“I’m not.”
“Do not lie,” he growled. “I may not feel all of what you can, but that means I can spot a liar from miles away. Your face displays key indicators of fear. Tell me why you are scared.”
His hand, wide and warm, curved against my cheek. We weren’t supposed to touch like this, Milan didn’t allow closeness, he didn’tlikeit, but right now, right here, this washischoice,a conscious decision to try and rectify what he didn’t understand.
The fear balled in my throat as I asked, “What contract were they talking about? What did you do, Milan?”
His face shattered like glass. It was like staring straight through something broken, something that had tried to repair itself over and over again, but the cracks were too obvious, and it was breaking all over again. Who I was looking at was a boy, not a man, not a beast, one who was scared and didn’t have the words to say it.Hewasn’t scary, he was lost and he deserved to be touched kindly, trusted even, and found again.
“I cannot tell you.”
“Why?” I whispered, nuzzling into his hand.
He stepped closer, bringing his other hand to my face. “Because we would all be killed, and I will not allow another person to die, but especially notyou.”
I gripped his wrists, forcing us to live this, tostay.“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“No.”
“This is why I’m scared,” I said quietly. “Because I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done. You shout at me and then you hold me. You tell me I’mdataand then you beg me to kiss you. You tell me you can’t say anything, but then Cesare’s wife says that he would miss you if it wasn’t for the contract. Who are you, Milan?”
He stepped backward, away from me and this, and sank the key into the locked glass door. It clicked open slowly and gently, as if it deserved to be treated that way, like it was something tolook after. It smelled of lavender and something slightly metallic and familiar. I stepped inside, following his lead, and came face-to-face with…Matteo’s cock.
My head spun as I took in the room that held all of my paintings, my canvases amongst new ones, my paints beside untouched palettes, my couch opposite an expensive looking pink velvet one. There were candles sitting in ornate golden holders scattered over the walls, a section of grass and flowers, and even a small waterfall cascaded over a wall beside the door.
It was a small paradise ofme.
“Did you—did you make this?” I asked with a voice so hoarse it hurt.
Milan nodded once, his eyes fixated on the splotches of paint across the table he’d taken from my old studio.
“When?”
“A few weeks ago. When we—” He sighed, and his eyes closed. “When I said a lot of things that caused a lot of undesirable emotions within you. And me.”
I picked up a paintbrush, one of mine that was scuffed and fraying, and then one that was new, one that I had never seen before. It had a shiny handle and sleek bristles and that was something I’d never have indulged in myself.
“What’s this for?” I whispered. “A gift?”
Milan clenched and unclenched his fists before he looked down at his hands like he was aware of it this time and took mine instead. “I do not feel remorse as normal humans do, but I can equate this sensation of loss as regret. I wanted to gift this to you to express that.”
My eyes brimmed with tears. This was the real him below all the secrets and uncertainty and he was trying so hard to be someone that knew and saw me even if he wouldn’t tell me everything. This was him seeing me, creating a place for me in his world.
I sniffled. “Saysorry.”
“I am sorry.” He brought my knuckles to his lips, kissing each one.
“Say you’re sorry for being an asshole.”
A kiss to my palm this time. “I am sorry for being an asshole.”
I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling. “Now promise you’ll fix everything for Fiorella.”
“I will fix everything for Fiorella.”
“Promise you won’t hurt me or my family again?”
His wide hand pressed against his bloodiedFamigliatattoo and then onto my own heart. “Se tradisco questa nostra cosa, possa il mio cuore essere strappato dal mio petto e il mio nome dimenticato.”
