Page 96 of Ruthless Royalty

“I … I love you too,” I say, my voice breaking on the last word.

A flicker of relief, of hope, passes through his eyes, and he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead.

“I know,” he whispers against my skin. “I know you do.”

We stay like that for a long time, the water pouring over us, washing away the blood, the soap, but not the pain. That will take time. But I feel a small flicker of hope, a small light in the darkness that tells me maybe I can get through this.

After a while, the water starts to cool, and Gio gently turns it off, helping me out of the shower. He removes my wet clothes and wraps a towel around me, his hands careful and tender, like I’m something precious, something he’s afraid to break.

He dries me off, his touch so gentle it brings tears to my eyes again. He does the same to himself, stripping off his clothing and drying off. Afterwards, he picks me up and puts me on the marble counter. I watch him as he opens the cupboard below the sink and takes out a first aid kit.

My heart warms as I watch him clean the blood from my armsand apply an ointment to the wounds before he gently winds bandages around them.

Then he leads me back to the bed, pulling back the covers and tucking me in. He doesn’t say anything, just lies down beside me, pulling me into his arms, his warmth chasing away the cold that’s settled in my bones.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing lullaby. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I nestle closer to him, my head resting on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calming the storm inside me. I’m still scared, still filled with doubt, but with Gio beside me, I feel like maybe I can get through this.

“Gio…” I whisper, my voice small and broken.

“Kitten?”

“Thank you.”

He presses a kiss to the top of my head, his arms tightening around me. “You don’t have to thank me, Chiara. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

I close my eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace, the steady sound of his breathing, lull me into a sense of calm. I’m not okay, not by a long shot. But for the first time since that nightmare with Leo, I feel like I might be okay someday.

GIOVANNI

Lying here with Chiara in my arms, her breath soft and steady against my chest, I can’t stop my mind from drifting back to the night before

Her breathing is steady now, her body relaxed against mine, but I can still feel the remnants of last night’s fear clinging to her. It’s like a shadow that won’t let go, lingering in the corners of my mind.

I can’t stop replaying the moment I found her in the shower, the frantic look in her eyes as she scrubbed at her skin, as if she could wash away what happened. The way she cried, desperate, broken, telling me over and over that she was dirty. That she couldn’t get clean.

It broke something in me, seeing her like that. My strong, fierce Chiara, reduced to a terrified, trembling girl who thought she was somehow ruined. It was like a knife to the heart, twisting deeper with every sob that wracked her body.

I know I can’t just fix this for her. I can’t take away the pain, the fear. All I can do is be here, hold her, and hope that somehow, that’s enough.

I look down at her; her face peaceful in sleep, and I wonder how someone so strong could ever think of herself as anything less. She’s been through hell, and yet she’s still here, still fighting.

But the look in her eyes last night … I never want to see that again. I’d do anything to protect her from that kind of pain, anything to keep her safe.

I know this isn’t something I can just shield her from. She’s going to have to fight through it, and all I can do is stand by her side, ready to catch her if she falls. And she will fall—that’s just the way it is. But I’ll be there to pick her up every time.

I hope that it’s enough.

I brush a strand of hair away from her face, watching as she stirs slightly, her brow furrowing in her sleep. Even now, she’s fighting. I can see it in the way she holds herself, the way her tiny hands are balled into fists as if she’s fighting those same demons in her sleep.

I tighten my hold on her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m here,” I whisper, even though I know she can’t hear me. “I’ll always be here.”

She shifts again, her eyes fluttering open, and for a moment, she looks disoriented, like she’s not sure where she is. But then her gaze lands on me, and I see a flicker of relief in her eyes.

“Gio,” she murmurs, her voice still heavy with sleep.

“Hey, baby,” I murmur, my hand gently cupping her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

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