Chapter 20 - Enough
1544 Words
Massimo’s POV
The door bursts open mid-sentence while I’m talking to Dante. Sofia, mia sorellina, walks in like she owns the place, asking him how much longer he’ll be.
That’s when it hits me.
He didn’t come alone.
Cazzo.
“What are you doing in Miami, Sofia?” It comes out sharper than I mean it to. “You have classes. You should be in New York.”
She freezes. Eyes wide, guilty as hell.
Dante steps between us, already defensive. “Massimo, calm down.”
“Calm down?” I look from him to her and back, pieces clicking into place. Making a picture I don’t want to see. “Dante… dimmi che non è vero.”
Tell me it’s not what I think.
“Fratello, listen-”
“Don’t ‘fratello’ me right now.” My voice gets louder, blood pounding in my ears. “Tell me you didn’t go behind my back.”
Sofia’s face crumples. “Massimo, please-”
“Out.” I point at the door. “Now.”
“But-”
“Fuori!”
She runs, sobbing. I hear it echo down the hall and it cuts, even through the rage.
When the door closes, the silence hums.
“How long?” My voice is quiet now. Dangerous.
“It wasn’t-”
“How long, Dante?”
He sighs. “It just… happened.”
I laugh, a harsh, broken sound. “You just happened to fall into my sister’s bed?”
“Cristo, she’s twenty, not twelve.”
“She’s my sister!”
“And she’s a grown women, Massimo! She knows what she wants.”
“Not this.” My fist slams the desk. “Not with you.”
“Why? Because you can’t control it?”
“Because you’re supposed to be my friend!”
“I still am.”
“You went behind my back.”
“I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t planned.”
“Cazzate. Don’t feed me bullshit.”
He takes a step closer, jaw tight. “She loves me, Massimo.”
The words hit like a punch.
Something snaps.
My fist connects with his jaw before my brain catches up.
The crack echoes in the office. Dante stumbles back, swearing.
Then everything explodes at once. The door slams open. Emma rushes in, Sofia right behind her.
Sofia crying, trying to reach Dante. Me trying to reach him again. Emma somehow between us, small hands pressed to my chest. I’m about to swing again when I hear her voice
“Stop! Massimo, stop!”
“Get out of the way.”
“No.” Her voice trembles but doesn’t break. “You need to calm down.”
“He-”
“I know. I heard. But hitting him won’t fix it.” She pauses. Sofia pushes past her, running to Dante’s side. The sight of her touching him makes my blood boil.
Emma glances back. “You two, outside. Please.”
“But-” Sofia starts.
“Please.” Emma repeats, softer but firm.
Dante wraps an arm around Sofia, dio, that makes my blood boil, and leads her out.
Silence again.
“Sit.” Emma points at the couch.
“I don’t need to-”
“Massimo. Sit.”
Something in her tone makes me obey. I drop onto the couch, hand throbbing. Worth it.
She sits beside me. Doesn’t touch, just… present.
“He betrayed me,” I mutter, voice rough. “With my sister.”
“I know.”
“Sofia’s precious. The only pure thing in my family. And he…”
“Loves her.”
I stare at her. “You don’t know that.”
“I saw it. The way he looked at her. That was real.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“No,” she says quietly. “But think. Would you rather she be with a stranger? Or with someone who’ll actually protect her?”
Her logic cuts deeper than I want to admit.
“He should’ve told me.”
“Yes. But maybe he was afraid of exactly this.”
I drop my head into my hands. “I can’t process this.”
“You don’t have to. Not right now. Just breathe.”
Silence. My heart rate slowing. Rage draining into something else. Hurt. Fear for Sofia.
“Sorry you had to see that.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad I was here.” She pulls out her phone. “Actually, I came to thank you.”
“What?”
She shows me a text from Isabelle. Customs resolved. Fixtures arrive Thursday.
Right. The project. What should matter.
“Told you I’d handle it. When someone matters, I take care of them.”
The word hangs there. Matters.
She stares at me for a moment, lips parting like she wants to say something. Her cheeks flush slightly, and she stutters, “I… um…” Then she stands quickly, smoothing her dress. “Let me get ice for your hand.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not. Let me make sure you didn’t break anything.”
She disappears, returns with ice wrapped in a towel. Sits beside me, takes my hand gently.
Her touch is careful. Tender. Places the ice on my knuckles and I hiss.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
We stay like that. Her holding ice to my hand. Neither speaking. It’s intimate in a way that has nothing to do with desire. Just care. Simple, uncomplicated care.
“I overreacted,” I admit quietly.
“You reacted like a brother.”
“I hit him.”
“Yes.” She glances at me. “But I’m sure Dante will understand…”
“I need to apologize,” I say, even though it tastes bitter.
“Eventually. Let things cool off. But I’m sure you’ll work it out.”
She’s right. As usual.
We sit there in the Miami light, her hand still on mine, her presence steady, unshakable.
And for the first time since the door flew open, I can breathe again.
Maybe Dante’s right. Maybe my problem isn’t control. It’s fear.
Fear of losing the people I actually care about.
But not today.
Today, I just let her stay close.
---
The next few days pass in a strange blur. I apologize to Dante, through gritted teeth, and we reach an uneasy truce. Sofia’s still not talking to me, which stings more than I want to admit. But they’re together, and watching them… I see what Emma meant. The way he looks at her. Real.
So I bury myself in work.
Meetings. Calls. Anything to stop thinking about the rest.
Emma’s brilliant as ever calm, polite, professional. Too professional.
And it’s driving me insane.
Five days of this. Distance. Politeness. Like we didn’t almost cross that line.
Basta. Enough.
By 4:30, I can’t take it anymore. I push away from my desk. Whatever Dante says about patience, some things are worth fighting for.
I stride across the office floor. Other employees glance up. I ignore them.
Emma looks up as I approach, eyes widening.
“Mr. De Luca? Is everything alright?”
“No. Everything is not alright.”
She starts to stand. “Is it the project?”
“It’s not the project, Emma.”
“Then what-”
“Pack your things. We’re leaving.”
She blinks, like she’s not sure if I’m serious. I am.
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. We’re going out.”
“But it’s the middle of the afternoon, I have calls, the vendor meeting-”
“Can wait.”
I move around her desk. Close enough to smell her perfume. Close enough to see her pulse fluttering.
“Massimo, I don’t understand-”
“I’ve been patient.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Respectful. Given you space and time and every courtesy.”
Her eyes are wide now.
“But I’m done waiting. Troppo paziente. Given you space. Respect. Time. But I’m done pretending this is just business.”
Her breath catches. “I don’t know what-”
“Yes, you do.”
I reach out, touch her cheek lightly. She trembles but doesn’t pull away.
“You know what this is. You know how I feel.”
She opens her mouth, but I cut her off softly.
“Close the laptop, piccola. Come with me.”
She hesitates, heart in her eyes. “Massimo…”
“Do you trust me?”
The question stills her. I see it, that moment when logic loses the fight.
Her shoulders drop.
“Yes,” she whispers. “I trust you.”
“Then come.”
She nods, gathers her things. The office goes quiet as I lead her out. Let them watch, let them talk. I don’t care.
In the elevator, I catch her reflection in the steel doors. Nervous. Curious. Beautiful.
Finally.
Five days of restraint, of pretending.
Time to stop holding back.
As the doors close, I rest my hand on the small of her back.
“Relax,” I murmur.
She exhales, soft, trusting.
And that’s it.
No more pretending.
No more distance.
Because when I want something…
I don’t wait.
- Writer
