Chapter 18 - You Deserve To Be Cared For, Dolcezza.
1287 Words
I don’t even know why I asked. Maybe it’s because his eyes are still on me, too direct, too searching. Maybe I just need the attention off me for a second.
Something shifts in his face. Not just one emotion, but several. Pain, maybe. Something sharp and quiet that he tries to hide behind that perfect calm.
He leans back slightly, his gaze moving toward the window where sunlight glints against the ocean.
“My mother,” he says finally, voice low. “She’s… protective. Fiercely so. Her love can cut if you’re not careful.” He pauses, fingers tracing the edge of his glass.
“My father built everything. The hotels, the empire, the name. He doesn’t believe in rest, only results. Success isn’t celebrated, it’s expected. Love…” He lets out a small, humorless laugh. “Love is measured in quarterly profits and expansion deals.”
My stomach twists. There’s something in the way he says it, flat, almost practiced, like it’s a story he’s told himself too many times.
“And your brother?” I ask softly.
He exhales. “He plays his part. Keeps his head down. Does what’s expected. Like most people.”
His tone shifts just slightly then, a flicker of warmth softening it. “But my sister… she’s different. Younger. Still believes the world’s a good place. She hasn’t learned what it takes to survive in it. Lei è la luce. She’s the only part of that house that still feels… pure.”
For a second, he’s not Massimo De Luca, the man with an empire. He’s just a brother who wants to protect someone.
He stops talking like he’s said too much. And maybe he has. The honesty in his voice hits something deep inside me.
“That sounds lonely,” I murmur.
His jaw tightens. “It is.”
The words hang between us. There’s no attempt to sugarcoat them. No pretending. Just truth clean, painful, raw.
Silence stretches. Outside, the city hums, life goes on, but inside this space, it feels like everything has slowed down.
He looks at me again. Really looks.
“I learned early that vulnerability is weakness. Mai mostrare il dolore. Don’t show pain, or they’ll use it against you. For a long time, I believed that was the only way to survive.”
I want to say something, to tell him that surviving isn’t the same as living, but the words get tangled somewhere in my throat.
“And now?” I ask instead.
He hesitates, then meets my eyes. There’s something unguarded there, something that shouldn’t be shown.
“Now…” He shakes his head slightly. “I’m not sure anymore.”
My heart stumbles. For once, he doesn’t sound like the untouchable man who owns half of Miami. And other cities. He just sounds… human.
We talk for a while. After that, lighter things, safer things. Movies, travel, food, the city. His laugh comes easier now, and I catch myself smiling more than I have in weeks.
The sun shifts lower, shadows lengthening across the terrace, and time just… blurs.
When we finally leave the restaurant, the sky has turned soft gold. He suggests a walk, and I don’t even pretend to argue.
The sand is warm under our feet, the air heavy with salt and sound, distant music, waves breaking, someone laughing far away.
Massimo’s sleeves are rolled up, his tie loose, and for the first time, he looks almost relaxed.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. Not the composed CEO. Just a man, walking beside me.
“Barcelona was my favorite project,” he says, eyes on the horizon. “Took three years of fighting with city permits, but when guests see that view at sunset… it’s worth it.”
“Must feel incredible,” I say quietly. “Creating something that lasts.”
He nods, thoughtful. “It’s rewarding. And terrifying. Every choice matters. Every mistake ripples outward.”
“That’s why you’re such a control freak,” I tease, trying to lighten it.
He laughs a real one this time. Deep and warm.
“I prefer attento ai dettagli,” he says, grinding and tugging at his lips.
I roll my eyes. “Sure.”
We fall into silence again, but it’s a comfortable one. I catch myself watching him, the way light hits his hair, the curve of his mouth when he thinks. And something in me softens.
And then, somehow, the conversation shifts back to me.
He asks about the project, about the choices I’ve made. He listens, really listens. And maybe that’s why it slips out.
“I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove something I don’t even know how to define.”
The words hang between us before I can grab them back.
Massimo looks at me, expression softer now. “To who?”
I shrug, trying to play it off. “Everyone, I guess. My family mostly. They don’t say it, but… I always felt like I had to earn things. Love, pride, even being allowed to just exist.”
The laugh that escapes me isn’t really a laugh. “Some families give you a hug. Mine gives you a checklist.”
His brows draw together, but he doesn’t push.
“Sounds exhausting,” he says quietly.
“It is.” My throat tightens. “You spend years thinking if you just become perfect enough, they’ll finally look at you differently. And when they don’t…” I trail off, shaking my head. “You just work harder. Because stopping would feel like failing.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then: “Capisco.”
Just that. I understand.
And somehow, it’s enough.
We walk a little longer, talking about everything and nothing. The sound of waves, our footsteps on wet sand. The kind of quiet that feels like safety.
When we finally reach the café by the water, the sky’s melting into pink and gold.
He orders coffee. I sit, tracing circles on the rim of my cup, watching the sea swallow the sun.
He looks at me then that same steady gaze that used to intimidate me.
“You don’t have to earn being seen, Emma. You already are.”
My chest tightens. I want to believe him. God, I really do.
“Maybe,” I whisper. “I’m still working on that part.”
His lips curve slightly. “Bene, just don’t stop trying.”
The words shouldn’t feel intimate. But they do.
We sit in silence for a while, not uncomfortable, not empty. Just real.
When he finally says, “Let’s get you home,” I realize I don’t want to leave.
The drive is quiet, full of things neither of us should be thinking. His hand brushes the gearshift once, close enough that my breath catches.
When we stop in front of my building, neither of us moves.
“Thank you,” I say, voice smaller than I intend. “For today. For… everything.”
He studies me for a long moment.
“You deserve to be cared for, Dolcezza. Don’t let anyone make you forget that. Mai più.”
I can’t speak. I just nod.
“Goodnight, Massimo.”
“Buona notte, Emma.”
I step out, warm air wrapping around me like a pulse. I tell myself not to look back.
But of course, I do.
He’s still there. Still watching.
And for one dangerous, stupid second, I almost go back.
Upstairs, Simba curls against me, Miami glittering outside.
But my mind’s still down there. Still in that car. Still with him.
Something changed today.
And deep down, I know, there’s no going back.
- Writer
