Page 118 of Ruthless Vow
He can’t finish. His hand drops from my face. He grips the blanket instead, knuckles white.
My fingers find his wrist. Press against his pulse. Rapid. Unsteady. I hold on because he can’t speak and my chest is cracking open and we both need something solid.
“Dante.” I cover his hand with mine. “You don’t have to.”
“I love you.”
His voice breaks on it. Shatters.
“Ti amo, bella.”
Three words. Two languages. My whole world stops.
His hands frame my face now. Both of them. Shaking. His eyes are glassy and his jaw is locked and every muscle in his neck is corded tight, like this is costing him everything he has.
“I tried not to.” Scraped raw. “Built walls. Made rules. You.”
He pulls in a breath that shudders through his whole body.
“You just.Cristo.You just walked through all of it.”
My vision blurs. I blink and tears slide free, trailing down my cheeks. His thumbs catch them.
“You’re inside all of it. Every defense. Every locked door.” His voice drops to something barely audible. “I don’t want you out.”
My fingers grip his wrists. His pulse hammers under my thumbs, fast and wild.
I hold on. Count the beats between us because the room is tilting and I need ground.
“Nobody ever saw me.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “My whole life, I was the one in the background.”
“I see you.” His lips brush my forehead. “I’ve always seen you.”
“Dante.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” He pulls back just enough to look at me. “I’m not asking for anything. I just needed you to know.”
But I want to say it. The words press against my ribs.
Not yet. Not when I’m wrecked and can’t breathe. When I say it, I want him to feel it the way I’m feeling this.
So I close the distance and press my lips to his.
His mouth moves against mine, questioning at first. Like he’s asking permission even though I’m the one who kissed him.
I answer by pressing closer. My hand slides up his chest, feeling his warmth through the thin hospital gown. His heart pounds beneath my palm.
He makes a sound. Low. Rough. And his hands are in my hair, angling my head, deepening the kiss until I forget how to think.
This. Just him. His mouth on mine. His hands holding me.
I shift closer, and he groans against my lips.
“Careful.” Strained. “I’m still hooked to machines.”
“I know.” I pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are dark. Hungry. The same look he gets when he’s about to pin me against a wall and make me scream his name.
But he can’t. Not tonight. Not with the IV in his arm and the poison still working its way out of his system.
