Page 103 of Ruthless God

And angry.

It didn’t help that Massimo was treating me like I was made of the world’s most fragile glass.

I never asked why Massimo had come back to me with his knuckles bruised and bloodied. I didn’t ask him what had happened with Marco, and I didn’t care to. If it made me a bad person, then so be it.

Massimo had coddled me after for the entire week.

Not that I didn’t like it, but I wanted things back to the way they were before.

I didn’t want to be coddled, as if this horrendous thing that had happened to me had broken me. It didn’t.

I was stronger than that, wasn’t I?

Massimo came into the room carrying a tray holding a bowl of soup. Steam billowed from the top, touching Massimo’s face. He placed the tray on the bed and sat down, grabbing my hand. He brought me breakfast in bed—or was it dinner?

Whatever time it was, I didn’t think I was so incapable of getting up that he needed to do this.

A tinge of irritation moved up my spine, surprising me.

I couldn’t remember a time when I was ever annoyed at Massimo. But I was now.

I looked at the steaming bowl of soup, then back up at Massimo’s concerned face.

“I can feed myself, you know,” I said more sharply than intended.

Massimo blinked, taken aback by my tone. “I know,principessa. I just thought…”

The uncertainty in his voice was something I never thought I would hear from him.

“You thought I was too weak and broken to even get out of bed?” I finished. As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Massimo had been nothing but caring and attentive this past week. But a part of me bristled at being treated like an invalid.

Massimo’s expression shuttered, his eyes going cold. “That’s not what I thought at all.”

I sighed, running a hand through my tangled hair. It wasn’t like I could blame him. I hadn’t left the bed since this morning. I wanted to stay here and wallow a bit in self-pity, but I didn’t want Massimo to pity me… Now I wasn’t sure I was making sense even to myself.

I looked away, unable to meet Massimo’s piercing gaze. The silence stretched between us, heavy and oppressive. I could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling a rush of conflicting emotions. “I just… I don’t want to be treated like I’m broken.”

Massimo’s jaw clenched. “You’re not broken, Luna. But what happened was traumatic. I’m just trying to take care of you.”

His calm tone sparked something in me—a mix of frustration and defiance that had been simmering all week. “By smothering me? I don’t need to be taken care of like I’m some fragile doll!” I snapped, throwing off the covers and standing up. The words came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn’t seem to make myself stop. Just stop.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Massimo said, his voice low and controlled. But I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched into fists.

“Isn’t it? You’ve barely let me out of your sight for a week. You bring me every meal, and you hover constantly. I can’t even go to the bathroom without you hovering outside as if you think I might fall. I. Won’t. Break.”

What had made it worse was that throughout all of this, he hadn’t touched me. Sure, he held me at night. He kissed my cheek, the back of my hands, the top of my head… but nothing more than that. And I missed it. I missed him. I missed the intimacy the very act brought, but how did he think I could go about asking for it?

His eyes flashed dangerously. “You think I don’t know that? You think I enjoy seeing you like this—barely eating, barely sleeping, jumping at every little sound?”

I hadn’t realized he had noticed all those things. I had thought I hid it well from him. The fact that he picked up on it just pissed me off.

“Maybe I’m just reacting to you,” I said. He was treating me like I was fragile, so I would start acting like I was.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve not touched me all week.”

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