Melting Ice
1194 Words
CHAPTER 6: MELTING ICE
The days that followed were different. Alessandro did not treat her worse, but he treated her with a new kind of distance ā colder, sharper, as if he was punishing both her and himself for the moment of weakness she had witnessed in the garden. He spoke less, looked at her less, and made sure there was always a wide space between them whenever they were in the same room.
He was rebuilding his walls, higher and thicker than before. But Bella knew now. She knew that behind that fortress of ice, a heart was beating ā hurting, lonely, and capable of loving more deeply than anyone could imagine.
It was raining heavily one evening, thunder shaking the windows and lightning lighting up the dark sky, when Bella heard the noise.
It came from upstairs ā heavy, uneven footsteps, followed by a loud crash, like something falling to the floor.
Bella was sitting in the living room. She stood up immediately, her heart racing. The guards were all at the main gates or patrolling the grounds; inside the house, it was just her and Alessandro.
She walked quietly up the stairs, following the sounds until she reached the door of his private study. It was slightly ajar. She pushed it open gently, and her breath caught in her throat.
Alessandro was on the floor, leaning against the heavy oak desk. His face was pale, beads of cold sweat running down his forehead. One hand was pressed hard against his chest, over his heart, while the other gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles were white. He was breathing hard, fast and shallow, his eyes squeezed shut in pain.
A half-empty bottle of strong liquor lay on its side nearby, spilled across the carpet.
"Alessandro!" Bella rushed forward, forgetting every rule, every warning he had ever given her. She dropped to her knees beside him.
His eyes flew open ā dark, glazed, and full of sharp irritation. He tried to pull away, to push her back, but he didnāt have the strength.
"Getā¦ out," he gritted out, his voice strained and weak. "Leaveā¦ me."
"You are in pain," Bella said firmly. She ignored his order. She reached out, placing her hand over his where it pressed against his chest. It was burning hot and trembling violently. "What is wrong? Tell me what I can do."
"Nothing," Alessandro gasped, turning his face away. "Itā¦ passes. Justā¦ leave."
But Bella didnāt move. She stayed right there, kneeling beside him in the mess of spilled drink and scattered papers. She saw the old scar peeking out from the open collar of his shirt ā a thin, jagged line right over his heart. She remembered what he had whispered in the garden: They killed you. Love is what kills you.
"This is from when you lost herā¦ your mother," Bella said softly. It wasnāt a question.
Alessandro went still. The pain in his eyes mixed with raw, exposed grief. He didnāt deny it. He couldnāt.
"The doctorsā¦ said it was stress," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Said the damage was done years ago. That fear, anger, lonelinessā¦ it all builds up here." He tapped his chest weakly. "That if I donāt calm down, if I donāt stop feeling so muchā¦ it will kill me one day."
He looked at her then, his eyes red and filled with a terrible sadness.
"So you see? I am right. Emotions are poison. Love is a disease. If I let myself feel anythingā¦ it destroys me. It weakens me. It kills me."
He tried to pull his hand away from hers, but Bella held it gently, firmly, refusing to let go.
"Or perhaps," she said quietly, looking deep into his eyes, "it is not the feeling that is hurting you, Alessandro. Perhaps it is the hiding. The burying. The carrying all this pain alone, inside a cold, dark prison you built for yourself. That is what is killing you."
She moved closer, ignoring the dangerous spark in his gaze. She reached up, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with her soft sleeve, her touch gentle and tender ā the kind of touch he hadnāt felt in years.
"You think being cold protects you. You think having no heart makes you strong. But look at youā¦ you are the strongest man in this country, feared by kings and criminals alikeā¦ and yet you are broken, alone, and in agony, simply because you refuse to let anyone care for you."
Alessandro stared at her. His breathing was slowly returning to normal, but his eyes were locked on hers, confused, fighting a war he was slowly losing.
"I do not need care," he muttered, but there was no force behind it anymore. No coldness. Just exhaustion.
"You need it more than anyone I have ever met," Bella whispered. She shifted, sitting beside him on the floor, leaning her back against the desk just like he was. She didnāt touch him again, but she stayed close. She let him know she was there. "You think I am the one trapped here, Alessandro. But youā¦ you are the one in the cage. You built it with your own hands, and you threw away the key."
Thunder rumbled outside, loud and close, shaking the walls. But inside the room, it was quiet. Peaceful.
Alessandro looked at her profile, sitting calmly beside him, warm and bright like a candle in the dark. He looked at her hand resting so close to his own. He looked at the way she had come running when she heard him fall, how she hadnāt run away when she saw him weak and broken, how she spoke to him not like he was a monster, but like he wasā¦ a man.
Slowly, hesitantly, as if moving through deep water, he turned his hand over beneath hers. His rough, cold fingers tangled with her soft, warm ones. He held her hand tightly ā desperately ā as if she was the only solid thing left in his world.
"I will never love you, Bella," he whispered. But the words were empty now. Hollow shells he was repeating just because he didnāt know how to say the truth yet.
Bella smiled softly, looking at their joined hands. His skin was cold, his grip was tight, but his heartā¦ his heart was beating faster, louder, right beside her.
"Okay," she said gently. "You donāt have to love me. Not yet. You donāt have to say it. You donāt have to admit it. Justā¦ let me stay. Let me be here. Let me hold your hand when it hurts. That is enough for now."
Alessandro rested his head back against the desk, closing his eyes. He didnāt let go of her hand. He didnāt push her away. For the first time in years, he let the ice c***k just a little bit, and let a little warmth in.
He told himself it was just comfort. Just need. Just because she was there.
But deep down, in the place where he kept his secrets, he knewā¦
The Cold Mafia Boss had already lost.
- Writer
