Page 55 of Power
I drain the glass, the bitterness a fitting companion to my thoughts. The path I've chosen is paved with suffering, and I can't help but wonder if there's a way out, or if I'm destined to walk this road alone, until it consumes me entirely.
But as the alcohol warms my throat, a hollow emptiness gnaws at me. This life of violence, of endless retribution... is there any escape? Or am I doomed to this cycle, a puppet to my own vengeance?
I haven't touched her since the betrayal. Haven't let myself. I locked her in that room, told myself it was to punish her, to keep her from causing more damage. But the truth? I'm scared. Scared that if I see her, I'll lose control. That I'll kiss her, hold her, forgive her. And I can't afford that weakness.
But damn, I miss her. I miss the way she'd hum off-key while cooking breakfast. The way she'd steal the covers in the middle of the night, leaving me cold but smiling. The scent of her shampoo on my pillow. The little notes she'd leave in my jacket pockets, reminding me to eat, to take care of myself. It's pathetic, really. A hardened man like me, brought to my knees by these trivial memories.
I haven’t had sex with anyone else since her, and I haven’t wanted to. The thought of being with someone else feels like a betrayal in itself. And fuck it if she isn’t the only one I want. The need to pin her down and plunge myself into her with heat over and over again until there’s nothing left but me… it’s driving me insane. I find myself lying awake at night, jerking off to thoughts of her body, her scent, her nipples, and those fucking lips. The ache is almost unbearable. But I won’t give in. I can’t.
I pour another glass, trying to drown the longing, the anger, and the goddamn confusion. But no amount of whiskey can wash away the truth. I still crave her, despite everything. And that might be the cruelest irony of all.
Chapter 16
Vittoria
Dario’s room is lit only by the glow of a single lamp. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed with forearms resting on his knees and fingers laced together. He looks up when I step inside, but his expression doesn’t change. Just those brown eyes, calm but watching. Always watching.
“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is soft, even, but not cold.
I shut the door behind me. “I had to see you.”
He takes a slow and measured breath. “And what do you think will come out of this?”
I don’t know. Or maybe I do, but saying it out loud feels like too much. Instead, I walk forward, stopping a few feet away. He doesn’t move, doesn’t shift or lean back like I expect him to.
Dario is rooted in place like nothing, and no one could ever shake him. I used to think that was comforting. Now I’m not so sure.
“I just want to talk,” I say.
He doesn’t laugh, but there’s something close to amusement in the slight lift of his brow. “Talk?”
“Yes.”
Peace and quiet stretches between us, long enough that I wonder if he’ll just tell me to leave. Then, he nods to the chair across from him. An invitation. A test. I take it.
He studies me, and I let him. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that he hates dishonesty more than he hates betrayal. Maybe they’re the same thing in his world. Maybe that’s why I’m still here.
“Then talk. Tell me about him.” His voice is quieter now, but not gentle. It never is.
I know who he means. My stomach tightens. “What do you want to know?”
He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, and eyes still locked on me. “Everything.”
I exhale slowly. “I met him very young, barely in my twenties. He was charming, at first. Or maybe I was stupid. Probably both.” My fingers curl into the fabric of my leggings. “He made me feel wanted. Needed. And when that changed, I thought—I thought if I just tried harder, if I was better, he’d go back to how he was in the beginning.”
Dario says nothing, but his jaw tightens.
I keep going. “I stopped seeing my friends. He didn’t like them. Stopped going out unless he said it was okay. Wore what he wanted, said what he wanted, did whatever it took to keep the peace. But the peace never lasted.”
A muscle in his forearm tenses. “And you stayed.”
I nod. “Because leaving meant running. It meant not knowing where I’d go, what he’d do. It meant losing everything. And then…” My throat tightens. “Then he told me to come to you.”
Dario doesn’t speak, but I see it in his eyes—the war, the fury, the cold calculation that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the man who put me here.
My voice drops to something almost a whisper. “You were my way out.”
He lets out a breath, but his shoulders don’t relax. “And now?”
