Chapter Forty-Four Ella
Chapter Forty-Four
Ella
We finish eating and carry our glasses to the sofa. I settle with my back against his chest, and he draws me into him without hesitation, his arms circling my waist.
His warm hands move slowly over my skin, up and down my arms, along the curve of my side. The touch is relaxed, almost lazy, but it sends a quiet current through me all the same.
“So what was young Gualtiero like?” I ask, nudging him lightly with my elbow.
“Trouble,” he says without hesitation. “Real trouble. Enzo and I got into it all the time. Mateo trailed along too, always wanting to be part of the action.”
There is warmth in his voice when he says their names.
“Enzo lived in a cottage on our estate. We went to school together. We were inseparable.” He pauses, smiling faintly. “Nona would pack us a basket of food after school, and we would disappear to the treehouse we built. It was two stories high, with a rope ladder. We were very proud of it.”
I try to picture him small, climbing trees instead of commanding rooms.
“We even designed our own security system,” he continues. “In case other boys tried to steal our treasures.”
“That sounds serious,” I say, amused. “What did this impressive system involve?”
“It was primitive,” he admits, though there is unmistakable pride in his tone. “We tied empty cans to the ladder so they would rattle if anyone tried to climb up. And we strung fishing line between trees around the perimeter, connected to bells inside the treehouse.”
I stare at him. “You were running a fortress.”
“Of course.” He shrugs lightly. “I had to protect what was mine. It’s in my blood.”
The words slide over me, casual, but they settle somewhere deeper.
“And how often were you attacked?” I ask.
“Not often,” he says. “Not after we dealt with the first few who tried.”
“How exactly did you deal with them?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
A slow, boyish grin spreads across his face. “We beat them up.”
I gasp. “You did not.”
“Oh, we did.” He laughs softly. “Once, Enzo and I dug a pit and covered it with sticks and leaves, like in the movies. We even put a snake in it.”
I twist around to look at him properly.
“It was not poisonous,” he says quickly, clearly enjoying my horror. “Tomario Stronzo fell straight in. When we dragged him out, he ran home screaming.”
“You are unbelievable,” I say, laughing despite myself. “How old were you?”
“Eight. Maybe nine.”
“And you were terrorizing kids when you were that young?” I ask incredulously, making him chuckle harder.
“Princess, it’s a boy’s world. We’re not fragile.”
“What, and girls are?” I roll my eyes. “We’re not fragile either. Sometimes we like it rough too.” I realize too late the innuendo I just offered on a silver platter.
Tiero’s smirk widens and I smack his arm, which only seems to amuse him more.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Signor De Marco. I’m talking about eight-year-old girls.” I shake my head at him.
“Until puberty hit, Rhia was a complete tomboy,” I explain. “She climbed trees better than most boys and rode her horse like she had something to prove. Galloping too fast. Jumping every obstacle, no matter how high. I used to feel sick just watching her.”
I smile at the memory. I could never keep up with her. Not that I wanted to.
“And you, princess?” he asks, his voice warm against my skin. “Were you a daredevil too?”
“Me?” I laugh softly. “Not even close. I have always been cautious. The thought of falling and breaking something was enough to keep me on the lower branches while Rhia climbed to the very top. The branches would bend under her weight, and I would stand there convinced they were about to snap. She never fell once. If I had tried it, I would have landed flat on my back.”
“I cannot picture you climbing trees,” he says. “You look too delicate for that.”
“Delicate?” I turn in his arms, placing my hands on my hips. “I am deeply offended.”
I try to glare at him, but he only laughs and pulls me back against him, pressing a playful kiss to my temple.
“So what happened when puberty hit?” he asks.
“That was the interesting part.” I settle back into him.
“Rhia did a complete transformation. One summer she was racing horses in mud-stained boots, and the next she refused to wear anything but dresses and heels. She would not touch sneakers. She begged her mother for lipstick and perfume. I have to admit, that phase suited me better.”
I pause, smiling at the memories.
“But no matter what stage we were in, we were always inseparable.”
“Like Enzo and me,” Tiero says quietly.
Something shifts in his tone. The warmth fades, replaced by distance. His gaze drifts out toward the dark water.
“Where is Enzo now?” I ask gently.
He is silent for a moment.
“Enzo was killed when he was fifteen,” he says finally. “I was there.”
The words are controlled, but when I look at him, I see the quiet devastation he still carries.
My heart goes out to him, and I clasp his hands in mine.
“Oh, Tiero,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”
He exhales slowly, his shoulders rising and falling, but the heaviness in them remains.
“It’s a long story.” He pauses. “Do you remember when I told you my father started taking me to business meetings when I was twelve? So I could learn how to handle people?”
I nod, thinking back to the Irish pub. I remember how casually he had said it. As if twelve were not an age for scraped knees and schoolyard crushes.
“My father was a formidable man,” he continues. “When he walked into a room, people paid attention. He did not need to raise his voice. He spoke calmly, but everyone understood the consequences beneath his words. I admired that. I wanted to be like him.”
He rises and pours another drink. Champagne for me. Something darker for himself. The amber liquid catches the candlelight before he brings it to his lips.
“I was still a boy,” he says quietly. “And boys imitate what they see. Enzo and I would meet in the treehouse and reenact my father’s meetings. Sometimes I played the boss. Sometimes he did. We practiced negotiating. Threatening. Standing our ground.”
The innocence of it twists something inside me.
“By the time we were fifteen, we thought we were men and untouchable.” He stares out at the water. “We started going to my father’s clubs. Drinking. Chasing girls.”
He glances at me briefly and, seeing my horrified expression, adds quickly, “Mostly drinking.”
Fifteen.
He was fifteen when he lost his virginity? Jeez, I was nineteen and still unsure of everything.
How did he get into clubs at fifteen? Where was his father? Where was Nona? If his mother had still been alive, would she have let him slip into that world so young?
The questions crowd my mind, but I keep them to myself.
Who am I to judge the choices of a boy who lost so much so early? Tiero is trusting me with this, letting me see a version of him few people ever do. Part of me feels honored.
He sets his glass down and walks to the railing, his back to me as he stares out over the dark, untroubled sea.
“A few staff members tried to stop us,” he continues. “But we had learned how to intimidate. They were afraid to challenge us. Afraid of what might happen if my father found out they had denied his son.”
His jaw tightens.
“We grew careless. We believed nothing could touch us.”
He goes quiet for a moment, a haunted expression darkening his face. I sit quietly, watching him, an unusual sadness flowing through me at seeing him like this.
“We fell in with the wrong group one night. A few older boys. They were passing around cocaine. We took it.”
I cringe at the thought of a teenage Tiero frying his mind with drugs.
“They had stolen it,” he says. “We didn’t know.”
His voice shifts. It’s thinner now.
“When we left the club, the dealer was waiting outside with his men. Enzo was high. He thought he was invincible.” Tiero’s throat moves as he swallows. “He picked a fight. It lasted only seconds.”
The night air suddenly seems colder.
“The guy pulled a knife and stabbed Enzo several times. I remember the sound of him hitting the ground more than anything.”
His fingers tighten around the railing.
“There was so much blood. The guy had hit a major artery. I tried to stop it. I pressed my hands against the wound, but it would not stop.” His voice lowers. “Enzo looked at me. Just… looked at me.”
Tiero closes his eyes.
“I still see it sometimes.”
The words are barely audible.
“The light leaving his eyes. The moment I realized he was not breathing anymore.”
The sea is silent. Everything seems suspended.
“It was the worst day of my life,” he says. “I did not feel invincible after that.”
He doesn’t say he was never the same. He doesn’t need to.
The horror of what he has gone through tugs at my heart. I open my mouth to speak but can’t find words.
So I stand and walk toward him.
He does not turn around when I wrap my arms around his waist. I press my cheek against his back, holding him as best as I can.
His body is rigid at first. Then, slowly, he exhales.
I close my eyes, trying not to picture what he just described. Trying not to imagine him at fifteen, kneeling in blood, believing he could fix something that was already lost.
What a terrible weight to carry at that age.
I turn him toward me and cup his face, feeling the tension in his jaw beneath my palms. His eyes are darker now, shadowed by memory.
I do not say anything.
I kiss him.
Slow at first. Gentle. As if I could soften the edges of what he just relived.
He exhales into me, and something in his body softens.
I want to take the weight from him, to ease the pains of his youth and quiet the memories that still haunt him.
I want… no, need to see him happy again.
This is not casual anymore.
His hands slide to my waist, then lower. The kiss deepens on its own, shifting from comfort to hunger without either of us deciding it should.
He pulls me closer, flush against him, and the warmth of his body chases away the chill that crept in moments ago.
When his hands move beneath the hem of my dress, I do not hesitate and begin unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers glide over my thighs, slow at first, then bolder, getting closer to where I long to be touched the most.
A deep ache grows inside me, liquid heat pooling in my core.
I need this closeness, the reminder that he is here and alive and solid beneath my hands.
He lifts me effortlessly and carries me back to the sofa, sitting down with me straddling his lap.
The shift changes everything.
I roll my hips against him, feeling his hardness through the thin layers between us. A low sound escapes both of us at the same time.
His heartbeat pounds beneath my palm when I press my hand to his chest. I smile against his mouth, aware of the effect I have on him.
Then—
BANG.