vince is acting like something has changed. Like I'm in more danger now than ever.
I push the door open further, stepping inside.
His head whips toward me. His eyes—normally pools of dark intensity—are ice-cold, unreadable, dangerous. A vein pulses in his neck, his rage a living, breathing entity.
"Get the fuck out!" he bellows, stalking toward me like a predator.
Instinct kicks in before logic. I take a step back. Fear claws its way up my throat, the air between us crackling with an unspoken warning. The hairs on my neck stand on end, and a small voice inside my head screams at me to run.
Tears sting my eyes. My Vince isn't in front of me right now. This man, this version of him—this is someone I don't recognize.
So I do the only thing I can.
I turn on my heel and sprint up the stairs.
Slamming my bedroom door behind me, I press my back against it, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps. My pulse is wild, erratic, my hands trembling at my sides.
No one has ever shouted at me like that before. No one.
And as the silence settles around me, a realization creeps in. I don't truly know the man downstairs. Not really. He has only ever told me what he wanted me to know. He has always been an enigma, a carefully constructed mystery.
Yet despite everything—despite the fear that still lingers in my bones—I find myself wanting to know more. Not just the pieces he chooses to share, but everything. His favorite color. His childhood memories. The things that keep him up at night.
I want to know all of him. Because despite his darkness, despite the chaos that surrounds him—I am utterly, helplessly captivated by Vincenzo Lombardo.
Morning comes slowly, dragging me back into consciousness. The warmth beneath me is unfamiliar, solid, unyielding. My head rests against something firm, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath my ear.
I jerk awake.
Vince is lying beneath me, his arms wrapped protectively around my waist, his gaze distant as he stares out the window.
"Get away from me," I yelp, scrambling across the bed, my mind still foggy with sleep.
His head snaps toward me. "Please, forgive me, my love." His voice is raw, almost broken. "I'm trying—really trying—to be what you need me to be. But I keep messing up." His throat bobs as he swallows. "I'm fifty shades of fucked up and have been for a long time, but please... don't leave me."
I frown. He thinks I'm mad at him for being emotional downstairs? He overreacted, yes, but it only showed how much he cares. I hate seeing him like this—so vulnerable, so unlike the unshakable man he presents to the world.
Instinctively, I reach for him. "I'm not going anywhere, love, and I forgive you." Our foreheads press together, our breaths mingling in the space between us. "I forgive you."
His eyes darken with something unreadable. "How can you forgive me? They want to take you, and it's all my fault. If I wasn't myself—"
I silence him with a gentle touch, cupping his cheek. "Don't you dare finish that sentence. I trust you to protect me. And sometimes, things will be hard. But we have each other's backs."
A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips, but before I can say more, he moves.
His lips crash against mine, consuming, desperate. His fingers weave into my hair, tugging slightly as he deepens the kiss. It's not like anything I've felt before—not soft, not hesitant. This is raw. Passionate. A promise.
He flips us over, nearly tumbling off the bed in the process, and a small giggle escapes my lips. His boyish grin makes my heart stutter before he leans down, trailing kisses along my neck.
This time, it feels different.
It feels like an unspoken vow.
A soft gasp escapes my lips as Vince trails his mouth back to mine, his lips warm and firm, moving with deliberate intensity.
The kiss is slow yet consuming, a steady build of heat that coils deep in my stomach.
His fingers brush along my jaw before tangling into my hair, tilting my head just enough to deepen the kiss, to claim every soft whimper I offer in response.
My hands move instinctively, tugging at the hem of his trousers.
He nods in silent approval, his dark eyes locked onto mine, watching, waiting.
The slow drag of the fabric down his hips sends a shiver through me, the anticipation buzzing like electricity against my skin.
My breath hitches as I pull them away completely, along with his boxers, leaving nothing between us but the flickering tension in the air.
A playful glint flashes in his eyes as I push him back against the mattress, my confidence wavering only slightly under the weight of his gaze. He doesn't stop me. He lets me take control, his muscles taut beneath my fingertips as I straddle him, pressing my palms to his chest.
The heat between us is undeniable, a fire kindled long before this moment, smoldering, waiting to ignite. I reach for the hem of my camisole, my pulse thrumming wildly as I lift it over my head, casting it aside without hesitation. My shorts follow, leaving me bare beneath his hungry gaze.
Vince sits up suddenly, his strong arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer, his lips finding the delicate skin of my throat. A sharp inhale leaves me as he murmurs against my pulse, the vibration of his voice sending tremors through my body.
"You are stunning," he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. "And all mine."
His hands cup my breasts with a reverence that makes my heart stutter, his thumb grazing over a sensitive peak. I arch into his touch, a breathy moan slipping past my lips as he continues his torturous exploration—lips, tongue, teeth—each sensation unraveling me piece by piece.
He leans back just enough to meet my gaze, his expression serious now, the teasing edge replaced by something deeper. He reaches for the silver wrapper on the nightstand, holding it between his fingers.
"Do you want this?" His voice is low, rough with restraint, but there's a tenderness in his eyes—a silent plea for honesty.
My breath is uneven, my body trembling with need, but I know this moment means more than just desire. It's trust. It's vulnerability. It's us, stripped down to the core of what we are.
"Sì, ti voglio," I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath.
Something shifts in his gaze, a flicker of emotion so raw it takes my breath away. He smiles, slow and knowing, before tearing open the foil with practised ease.
And as he lowers me onto the bed, the world outside fades away. There is only this moment. Only us.