Chapter 28
CASSIA
“Come here.”
Two words. His voice scraped thin. And my whole body responds before my mind catches up.
I rise from the chair. Cross the space between us. Sit on the edge of his bed, close enough that our knees touch through the blanket.
The door is closed. His family is gone. Just us now.
My pulse won’t steady. I press my palms flat against my thighs and hold them there until my hands stop shaking.
He’s pale. IV still in his arm. Nothing like the Don I married in his study. Nothing like the man who pinned me against walls and made me forget my own name.
But his eyes are the same. Dark. Intense. Seeing me.
“You saved my family.”
I shake my head. “I saved you. The family was incidental.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Close to a smile. Not quite.
He reaches for my hand. His grip is weak, fingers trembling, but he holds on like he’ll never let go.
I brace myself. Wait for the walls to rebuild. Crisis is over. He’s alive. Now he’ll remember all the reasons he was supposed to keep me at arm’s length.
Instead, he says:
“I was going to survive you, you know.”
I go still.
“That was the plan.” His thumb traces across my knuckles. “You ruined it.”
The words should hurt. They don’t. Because I already knew.
“I know.”
His free hand lifts to my face. Cups my jaw. His palm is warm, fingers unsteady against my skin.
“Papa.” His voice drops. Catches. “I watched him after Mama died. Eleven years. He just. Stopped.”
His hand trembles against my cheek. He swallows hard.
“I thought that’s what love. That it.” He shakes his head. His jaw works. Like the words are being pulled out of him by a hook. “I thought it killed him.”
His thumb traces my cheekbone.
“But that was a lie.” Rough. Wrecked. “Romano poisoned him. Cazzo. Eleven years I used a dead man’s murder as a reason to never let anyone in.”
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
“And then you.” He stops. His throat works. “You walked into my study and I.”
He can’t finish. His hand drops from my face. He grips the blanket instead, knuckles white.
My fingers find his wrist. Press against his pulse. Rapid. Unsteady. I hold on because he can’t speak and my chest is cracking open and we both need something solid.
“Dante.” I cover his hand with mine. “You don’t have to.”
“I love you.”
His voice breaks on it. Shatters.
“Ti amo, bella.”
Three words. Two languages. My whole world stops.
His hands frame my face now. Both of them. Shaking. His eyes are glassy and his jaw is locked and every muscle in his neck is corded tight, like this is costing him everything he has.
“I tried not to.” Scraped raw. “Built walls. Made rules. You.”
He pulls in a breath that shudders through his whole body.
“You just. Cristo. You just walked through all of it.”
My vision blurs. I blink and tears slide free, trailing down my cheeks. His thumbs catch them.
“You’re inside all of it. Every defense. Every locked door.” His voice drops to something barely audible. “I don’t want you out.”
My fingers grip his wrists. His pulse hammers under my thumbs, fast and wild.
I hold on. Count the beats between us because the room is tilting and I need ground.
“Nobody ever saw me.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “My whole life, I was the one in the background.”
“I see you.” His lips brush my forehead. “I’ve always seen you.”
“Dante.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” He pulls back just enough to look at me. “I’m not asking for anything. I just needed you to know.”
But I want to say it. The words press against my ribs.
Not yet. Not when I’m wrecked and can’t breathe. When I say it, I want him to feel it the way I’m feeling this.
So I close the distance and press my lips to his.
His mouth moves against mine, questioning at first. Like he’s asking permission even though I’m the one who kissed him.
I answer by pressing closer. My hand slides up his chest, feeling his warmth through the thin hospital gown. His heart pounds beneath my palm.
He makes a sound. Low. Rough. And his hands are in my hair, angling my head, deepening the kiss until I forget how to think.
This. Just him. His mouth on mine. His hands holding me.
I shift closer, and he groans against my lips.
“Careful.” Strained. “I’m still hooked to machines.”
“I know.” I pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are dark. Hungry. The same look he gets when he’s about to pin me against a wall and make me scream his name.
But he can’t. Not tonight. Not with the IV in his arm and the poison still working its way out of his system.
“This is fucking torture,” he mutters.
“What is?”
“Having you this close.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “Wanting you this much. And not being able to do anything about it.”
Heat floods through me. “You came that close to dying.”
“I’m aware.” His hand slides down my neck. Traces my collarbone. Stops just above the neckline of my dress. “Doesn’t make me want you less.”
“Dante.”
“I’ve been thinking about this for hours.” His fingers toy with the fabric. Not pulling. Just touching. “Lying here, watching you sleep in that chair. Thinking about all the ways I need to touch you when I’m strong enough.”
My breath hitches. “That’s not helping.”
“It’s not supposed to help.” He tugs me closer. Kisses the corner of my mouth. My jaw. The spot below my ear that makes my toes curl. “It’s supposed to make you come back tomorrow.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.” His lips brush my throat. “But now you’ll be thinking about it too.”
I will. God, I will. I’m already thinking about it. About his hands on my skin. About his body pressing me into the mattress. About all the things we’ve done in the dark and all the things we haven’t done yet.
“You’re terrible,” I whisper.
“Mmm.” He kisses the hollow of my throat. “You love it.”
I do. I love all of it. I love him.
The words press against my teeth.
Not yet. Soon. When I can say it without sobbing. When I can make him feel it the way he just made me feel.
His mouth finds mine again. Slower this time. Deeper.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead against mine. His hands still tangled in my hair.
“Stay,” he whispers.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I mean it.” His eyes find mine. “Whatever comes next. The Benedettis. The war. Whatever happens. Stay.”
“Dante.” I put my hand over his heart. It beats against my palm. Strong. Steady. Alive. “I’ve been staying since the moment I walked into your study. I’m not going to stop now.”
His whole body loosens. His grip on me eases from desperate to certain.
“Good.”
He pulls me down beside him. Slow. Until I’m curled against his side, my head on his chest, his arm wrapped around me.
His hand strokes through my hair. A rhythm that steadies me.
“I should let you rest,” I whisper.
“Don’t you dare move.”
A wet laugh escapes me.
“I’m serious.” His arm tightens. “I nearly died. I’m allowed to be clingy.”
“Clingy.” I lift my head to look at him. “The Don of New Orleans. Clingy.”
“Only with you.” His eyes meet mine. Unguarded. “Solo con te. Only ever with you.”
I settle back against his chest. Let his heartbeat steady me.
He said it. He loves me.
And I love him.
Soon. I’ll tell him soon.
For now, I shut my eyes. Feel his arms around me. Let myself believe this is real.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t brace for the fall. His heartbeat counts for me. Steady and strong beneath my ear. Each beat a promise I’m not ready to name but too tired to doubt.
I close my eyes. And I believe.