Chapter Five: The Night He Almost Broke
929 Words
The guest room overlooked the garden.
Stone walls, iron balcony rails, the scent of jasmine drifting in through an open window. It should have felt peaceful. Instead, the air pressed down on Serafina’s chest like a held breath.
“You’ll be safe here,” Alessio said.
She stood near the doorway, arms crossed. “That’s what you always say.”
“And yet,” he replied calmly, “you’re still alive.”
She hated that he was right.
The estate had gone quiet. No footsteps. No voices. Just the distant hum of guards she could not see but felt—like veins beneath skin.
“You’re not leaving me alone, are you?” she asked.
Alessio didn’t pretend.
“No.”
Her jaw tightened. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You need someone who won’t sleep,” he said. “And tonight, that’s me.”
She laughed softly, bitter. “You think you’re the only one capable of sacrifice?”
He looked at her then—really looked.
“You’re sacrificing already,” he said. “You just don’t call it that.”
⸻
She tried to sleep.
She failed.
The bed felt too large. The room too quiet. Every sound—wind against the shutters, a branch scraping stone—made her tense.
Finally, she rose and opened the door.
Alessio sat in a chair just outside, jacket removed, shirt sleeves rolled up, forearms bare. His head was bowed slightly, one hand resting loosely against his thigh, the other holding a rosary.
He looked up when she stepped out.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
She shook her head. “You?”
“No.”
She hesitated. “Can I… sit?”
He stood immediately. “Of course.”
She took the chair opposite him, knees almost touching his. Too close. She should have moved back.
She didn’t.
The silence between them stretched, thick with things unsaid.
“You pray a lot,” she murmured.
“I count sins,” he replied.
“For forgiveness?”
“No,” he said quietly. “For memory.”
Her throat tightened. “Does protecting me count as one?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Yes,” he said finally. “Every time.”
Her voice softened. “Then why keep doing it?”
“Because some sins,” he said, “feel like obedience.”
The words settled into her bones.
She shifted, her bare foot brushing his shoe by accident.
Neither of them moved away.
The contact was minimal.
It felt catastrophic.
Alessio’s breath changed. She noticed because she was listening too closely now—watching the way his chest rose more sharply, the way his jaw flexed.
“You should go back to bed,” he said.
She didn’t.
“Why?” she asked quietly.
“Because you’re tired,” he said. “And because if you stay here much longer, I will forget myself.”
Her pulse raced.
“Forget what?”
“That I’m meant to protect you,” he said, voice lower now. “Not want you.”
The honesty hit harder than any touch.
“You do want me,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened. “Yes.”
The single word burned.
“Then why do you look like you’re fighting a war?”
“Because I am,” he said. “And you are the battlefield.”
Her breath shook.
She leaned forward—just slightly—and placed her hand on his knee.
This time, he didn’t stop her.
His fingers curled slowly around her wrist, not restraining—grounding.
“Serafina,” he warned, voice rough, “if you keep looking at me like that—”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m the only thing holding you together,” he said. “Because I will believe you.”
Her eyes burned. “Maybe you are.”
Something inside him snapped—not violently, but dangerously.
He stood, pulling her up with him in one smooth motion. They were suddenly too close, bodies aligned without touching, breaths mingling.
“If I take one step closer,” he said, “I will not stop.”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Then don’t step.”
He didn’t.
Instead, he lifted her hand slowly and pressed it to his chest again.
“Feel that,” he said. “That is restraint. That is me choosing you without taking you.”
Her heart hammered painfully.
“And if I ask you to take me?” she whispered.
His forehead rested lightly against hers.
“Then I would hate myself for wanting to,” he said. “And love you for asking.”
Tears slid down her cheeks—not of sadness, but of something too full to contain.
She pulled back first.
“I should sleep,” she said unsteadily.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Before I forget who I am.”
She turned toward the bed.
At the door, she paused. “Alessio?”
“Yes.”
“You scare me,” she said honestly.
“I know.”
“But you also make me feel…” She trailed off.
“Say it,” he murmured.
“…held,” she finished.
Silence.
“That,” Alessio said softly, “is the most dangerous thing you could have told me.”
She closed the door.
Alessio remained standing in the hallway long after the light went out—hands braced on the wall, head bowed, breathing hard.
Because wanting her was easy.
Letting her go would destroy him
- Writer
