CHAPTER 26
Santino
Somewhere between listening to Roxanne breathe and imagining her bare legs wrapped around me, like they should belong there and nowhere else—I drifted off.
The armchair was built for sitting. Not sleeping. Definitely not for a six-foot-five man with a body that refused to relax.
I’d shrugged off my jacket at some point, kicked off my boots, stretched out as much as the cramped thing allowed. My knees were bent awkwardly, shoulders pressed against the frame, every muscle groaning uncomfortably.
Still—I knew I’d wake up with a stiff neck. Amongst… other problems that had nothing to do with the chair.
I didn’t know how long I slept. Minutes. Maybe an hour.
A sound dragged me out of it. Soft. Broken. Close to a whimper.
My eyes snapped open instantly, narrowing and went straight to the bed.
Roxanne.
The faint light from the hallway seeped through the curtains, just enough to outline her body. Her leg had slipped out from under the blanket. Bare. Tense. She was thrashing against the sheets. Unaware, like invisible hands around her throat.
“No…” Her voice cracked. “Please…”
My body went still. Then alert. Then every instinct in me locked onto her.
She twisted again, her brows drawn tight, sweat beading across her forehead, catching the dim light.
“I’ll listen… I promise…”
A cold and violent shiver slid down my spine.
What the fuck!
I was on my feet before I even realised I’d moved.
“Roxanne.”
Nothing. I reached her in two strides, grabbing her shoulders, shaking lightly. My chest clenched. Panic hit hard enough to make my vision sharpen. I’d seen men bleed out quieter than this.
I tried to wake her, but she wouldn’t wake.
“Roxanne—wake up.”
Nothing. Her breathing was wrong. Too fast. Too shallow.Like she was drowning inside her own body.
I sat against the headboard and pulled her onto me.She came without resistance, like her body didn’t know the difference between here and wherever the hell she was trapped.Like I was the only thing her body recognised.
One arm wrapped around her waist, locking her against me.My other hand came up firmly to her neck. Grounding her, feeling her pulse hammering beneath my fingers. Too fast.
“Roxanne.”
Still nothing.
Her eyes snapped open. For a second—I thought she wasn’t seeing me. They didn’t look like hers.
Gone was the warm coffee-brown colour that always pulled me in. Now they were dark to a fault, almost black. Void of anything. Like she was looking through me. Like I wasn’t even there. Eyes so dark they didn’t look human. Like something had hollowed her out and left the body behind.
An ugly feeling lodged beneath my ribs.
“Look at me.”
No response.
Come on, Volpi. Where the fuck did you go?
I tightened my grip at her neck. Just enough.
“Breathe.”
Her chest hitched against mine, shallow, frantic, like she was drowning. I held her tighter, forcing her rhythm to match mine.
“Breathe,” I repeated, lower this time.
Her body trembled. A full-body shudder that hit like a shockwave. It felt like her body had locked in on itself.
I didn’t let go. Didn’t move. I held her there, forcing her back into herself. Slowly… her breathing began to follow mine.
In. Out. In. Out.
Her fingers curled weakly against my shirt. As though she was making sure I was real. Her tremors eased, and her body stopped fighting something I couldn’t see.
And then—she blinked. Slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Until the darkness in her eyes receded. Until—she saw me.
“Roxanne,” I said again, quieter now.
Her gaze focused. Really focused.
There she was.
My Volpi.
Back.
And the pressure in my chest settled—like I’d just pulled her out of somewhere I couldn’t follow.
She swallowed. “Wh—what… happened?”
I exhaled slowly. Relief hit hard enough to knock a violent breath out.
“Nothing,” I said. “You had a nightmare.”
I leaned down and pressed my lips to the top of her head.
Didn’t think about it. Didn’t stop myself. My hand moved to her hair, pushing it back from her face, smoothing it down in repeated motions.
She didn’t pull away. Even half asleep, she settled closer instead of pulling away. That wasn’t new; it was dangerous.
I tightened my arm around her slightly, pulling her closer against my chest. Her weight settled into me, fragile but real. She fit there too easily. Like she’d always belonged there. Like my body had been waiting for hers to fall into place.
Who the fuck hurt you?
I didn’t ask. Not yet. Not tonight. But the question burned, clawing at the inside of my chest. And I knew I wouldn’t let it go. Because whoever did this to her… was already dead. They just didn’t know it yet. I’d make sure of it. Slowly. Painfully.
Her breathing steadied completely. And then—slowly—she relaxed into me. Trusting me. And that made my chest fold on itself. I kissed the top of her head again.
We stayed like that. Long enough for the storm outside to quiet. Long enough for my mind to stop racing.
Somewhere between her breathing evening out and my hand still resting at her neck—she drifted back to sleep. I lay there, wide awake, staring into the dark, her body still curled into mine.Scared that if I let go, she’d slip back into whatever the hell had taken her.
What triggered it?
And how long had it been happening?
Marcello never mentioned anything.
But why would he? Or maybe—she never told him.
And that somehow bothered me.
Too many things about her didn’t belong in the life she’d built with him. Too many things… she only let slip around me.
The cracks. The sharp edges she hid from the rest of the world.
The woman who smiled and spoke carefully, held herself together like she’d never fall apart—that version of her didn’t exist with me.
With me—she snapped. Swore. Burned. Looked at me like she wanted to fight me… or kiss me. Sometimes both.
Did I bring that out of her?
Or had it always been there—waiting for someone who wouldn’t flinch when it surfaced?
The thought sat heavy. Because if I was the one pulling those pieces out of her, the ugly, the reckless, the parts she kept buried, then what the fuck did that make me?
A trigger? Or worse—a mirror that matched her damage too well.
Maybe that was it. Maybe her demons recognised mine. Maybe they fed off the same fire. Maybe that was why she never looked afraid of me. Even when she should have been.
But I knew one thing.
Whatever had put that look in her eyes, that haunted her—I’d kill it before it ever got the chance to touch her again.