Page 62 of Ruined By Capture

I remain frozen in my seat, twisting my mother's ring around my finger. The smooth metal grounds me, a connection to something real when everything else feels like a nightmare.

I open my mouth, close it, then try again. "Can you—" The words stick in my throat.

Alessio pauses, plate in hand, waiting.

"Can you come with me?" I finally manage. "I can't be alone right now. I just—" I can't explain the hollowness inside me, the way the shadows in the corners of the room seem to pulse with threat.

He doesn't demand explanations or reasons. Simply sets the plate down and rounds the counter. His large hand envelops mine, warm and solid. "Let's go."

He helps me stand and I let him lead me to the stairs. My legs feel unsteady beneath me, like I might collapse withouthis support. His thumb brushes my knuckles in small, soothing circles as we climb the steps.

The bedroom is cast in the soft glow of a bedside lamp when we enter, shadows stretching across the walls like reaching fingers. Alessio guides me to the king-size bed that dominates the room, his hand still clasping mine as if I might float away without his anchor.

I sink onto the mattress, the linen sheets cool beneath my fingers. My body feels impossibly deadweight, yet hollow at the same time.

Alessio steps back, his expression unreadable as he moves to a chair in the corner. The scrape of wood as he lowers his bulk makes me flinch.

"You don't have to sit over there," I whisper. "This bed is enormous. Big enough for an entire family probably."

He freezes, his hand gripping the armrest. His jaw flexes rapidly and I watch his thumb lift to trace along his bottom lip—that unconscious gesture I've noticed whenever he's thinking.

"I don't think that's a good idea,piccola."

"Please," I say, hating the desperation in my voice but unable to stop it. "I just... I can't be alone with my thoughts right now."

Our eyes lock across the room. Something shifts in his expression—a softening around the edges of his mouth, a slight furrow between his brows.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his accent thickening as it always does when his guard slips.

I nod, pulling back the covers and sliding beneath them."I'm sure."

Alessio hesitates only a moment longer before approaching the bed. He removes the phone from his pocket, placing it carefully on the nightstand alongside his car keys. The USB drive—that small piece of technology that started everything—joins them, a dark reminder of why we're here.

"I'll stay on top of the covers," he says, the mattress sinking under his weight as he stretches out beside me, keeping a careful distance between our bodies.

I don't argue. Having him near is enough—his steady breathing a rhythm to focus on instead of the echo of gunshots in my head.

I turn onto my left side, pulling the covers tight around me.

Behind me Alessio remains motionless on top of the covers. His presence radiates warmth, yet he maintains that careful distance between us. The barrier feels both necessary and unbearable.

The tears I've been fighting since the gas station finally spill over, hot trails streaming down my cheeks and dampening the pillow under my head. My body shakes with silent sobs.

The mattress shifts. Alessio moves closer, his strong arm wrapping around my waist over the blankets. His body forms a protective curve against my back.

"Shh, princess," he says, his breath warm against my hair. "You did what you had to do."

I press back against him, seeking more contact, more comfort. My back meets the solid wall of his chest. Through the layers of blankets and clothing his heartbeat is steady and strong while mine races with panic and grief.

Alessio tightens his grip around me, one large hand splayed across my stomach, anchoring me to him. He buries his face in my hair, inhaling deeply. The gesture is intimate in a way that should frighten me but instead makes me feel protected.

I buck my torso and turn to face him, our bodies separated only by the thin layer of blankets between us. His eyes merge with mine in the dim light, dark and intense. Something electric passes between us—desire, need, the desperate urge to feel something other than the horror.

"You saved my life today," he whispers, his voice fraught with emotion.

His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there. The air between us charges with tension, making it hard to breathe.

"You know…you taste like…nothing I’ve…" His accent is deeper with each hesitation and suddenly I can't hold back anymore.

---