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She throws her hands up in exasperation. "Maybe it's exactly the time! You're so hell-bent on revenge and power. You could have died out there, and all you care about is getting back at Mauro! I could’ve lost you, for God’s sake!"
I meet her gaze, my anger boiling beneath the surface. "Mauro needs to pay for what he did. It's not just about revenge."
She shakes her head, her frustration giving way to a quieter intensity. "You're not listening, Tommaso. You're hurting, and it's not just your body."
I clench my jaw, the pain in my body now competing with the ache in my chest. "I don't need anyone. I never have."
Ella takes a deep breath, her anger simmering down into a reluctant tenderness. Into love. "You're wrong. But you're too scared to admit it." I know. I need you.
Her eyes now flicker with vulnerability. I watch, frozen, as her composure crumbles. Her shoulders slump, and she takes a shaky breath, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. And then, she frowns. Her body is shaking. I’ve never seen her like that.
I'm taken aback, the sound of her anger cutting through the room. It's a side of Ella I never expected to witness – vulnerable, broken. The armor she wears so fiercely falls away, leaving her exposed and raw. I immediately want to hug her.
"Ella," I murmur, my voice caught between concern and confusion. I put the bottle down, suddenly feeling out of place in my own room.
She attempts to speak through the lump in her throat, her words choked and fractured. "I can't... I can't stand seeing you like this! It tears me apart." For a moment, I'm at a loss. The woman before me, who since day one has been challenging me with fiery determination, is now crumbling. Her words, usually sharp and precise, now stumble over her emotions.
Without thinking, I try to get up, but she instantly comes and sits near me, urging me to stay down. I reach out and gently touch her trembling shoulder. "Ella, shush...please. I’m here."
She looks up at me, her red face a mosaic of despair and affection. "You don’t know how I felt when I saw you covered in blood. It felt like the world was going to end. In that very minute, it did. And I'm angry because I care about you so much, and you just don't seem to get it!" Her vulnerability strikes a chord in me, a chord I never knew existed.
"Ella, I—" I start, but she cuts me off with a shaky sob.
"It hurts, Tommaso, it fucking hurts to see you like this. Stop being so damn stubborn!" She sobs and laughs at the same time, as if saying those words out loud gives her relief. I'm frozen in place, her confession hanging in the air like a fragile truth. The room feels small, suffocating, as her words pierce through the tough exterior I've carefully built.
She's tearing down walls I never intended to. And then, before I can respond, she breaks down completely and starts sniveling. Her tears fall down her cheeks, and she collapses onto me, her body wracked with sobs. Seeing her like this is heartbreaking, and it leaves me grappling with an unfamiliar sense of helplessness.
"Ella," I murmur, my voice softer than I ever thought it could be. I approach her cautiously, unsure of how to navigate this. Tentatively, I reach out and hold her with my arms, close to my chest.
She looks up at me, her blue eyes a mix of sorrow and frustration. “I want to be here for you. Let me.” I look at her frail arms tugging on my blood-stained shirt like a baby.
I can feel her pain. The boundaries I've meticulously set to protect myself now feel like a prison, and for the first time, I'm confronted with the thought that maybe I don't have to face everything alone.
Without another word, I shift closer and wrap my arms tighter around her. She stiffens for a moment, caught off guard by the unexpected embrace, but then she melts into it.
As I hold her, I feel her body tremble and she keeps gripping my shirt. Her hiccups intensify, and she clings to me as if letting go would mean losing everything. The room is filled with the sound of her soft breathing, and for a moment, it's as if time stands still.
I whisper words near her ear, words I never thought I'd utter with such desperation. "Ella, hey, easy, it's okay. I'm here, love. With you." Always.
We lie on the bed, Ella cradled in my arms, her head nestled against my chest. I recall her voice in my head. Her words. I love you. I trace my fingers on her lips, and she quivers.
She sobs again but I hold her close, her warmth seeping into my body, dispelling the chill of the world outside. The scent of her hair, a mix of macadamia shampoo and something uniquely hers, is still present in her ruffled curls. The feeling of her light body against mine is relieving. As I hug her, she is careful not to touch my leg.
As I cradle her, I become acutely aware of the rise and fall of her beautiful breasts, the rhythm of her breathing. Her tender fingers, curled into fists, now loosen their grip on the fabric of my shirt. Her body gradually relaxes and I feel her breathing slow down.
The walls I've built around myself, the barriers that have kept any unnecessary connections at arm's length, crumble with every beat of her heart against mine. It's an unfamiliar sensation, one that both terrifies and exhilarates me. In her feelings, I find a reflection of my own depths, a side of me I locked away after my father’s death.
I run my fingers through her hair. The soft strands slip through my fingers, and with each touch, I feel a subtle shift within me. I feel like a burden has been lifted off me. I don’t want to let go off her. Ella abruptly shifts beside me, and I take a deep breath before acknowledging Francesco.
"What is it?"
He steps into the room, his gaze moving from Ella to me. There's a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes. "We found Mauro's consigliere. He's at the warehouse at 38-A," he reports, his expression somewhat unreadable.
The news sends a surge of adrenaline through my veins. Mauro's right-hand man will lead us to the asshole himself. I instinctively attempt to rise from the bed, my muscles protesting the movement. But before I can fully stand, Ella's hand gently pushes me back. Her pleading eyes implore me, tired and filled with a desperate kind of love that tugs at my heart.
"No, please," she implores, her fingers grazing my face, "You can't. Look at you." Francesco nods briefly. Her touch makes my heart soften. I look at her and then Francesco.
"Ella, I should go. I have to protect what I’ve built and I have to protect you," I remind her of my responsibilities. I look at her blood-stained hands. I failed in protecting her.
