MY MAFIA BOYFRIEND

Just Don't Shut Me Out

Julian stayed on the bathroom floor with her until her breathing evened out.When the worst of the cramps had passed, he carefully helped her stand and guided her back to the bedroom. He didn’t try to undress her or pull her into anything more than she could handle. Instead he found the softest shirt he owned, helped her change into it, and settled her against the pillows.

“Stay here,” he said quietly.

He left for only a few minutes. When he returned he was carrying a heating pad, a glass of water, and a small packet of pain relief he must have had Dante send up. He plugged the heating pad in, waited until it was warm, and then placed it gently against her lower stomach, adjusting it until she gave a small nod.

“Better?”

“A little,” she whispered.

Julian sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly on her knee over the blanket. The distance that had lived between them for days was gone, replaced by the careful attention he only ever gave her.

“I hated not touching you,” he admitted after a long silence. His voice was low, almost reluctant. “But I wasn’t going to force it. Not when you told me no.”

Isabella looked at him. Her eyes were still red, but the sharp anger from before had burned out.

“I just wanted to see her,” she said. “Even for an hour.”

“I know.” Julian’s thumb moved slowly back and forth over her knee. “And I still can’t let you walk into that house right now. Not while your father is making calls and your ex is hovering. But I should have found another way to say it instead of shutting you down.”

She was quiet for a moment, then reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand. The small contact seemed to ease something in his shoulders.

“I’m still mad,” she said softly.

“That’s fine.” He turned his hand over so their fingers could rest against each other. “Be mad. Just don’t shut me out while you’re hurting.”

Julian stayed beside her the rest of the night. He changed the heating pad when it cooled. He brought her more water. When the cramps returned in sharp waves, he let her grip his hand as tightly as she needed without saying a word.

Sometime near morning she drifted into an uneasy sleep, still turned toward him, their fingers loosely linked on top of the blanket.

Julian watched her for a long time in the half-dark, the usual hardness in his expression nowhere to be found.

For the first time in days, the penthouse felt less like two people sharing space and more like what it had started to become again — the only place either of them wanted to be.

The next morning the air between them was quieter, but no longer cold.

Julian was already awake when Isabella opened her eyes. He had stayed on top of the covers the entire night, still fully dressed, one hand resting near hers like he hadn’t wanted to risk waking her by moving away. When he noticed she was awake, he simply asked, “How’s the pain?”

“Manageable,” she answered.

He nodded, then reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her face with the same careful touch he had used the night before. “Stay in bed. I’ll bring you something light.”

He returned a short while later with tea and toast, setting the tray across her lap before sitting beside her again. He didn’t try to pull her into his arms or start any conversation about the argument. He simply stayed close, occasionally adjusting the heating pad when it shifted, watching her in that quiet, focused way that belonged only to her.

Around midday Dante came up with a brief report. He kept his eyes on Julian the entire time and kept the update short — no movement from Marco’s people, nothing unusual in the lobby, the extra security still in place. When Dante left, Julian turned back to Isabella as if the business side of his life had never entered the room.

“You don’t have to decide anything today,” he said. “Not about your mother. Not about us. Just rest.”

Isabella studied him for a moment. The hard edges he showed everyone else were still nowhere in sight.

“You’re being careful with me,” she said.

“Yes.” He didn’t deny it. “You told me not to touch you. Then you were in pain. I’m not going to rush either of those things.”

Later in the afternoon the cramps returned more strongly. Isabella curled onto her side with a quiet sound she tried to muffle. Julian was beside her in seconds. He didn’t ask permission this time — he simply slid an arm under her shoulders and guided her against his chest so the heating pad stayed in place between them. One of his hands settled on her lower back and began moving in slow, steady circles.

“Breathe,” he murmured against her hair. “I’ve got you.”

She did. For a long time neither of them spoke. The city continued far below the windows, distant and irrelevant. Inside the bedroom there was only the warmth of the heating pad, the solid feel of Julian’s chest under her cheek, and the quiet understanding that the fight had left a mark, but it had not ended whatever this was becoming.

When the pain finally eased again, Isabella’s fingers curled weakly into his shirt.

Julian covered her hand with his own and kept her there, exactly where she was, for as long as she needed.