LORENZO BREAKS HIS OWN RULES
630 Words
Lorenzo Moretti did not drink to forget.
He drank to endure.
That night, the glass after glass did nothing to dull the images in his mind Elena dragged backward in the dark, her scream cut short, her fear etched into his bones. He had killed three men with his bare hands before the sun came up. Still, it wasn’t enough.
Control was slipping.
When he finally staggered back to the private wing, the mansion was quiet. Too quiet. His footsteps echoed as he pushed open the bedroom door without thinking.
Elena was there.
She stood near the mirror, dressed not for him but for herself. A simple dress, soft fabric, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked up, startled, and froze when she saw him.
He stopped.
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
The alcohol burned through his veins, but it wasn’t what made his chest tighten. It was the sight of her standing there, unafraid, waiting.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said softly.
“I live here,” he replied, his voice rough.
She studied him, his loosened tie, the tension barely contained beneath his stillness. “You’re drunk.”
“Yes.”
“And you promised.”
The words cut deeper than any knife.
Lorenzo took a step forward. Then another. Every instinct screamed at him to stop. He had built walls for weeks, rules, distance, silence to protect them both from this moment.
“I can’t anymore,” he admitted quietly. “I can’t pretend you don’t exist.”
Elena’s breath hitched.
He reached out not to take, not to claim but to touch her wrist, barely there. The contact sent something sharp and dangerous through them both.
“This is where I stop,” he said, voice tight. “If I go further, I will not be the man you think I am.”
Her fingers curled around his.
“Maybe I don’t know who you are,” she whispered. “But I know who you weren’t tonight. You came for me.”
That was when the rule broke.
Not with hunger but with honesty.
Lorenzo pulled her into his arms, holding her as if the world might tear her away if he loosened his grip. His forehead rested against hers, his breath uneven.
“I will destroy this world for you,” he said. “And that terrifies me.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Outside the room, unseen and unheard, a phone screen lit up.
A message sent.
Elena didn’t pull away.
Instead, she lifted her hand and rested it against his chest, right over his heart, feeling how violently it beat beneath her palm. Lorenzo stilled, as if waiting for permission he had never asked anyone for before.
“This is a mistake,” he murmured.
“Maybe,” she said quietly. “But it’s ours.”
That was all it took.
He kissed her not with force, not with hunger, but with restraint finally giving way. Slow at first, uncertain, as if afraid she might disappear if he moved too fast. When she kissed him back, fingers tightening in his shirt, something inside Lorenzo finally broke.
He lifted her, carried her to the bed as though she were something fragile, something precious. The world outside ceased to exist. There were no guards, no enemies, no empires only the shared warmth, the closeness, the way fear softened into need.
Later, when the room was quiet again and the night pressed gently against the windows, Elena lay curled against him, her head on his chest. Lorenzo stared at the ceiling, wide awake, one arm around her as if letting go might undo everything.
He had broken his rule.
And he knew deep down that nothing would ever be the same again.
- Writer
