Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Eleonora
You know that feeling, the one where you’re already falling, and there’s nothing solid left to grab onto. No branch, no rope, no safety net. Just the sick, weightless rush as the ground races up to meet you?
That’s exactly how I feel right now. And I don’t know how to stop it.
I’ve been tossing and turning for hours. The sheets are twisted around my legs, and no matter how many times I flip the pillow, sleep won’t come. All I can think about is Nico.
The way he looked when he came back earlier tonight, shirt soaked with blood that wasn’t all his, face tight with pain.
For one terrifying second, I actually felt worried. Real worry. My stomach dropped when I saw how much blood he was losing. Then I remembered who he was. My captor. The man holding me here against my will.
And still… when he sat down, handed me the needle and thread, and told me to stitch him up, I did it.
My hands had shaken the entire time. It was the first time I’d ever done anything like that. I kept waiting for him to flinch or curse, but he just sat there, jaw clenched, watching me with those intense brown eyes while I pushed the needle through his skin again and again.
I was so tempted to drive the needle straight into him, to hurt him the way he’s hurt me. But I couldn’t. My hands refused to do it.
I hated myself for how careful I was being. For how gently I cleaned the wound. For the strange, protective twist in my chest when he winced.
Now I’m lying here in the dark, staring at the ceiling, heart racing like I’ve run a marathon. I wonder what happened, did he get into a fight with Gallo’s or papa’s men? Were they coming to rescue me?
A loud crack of thunder splits the sky outside, followed by the violent howl of wind, making me completely forget what I was thinking about. The curtains billow wildly as rain lashes against the windows. I flinch hard and pull the blanket over my head, curling into a tight ball.
I’ve never liked storms.
Back home, whenever the rain turned violent and the thunder shook the walls, I would sneak into Sienna’s room and crawl into her bed. She’d wrap her arms around me without a word, and we’d stay like that until the storm passed.
Another boom rattles the glass. I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper a quiet prayer under the blanket.
Please don’t let it be bad. Please don’t let it last.
It gets worse.
The power suddenly cuts out, plunging the entire room into complete darkness. The wind howls louder, rattling the windows like it wants to break in. The curtains whip violently, and the rain starts coming down in heavy, angry sheets, pounding against the glass like bullets.
I pull the blanket tighter over my head, curling into a small ball, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Thunder cracks so loud I flinch hard, a scream slipping out before I can stop it. I hate this. I’ve always hated storms. They make me feel small and helpless, like the world is trying to tear itself apart and take me with it.
Please stop. Please let it pass. Please…
The connecting door between our rooms opens with a soft click.
I freeze under the blanket, then slowly peek out. A tall shadow fills the doorway, backlit faintly by what little moonlight slips through the storm clouds.
Nico walks toward the bed, his presence cutting through the darkness. When he stops beside me, his voice is low and surprisingly calm.
“Are you alright?”
A shaky breath of relief leaves me before I can catch it. Someone is here. Even if it’s him, I'll take it.
“I’m fine,” I lie, trying to sound steady. I hate that he’s seeing me like this, weak, scared, trembling under a blanket like a child.
He doesn’t buy it. “It’s obvious you’re not fine.”
Another loud crash of thunder makes me jump. I pull the blanket higher.
“You don’t like storms, do you?” he asks quietly.
I swallow. “No.”
The darkness feels heavier now, pressing in from all sides. I hear him move, then the mattress dips as he sits on the edge of the bed.
“The backup generator will kick in soon,” he says. “I already called the men. They’re working on it.”
I sit up slowly, clutching the blanket to my chest like a shield. “Why are you here?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then, in that low, rough voice, “Because I heard you scream. You don’t need to be scared, because I’m a bigger storm than the one outside. Nothing’s going to take you away from me.”
My breath catches. There’s something dangerously possessive in the way he says it.
“Why?” I whisper. “Because you haven’t gotten your use out of me yet?”
A soft, dark chuckle escapes him. “Yeah… something like that.”
I try to read between the lines, but my mind is too scrambled. Is there a double meaning? Does he mean more than he’s saying?
“Thanks for stitching me up.”
I look at his now bandaged arm. “You're welcome. What happened?”
“Nothing to worry your head about.” He shifts closer. “Tell me something. What’s your fondest memory?”
I blink, caught off guard by the sudden change. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Just answer.”
I hesitate, then murmur, “Going to the beach with my sisters. All five of us. We’d spend the whole day swimming, collecting shells, fighting over who got the last piece of watermelon.”
He stays quiet, listening. “And how do you to pass time when you're not swimming with your sisters?”
“I like to read,” I say softly. “Thrillers. Romance. Anything that lets me escape for a while.”
The thunder rumbles again, but it feels a little farther away now. Or maybe it’s because his presence is louder than the storm.
The lights flicker back on, bathing the room in soft golden light. But neither of us moves.
“The light’s back,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t pull away. Our faces are inches apart now.
“Yes…” My voice comes out breathy, barely above a whisper.
The storm still rages outside, rain lashing against the windows, but it feels distant now. All I can focus on is Nico sitting on the edge of my bed, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
We keep talking about nothing and everything. He asks me what I dream about when I’m not trapped in this nightmare. I tell him I dream about freedom, about days where I’m not someone’s bargaining chip. He listens like he actually cares, his eyes never leaving my face.
He inches closer on the bed. Our knees brush. My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
We stay like that, breathing the same air. His gaze drops to my lips. I can’t stop staring at his. The tension coils tighter and tighter between us until it feels like it might snap.
He lifts a hand and gently brushes my hair away from my face, his fingers lingering on my cheek. The touch is so tender it makes my chest ache.
Then he leans in.
The moment his lips touch mine, everything stops.
It’s soft at first, almost careful, like he’s testing whether I’ll pull away. I don’t. I can’t.
A small, shocked sound escapes me, and then I’m opening for him, melting into the kiss like I’ve been starving for it.
His lips are softer than I imagined, warm and demanding. He tastes like sin and whiskey and something darkly addictive. When his tongue sweeps against mine, slow and deliberate, a moan rises in my throat.
He kisses like he owns me, deep, unhurried, completely in control. His hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair as he tilts my head exactly how he wants it.
I press myself against him, needing more, my hands fisting in his shirt. Heat floods between my legs. Every stroke of his tongue makes me wetter, makes me ache.
I’ve kissed men before, but none of them ever kissed me like this. Like he’s claiming me. Like he’s been waiting to devour me.
A low growl vibrates from his chest into my mouth. I whimper, arching into him, wanting him closer, deeper. My body is on fire. I want his hands everywhere. I want him to push me down on this bed and—
He breaks the kiss.
I make a soft, protesting sound, lips still parted, chasing his mouth before I catch myself. My breathing is ragged. My whole body is trembling with need.
Nico rests his forehead against mine for a second, eyes closed, jaw tight like he’s fighting for control. Then he pulls back just enough to look at me.
His thumb brushes my swollen bottom lip once.
“Goodnight, Eleonora,” he whispers.
He leans in and presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to my forehead. Then he stands and walks out without another word, closing the connecting door behind him.
I slump back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving.
What the hell just happened?
I let him kiss me. I kissed him back. I practically melted in his arms like some helpless heroine in one of my romance novels. And the worst part? I loved every second of it. I still ache for more. My lips are tingling. My core is throbbing. I’m wet and restless and so damn confused.
I toss and turn for hours, the storm outside already stopped. At one point I even sit up, seriously considering walking through that connecting door and finishing what we started.
But I stop myself. That would be reckless. Dangerous. Stupid.
Eventually, exhaustion wins. I fall into a restless sleep, dreams filled with whiskey eyes, strong hands, and a mouth that knows exactly how to ruin me.