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“You can tell me,” I urged, craving to comfort him. He’d groaned in his sleep, a deeply pained sound. I could see echoes of that pain in the tension that still gripped his massive body, even though he held me with aching care.
“My parents…” He drew in a shaky breath, as though he was breathing me in. His frantic heartbeats slowed, but he didn’t put an inch of space between our entwined bodies. “I was dreaming about the day they died.”
My heart squeezed. It hadn’t just been a dream; he’d been trapped in a nightmarish memory.
“What happened to them?” I pressed gently, wanting to ease his pain. If he could voice what’d happened, he might be able to purge some of the darkness from his mind.
“They were shot.” His voice was oddly flat, as though the confession didn’t make his heart ache.
Maybe he wasn’t close with his family either. I would feel some sort of grief if my mom or stepdad died—if anyone bothered to tell me. My biological father was long gone, so I would never know what happened to him. The situation was complicated and painful. Did Massimo feel the same way about his parents?
“You weren’t close?” I asked carefully, wanting to understand better so that I could soothe him.
“I took them for granted,” he said roughly. “They loved me and wanted the best for me, and I resented them for sheltering me. But they didn’t want to accept the harsher realities of how the world works. My father didn’t defend my mother, and I’ll always hate him for that. He was an idealist, and he died for it. I was too weak to save them.”
My heart squeezed. His parents had been murdered, and he’d witnessed it. “You were there?”
“I tried to stand up to the gang that threatened us, but I wasn’t strong enough back then. But I made the bastard who shot them bleed. One day, I’ll finish the job. I’ll kill him for what he did.”
My stomach churned. I knew Massimo lived in a violent world, and he was capable of resorting to brutality to protect me. I resented his criminal lifestyle and the drug lords he’d befriended. When I was safely in his strong arms, it was easy to forget the circumstances that’d turned him into my dark protector.
My own childhood hadn’t been easy, but his burdens were so much heavier than mine.
“How old were you?” I trailed my fingers through his dark curls, soothing him.
“Eleven.” That flat, dull tone again. He’d clearly detached himself emotionally from the dark memory, but it’d haunted him in his sleep. “I was just a weak, skinny boy then. But I became a man quickly enough after they were murdered. My only uncle had three children that he couldn’t afford to feed, so he refused to take me in. I joined a gang and learned how to make my own way in the world. I met Gian and Enzo, and we watched each other’s’ backs. We’re all alive today because we fought for our survival in Le Vele.”
“What’s Le Vele?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear more about his terrible childhood; my heart already ached for him with every beat. But he was trusting me with this vulnerable information. I’d never expected my strong savior to open up to me about his criminal life, and I wanted to understand him better.
“The shitty neighborhood where I grew up,” he replied in that dispassionate tone. “After my parents died, I moved into a back room in a Camorra pool bar with Gian and Enzo. We kept the place clean and ran errands for the clan. Eventually, we proved that we were worthy of joining them.”
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, hating the dire circumstances that’d shaped his path. He’d joined the mafia in order to survive, not because he was an inherently bad man. Deep in my soul, I’d known he wasn’t evil, but I still couldn’t accept his criminal affiliation. I tried my best to forget about it entirely when I was in his arms.
He pulled back from me slightly, and his fierce blue stare pierced my soul. “I’m not sorry. I don’t regret my life, Evelyn. And I won’t apologize for it. That time in Le Vele made me strong. It taught me about how the world really works, something my parents never shared with me. I got out. I’m more powerful and richer than I ever could’ve dreamed back then. The Camorra provides security, a future. I can give you anything you desire. I can keep you safe. These are the things I can provide for you because of my lifestyle. I will never feel guilt for that.”
I didn’t have a reply. How could I tell him that his mafia lifestyle was morally wrong? His remarkable eyes shone with a fervent light. He truly believed that he’d followed the right path, and I suspected it’d been the only one open to him. He’d been an orphan in an impoverished neighborhood, fighting for survival. I couldn’t judge him for making hard choices.
That didn’t mean I liked the implications of what he’d become: camorrista, a criminal. Massimo might have protective instincts, but he was still part of a dangerous syndicate. I couldn’t rectify my feelings for him with my preconceived notions about the mafia.
So instead of questioning him further, I boldly pressed my lips to his. I poured everything I couldn’t say into the kiss: that I cared for him, that I wanted to ease his pain. He’d suffered so much. I wanted to shield him from further hurt, just as he’d saved me so many times. I would never be as strong as he was, but I would protect his heart as best I could. My judgment would only cause him more pain, and I couldn’t bear to harm my savior in any way.
He kissed me like I was his oxygen, like he would die if he couldn’t share my every breath. I met him with equal fervor, losing myself in our fierce connection. He’d saved me, so I would do my best to save him from his own demons. The horror of his nightmare melted away beneath the heat of our fiery chemistry. There were no thoughts, no pain. Only lust and intimacy that was so intense it made my eyes sting with the depth of my feelings for this beautiful, damaged man.
His phone blared an alarm, jolting us both back to reality. He broke our kiss with a low curse and turned off the incessant noise.
“What was that for?” I asked, breathless and reeling from the sudden absence of his lips on mine.
His jaw ticked with irritation, and his eyes were molten. He clearly didn’t like that our kiss had ended either.
“We have to get ready,” he rumbled, almost a growl of frustration. “We’re having dinner with Stefano.”
My lust soured, and I dropped my eyes so that I didn’t have to meet his hungry stare. I didn’t want him to read the reluctance in my own eyes.
I didn’t want to go to dinner with a cartel kingpin, just as I hadn’t wanted to go to Colombia.
But Massimo was still raw from his nightmare, and he’d just confessed so many dark secrets of his past. He’d been vulnerable with me, and I didn’t want to needle our newfound intimacy with prickly words.
I couldn’t leave this building; George and his Zetas friends might get to me. I could argue with Massimo about joining him for dinner, but I knew him well enough now to understand that he wouldn’t relent. He wouldn’t want me out of his sight after what’d happened this morning, when I’d almost been taken from him.
