Chapter 16 Gabriella
GAbrIELLA
I watch Marco's chest rise and fall, his face finally relaxed in sleep.
It's jarring to see him so vulnerable, disheveled, completely unguarded. Marco Calabresi, the man who never shows weakness, reduced to this drunken state.
I gently pull the blanket over him as his words echo in my mind.
I'm tired.
I wonder what he meant by that? Tired tonight? Tired from life? Tired of the brutality of his work? Tired of always being so in control?
In all our time together last year, I never once saw him drunk. Not even tipsy.
Control is too important to him, so to see him willingly surrender is unsettling.
What happened out there tonight? Or is this going back to not using the condom? God, if that’s the case, the idea of a child must really terrify him.
I brush a strand of hair from Marco's forehead. Even unconscious, his brow furrows at my touch. Always fighting, even in sleep.
I slip into bed, my mind still swirling with questions about what happened tonight.
I close my eyes, trying to quiet my thoughts. Just as sleep begins to claim me, Marco moves, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me against his chest. His breath is warm on back of my neck.
We've shared a bed before, spent countless nights tangled in each other's arms, but never like this.
Marco has always maintained a certain distance, even in our most intimate moments.
He'd pull me close during sex, but afterward, he'd retreat to his side of the bed. Cuddling isn’t his thing.
Yet here he is, spooning around me, holding me. I know with the sunrise tomorrow, Marco will put distance between us again.
He'll act as if tonight never happened, as if he never showed this vulnerable side of himself.
Vulnerability is weakness in his world, and Marco Calabresi cannot afford to be weak.
But for now, nestled against his body, I can pretend. For tonight, I can imagine a world where Marco isn't afraid to need me.
I wake with a jolt, immediately aware of the empty space beside me. My hand reaches out, finding only cold sheets where Marco slept last night.
This is exactly what I expected, yet hoped wouldn't happen.
Marco's probably been up for hours, already forgetting what happened last night.
I drag myself from bed and head to the ensuite bath.
The sound of running water stops me at the door.
Pushing it open, warm steam fills the room.
Through the glass shower wall, I can make out Marco's silhouette.
He stands motionless under the spray, head bowed, hands braced against the tile wall.
The water cascades over his head and down his powerful shoulders.
I lean against the vanity, arms crossed over my chest. "You alive in there?"
He doesn't startle at my voice. Of course not. Marco probably sensed my presence the moment I approached the door.
"Unfortunately," he mutters, not turning around. “My pride hurts more than my head.”
Silly man, worried about his pride with me. I shake my head. "You're not the first man to indulge in a drink after a rough night, Marco. Your reputation for being an intimidating, stone-cold Don is still intact. I mean, it’s not like you danced on the tables or anything.”
His head turns to me, his lips twitching upward slightly in a smile.
"What happened last night?" I ask gently.
His eyes, bloodshot but clear, lock with mine. "It was a shitshow. We got ambushed.”
Without thinking, I step into the shower, my silk pajamas instantly clinging to my skin as water soaks through them.
My hands move across Marco's chest and shoulders, searching for wounds.
Marco gently takes my wrists, stilling my frantic movements. "Gabriella, I'm fine."
I look up at him. Marco isn't one to express emotions openly, but I can see the tight lines around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.
"And Roman? Is he okay?"
"Roman's fine. Takes more than a hit squad to bring him down." There's a hint of pride in his voice.
But it’s his choice of words that has me stilling. “Hit squad?”
“We think so.” He turns his back to me, the spray hitting him in the face like he’s trying to wash away the horror of last night. “I lost a few men. I need to check on their families, visit them personally as well. I take care of what's mine."
Hearing the pain in his voice, I wrap my arms around Marco's waist, pressing my cheek against his back.
I expect him to stiffen or push me away since he’s not a man to accept comfort, but after a moment's hesitation, he turns and his arms encircle me.
"I'm sorry about your men," I say. “But I’m glad you’re okay.”
His arms tighten around me.
He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to.
I understand him more than he thinks.
More than he’d probably like me to.
After a moment, he pulls back just enough to look down at me, his dark eyes searching mine.
"You still care after how I treated you?" His question surprises me.
"I know who you are, Marco." I reach up, brushing wet hair from his forehead.
His eyebrow arches, expression hardening slightly. "Unlovable." He quotes my cruel words back to me.
The shame causes me to look down. In my anger, I'd struck at what I knew would hurt him most. "I'm sorry I said that. I was angry and hurt and I wanted to wound you."
His face remains carefully neutral.
"No, you're not unlovable, Marco." I place my palm against his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath my fingers. "Even though you try so hard to be."
He flinches slightly but doesn't pull away.
"You push people away. You refuse to let anyone see past those walls you've built." My thumb traces his cheekbone. "You think vulnerability is weakness, and weakness gets you killed in this world."
"It does," he says flatly.
"But I know you." I hold his gaze steadily. “And it doesn’t make you vulnerable for me to know you.”
His expression remains neutral, but I see a flicker of something in his eyes. Like he wants to open up but refuses to let himself.
"You deserve to be loved," I say softly.
For a moment, I think he might kiss me. His eyes drop to my lips, his hands tighten on my waist. But instead, he rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed.
"I tried so hard to forget you," he confesses.
My heart flutters wildly as Marco Calabresi, the man who never admits weakness, is telling me I haunted him.
"But you were everywhere," he continues, one hand coming up to brush wet strands of hair from my face. "I couldn't escape you."
I smile up at him, my hands resting against his chest. "You don't have to." The moment the words leave my lips, I worry I’ve said the one thing that will have him retreat. After all, he doesn't want a long-term relationship. He doesn’t want a wife or family.
"I mean," I quickly add, "we have a few more days together while I'm your ward.”
His expression darkens instantly, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Don't call yourself that."
"What? Your ward?" I ask, smirking up at him.
"Yes," he says, fingers tightening slightly on my waist. "It makes what I'm about to do sound perverted."
My pulse quickens as his meaning becomes clear. He wants me. Maybe not forever, but for now.
"And what are you about to do?" I challenge, tilting my chin up.
Instead of answering, Marco's mouth claims mine, hungry and demanding. I respond with equal fervor, my fingers threading through his wet hair, pulling him closer.
Marco's growl deepens as he backs me against the tiled shower wall. I savor the solidity of his body against mine. For all his darkness and danger, Marco feels like safety. Like home.
He peels my pajamas off, his hands roaming my body.
His erection is thick and hard between us, and I realize he’s planning to have sex without a condom again.
It speaks to his trust in me.
A trust he shouldn’t have.
I should tell him the truth.
Tell him that I misled him when I said everything was fine after our last condom-less encounter.
That there was nothing protecting us from creating a life. A life he's sworn never to want.
The words form on my tongue but dissolve before I can speak them.
Why ruin this fragile peace we've found?
Why shatter this connection when we've only just rediscovered it?
Instead, I let my hands slide down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm.
"Let me take care of you," I say, pressing my lips to the hollow of his throat.
He makes a sound, half protest, half surrender, as my mouth traces a path down his chest.
My knees touch the shower floor as I look up at him through the cascading water. His eyes widen, hands instinctively moving to my hair.
"Gabriella…"
I silence him by taking him into my mouth. His breath catches, fingers tightening in my hair.
The raw, unguarded sound he makes sends a thrill through me. It makes me feel powerful.
For a moment, I wonder if I take my time, that someday, Marco could change his mind about marriage and family.
I know it’s a dangerous thought. When I entered this situation with him, I was accepting his terms.
Yet as I worship him with my mouth, feeling his control splinter beneath my touch, I can't help but wonder if there is a way to claim his heart.
“Fuck, Gabriella….” His voice is strained as his hips move with me. His dick swells with each thrust. I press my lips tighter, increasing the friction.
“Yes… Fuck… I’m gonna come.”
I slide my fingers up his thighs and to the soft skin between his legs.
His hands shoot out, bracing against the shower walls as he groans and thrusts, his cum filling my mouth.
I suck and swallow, working to take it all. To prove to him that I can handle him in all his moods.
Because despite knowing my dreams are foolish, I want him.
I want to soothe him when he’s weary, call him out when he’s a jerk.
I want to love him like he deserves to be loved.
It’s wishful thinking, I know.
For now, I'll take what he's willing to give knowing that eventually, he’ll break my heart, not because he wants to hurt me but because he won’t let me love him.