Page 102 of The Ache That Stayed

She fit there too easily. Like she’d always belonged there. Like my body had been waiting for hers to fall into place.

Who the fuck hurt you?

I didn’t ask. Not yet. Not tonight. But the question burned, clawing at the inside of my chest. And I knew I wouldn’t let it go. Because whoever did this to her… was already dead. They just didn’t know it yet. I’d make sure of it. Slowly. Painfully.

Her breathing steadied completely. And then—slowly—she relaxed into me. Trusting me. And that made my chest fold on itself. I kissed the top of her head again.

We stayed like that. Long enough for the storm outside to quiet. Long enough for my mind to stop racing.

Somewhere between her breathing evening out and my hand still resting at her neck—she drifted back to sleep. I lay there, wide awake, staring into the dark, her body still curled into mine.

Scared that if I let go, she’d slip back into whatever the hell had taken her.

What triggered it?

And how long had it been happening?

Marcello never mentioned anything.

But why would he? Or maybe—she never told him.

And that somehow bothered me.

Too many things about her didn’t belong in the life she’d built with him. Too many things… she only let slip around me.

The cracks. The sharp edges she hid from the rest of the world.

The woman who smiled and spoke carefully, held herself together like she’d never fall apart—that version of her didn’t exist with me.

With me—she snapped. Swore. Burned. Looked at me like she wanted to fight me… or kiss me. Sometimes both.

Did I bring that out of her?

Or had it always been there—waiting for someone who wouldn’t flinch when it surfaced?

The thought sat heavy. Because if I was the one pulling those pieces out of her, the ugly, the reckless, the parts she kept buried, then what the fuck did that make me?

A trigger? Or worse—a mirror that matched her damage too well.

Maybe that was it. Maybe her demons recognised mine. Maybe they fed off the same fire. Maybe that was why she never looked afraid of me. Even when she should have been.

But I knew one thing.

Whatever had put that look in her eyes, that haunted her—I’d kill it before it ever got the chance to touch her again.

CHAPTER 27

Roxanne

Warmth enveloped me. The kind that settled deep into your bones, like a cup of hot cocoa on a cold morning.

Like wrapping yourself in a thick, heavy blanket after a long, exhausting day. Grounding. Safe.

I sank into it without thinking, letting it pull me under. A familiar scent curled around me—smoke, leather… and a warmth that was uniquely masculine.

Santino.

And for a moment, I forgot where I was. With who I was.