3. His Gentleness
953 Words
~CATALINA~
I fidgeted with my gloves, waiting for the inevitable.
The suite was too big. Too quiet. Too luxurious.
Golden light spilled across the marble floor, glinting against the glass walls. The brown curtains swayed softly with the night breeze, the city glittering outside like a thousand watchful eyes. I slipped across the room and shut the balcony door, my trembling fingers fumbling against the lock. The air was warmer now, but I couldn’t shake the chill clinging to my skin.
We had arrived at his mansion in the late evening, and from that moment, he had vanished somewhere. I was grateful for his absence—at least until I was guided into this particular room, dressed with all its heavy decorations.
I hugged my arms around myself, sinking into the silence. The massive bed sat in the center of the room, draped in silk and shadow, waiting like some unspoken command. My chest tightened.
Is this where it will happen?
Will it be painful?
I had read that it hurts. Will he stop if I ask him to?
Dream on, Cathy. He’s the Don of the Vitale empire. Do you really think he’ll stop if you ask him to?
The click of the door behind me sent a jolt straight through my spine, tearing me from my thoughts.
He’s here.
Ezran Vitale walked in without a word, his presence filling the room like a storm rolling over still waters. He closed the door with the back of his shoe, and for a moment, the silence pressed so heavy I thought my knees might give out.
His eyes found me instantly. That sharp, predatory green.
“You look pale.” His voice was low, steady. “Are you afraid?”
I swallowed hard, but my throat was too dry to answer. He took a slow step closer, his gaze unrelenting, and my body reacted before my mind could—backing up until the edge of the bed caught against the back of my knees.
“No,” I whispered.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me as though I were a puzzle he could solve with a glance. Then his hand rose, fingers brushing along my jaw. The touch was deceptively soft, but it sent a violent shiver through me, rooting me in place. His cologne—dark, smoky, threaded with spice—wrapped around me, dizzying, intoxicating.
“Tell me,” he murmured, his eyes burning into mine, “do you remember the first thing I ever said to you, Camila?”
Panic slammed into my chest, erasing the haze his scent had cast. Camila. He thought I was Camila. Was he testing me?
What had he told her? Oh God…
Me—the girl who could quote word for word what the hero of my favorite novel said in the first book—suddenly couldn’t remember what my sister had told me three weeks ago. Still, I forced the words out.
“Of… of course,” I whispered, though I hadn’t the faintest idea what the right answer was.
Ezran tilted his head again, studying me with unnerving patience. His gaze lingered on my face, then drifted lower, tracing my mouth, my throat, the steady rise and fall of my chest.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally hummed low in his throat and took a step back, as if satisfied—or maybe just amused by my floundering.
Relief swept through me, but it was short-lived.
His thumb still lingered just beneath my chin, angling my face up toward his. “You’re trembling.”
Am I?
My lips parted, but no sound came out.
Finally, I managed to whisper, “I’m… exhausted.” The words were fragile, almost pleading.
Something flickered in his eyes. A pause. A shift.
Then, to my shock, his hand slid from my jaw to the crown of my head. I closed my eyes, bracing for what was to come.
But instead of the rough claim I had anticipated, his lips brushed against my forehead. My eyes snapped open, my breath catching. So fleeting, so utterly at odds with the man before me, that my entire being froze.
When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable. “Rest,” he said. “You’ll need it.”
And just like that, he turned and walked toward the door, his tall frame disappearing into the shadows of the hallway as easily as he had arrived.
Only then did I realize my mouth was still hanging open. I snapped it shut and blinked at the path he had just taken.
My knees finally gave out, and I sank onto the bed, my hand flying to my forehead where the ghost of his lips still lingered.
Of all the things he could have done… Why that?
I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a storm. And it terrified me that the one thing I couldn’t stop replaying wasn’t his threat, his power, or his control—
It was his gentleness that made me tremble most.
He’s a monster. One who would kill without a second thought. The most feared, ruthless Don. Why would he do something like that?
Why be gentle?
Is everything I’ve heard about him a lie?
Will he always treat me this way?
Maybe—
A sudden thought slammed into my mind, cutting through the haze.
He… he thinks I’m Camila.
Camila.
Even here, I’m just a shadow of my sister.
The realization gave me a chilling clarity. No matter how kind Ezran Vitale is, the day he finds out the truth…
The day he realizes I am not Camila—he’ll kill me.
And I can never be my sister.
- Writer
