Page 68 of Knot Made to Break: Part One

KITANIA

The metal barfelt heavier than it should; a solid slab of iron pressing down on my chest. I gritted my teeth, sweat trickling from my temple and dampening the edges of my vision. With each shaky breath, I could feel my muscles trembling, begging for mercy, but I pushed through. The gym was silent except for the sound of my own labored breaths and the occasional animalistic grunt. The entire world had narrowed to this room, and all that existed was me and the ridiculously leaden bar in my hands.

“Come on, Kit,” Giovanni’s voice cut through the fog of my exertion, gravelly and low, yet encouraging. He loomed over me as if he were a guardian angel—or maybe more like an intimidating demon, given that he was responsible for the precarious situation I found myself in. His hazel eyes were fixed on me with unwavering intensity. “You got this.”

“I really don’t think I do,” I huffed, working to keep my focus on the bar instead of the way my body quaked beneath it. I feltridiculous—here I was, trying to lift what amounted to nothing but a piece of metal. There weren’t even any weights on it. Nevertheless, I struggled. My arms trembled, shaking as I fought the resistance, grunting with the effort.

“Just breathe,” he urged in that soothing yet firm way of his.

I tried to focus on inhaling and exhaling, but all I could think about was how weak I felt.

“Why am I doing this again?” I growled, gritting my teeth so hard I thought they might shatter. Except that I knew exactly why.

Huffing and puffing like the damn wolf in that children’s story, I finally forced the bar into the air, inch by godforsaken inch. Gio shouted a loud “fuck yeah!” when I made it, then helped me guide it back into its resting position with a clang. My arms dropped to my sides, resembling overcooked spaghetti, and I let out an exhausted, frustrated groan.

“You did great, sweetness. I’m proud of you.”

His praise sent a flutter through my chest, but shame quickly doused it. “I could barely lift the bar.” Blinking past the tears that pricked at the backs of my eyes, I avoided his gaze. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I can’t even do one smooth rep?”

“You’ve been through hell. Give yourself time to heal. To rebuild.”

I wanted to believe him, wanted to feel worthy of his faith in me, of his patience and reassurance. But the shadows of my past whispered doubts in my ear. What if I never got strong enough? What if I was always a burden? A liability?

Gio must have sensed my spiraling thoughts. Grabbing a water bottle from the mini fridge, he strode back over and held out his hand. I stared at it for a long moment before taking it and letting him haul me up to a sitting position. I swung my leg over the bench until I sat facing him. The cold bottle was pressed intomy hands, and I mindlessly twisted off the cap and took a sip, all while he watched with his arms crossed.

When he was content with my level of hydration, he sighed and squatted down in front of me. “Just remember that you’re doing this to build strength so you can protect yourself.” Gio’s intense eyes searched mine, and I could see the concern there, mixed with something deeper. “You’re not weak, Kit. You simply need time.”

“Time,” I echoed, swallowing hard.

What did that even mean? Months in captivity had hollowed me out, left me feeling fragile and exposed. I was scared of what I’d become, scared that I’d never build back all I’d lost.

“Look at me.” His voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I met his gaze. “It. Takes. Time,” he enunciated. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes and I nodded.

“I wasn’t always like this, you know.” He gestured to his sculpted arms, the tattoos peeking from beneath his sleeves, decorating his skin in a tapestry of art. “It took work. It took being in pain. And it took time. But I got here.”

I blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I was heavy all throughout childhood and into my teens. Other kids were merciless little shits who liked to tease me. I understand what it’s like to feel... small. Unimportant. Belittled.” There was a weight in his words, a shared understanding of suffering that tugged at something deep within me. “But when I got older, I decided enough was enough. I was done with being ridiculed and wanted to change how others saw me. That’s when I started working out,” Gio continued, his voice low and intimate. “At first, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I’d stumble into the gym, feeling like everyone was staring at me, judging. But I pushed through that discomfort, day after day.”

Studying him, I tried to process this new side of Giovanni—this man who was so fierce and protective was stripping himself raw to reveal his vulnerability.

“I started learning about nutrition too,” he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “No more sneaking entire boxes of Pop-Tarts at midnight. I had to relearn everything I thought I knew about food. It was fucking hard. There were days I wanted to give up, to just accept that I’d always be that chubby kid everyone picked on.”

His hand reached out, hesitating for a moment before gently squeezing my knee. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through me.

“But I didn’t quit. And neither will you.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“Overtime, I got a handle on eating healthy, well-balanced meals and began hitting the weights. I shed the baby fat and worked on sculpting my body. Then came the tattoos,” Gio gestured toward the ones crawling down his arms. “Each piece has a story, a reminder of how far I’ve come.”

I leaned closer, drawn in by the raw honesty in his voice. My gaze traced the intricate designs, one after another.

“This tattoo,” he said, pushing up his sleeve to reveal a fierce tiger, “was my first. I got it the day I finally benched 225. It took me months to work up to that weight.”

Without thinking, I reached out, my fingertips barely grazing the inked skin. Gio’s breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away.

“And this one?” I asked softly, tracing a delicate vine pattern that wound its way up his forearm.

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