Page 78 of Twisted Vows

“Is that what you think this is?” I snap, sitting up straighter. “Weakness?”

His jaw clenches.

“Loving someone doesn’t make you weak,” I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “It makes you human. And if you think I’m going to sit here and let you push me away because you’re scared—”

“I’m not scared,” he growls, his voice rising.

“Yes, you are!” I snap back, cutting him off. “You’re terrified, Max. Of feeling something. Of letting someone in. But guess what? You don’t get to decide what I mean to you. That’s already done.”

He stares at me, his breathing uneven, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides.

The silence between us stretches, sharp and crackling. And then, slowly, his shoulders sag.

“You drive me mad,” he says quietly, his voice breaking. “You make me reckless, Ari. And I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

My heart pounds as he steps closer, his hands finally leaving the footboard to rest on the mattress. His gaze locks onto mine, and I see him without the mask for the first time—the fear, anger, and hunger all laid bare.

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

His hand moves to my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin, and the tenderness in the gesture makes my chest ache. I lean into his touch, my eyes closing briefly as his heat surrounds me.

We stay like that for a moment, the storm finally matching the calm between us.

When I pull back slightly, I open my eyes to find him still watching me, his expression unreadable.

“I think I should go to Nonna’s,” I say softly.

His brow furrows. “Why?”

“You need space to figure this out. To deal with Nikolai, with Sal. You’ll think clearer if you’re not worried about me getting in the way.”

His grip on my cheek tightens slightly, his jaw ticking. “I’m always going to worry about you, Ari.”

“I know,” I say, my voice steady. “But I can take care of myself. You need to trust that.”

He doesn’t respond right away. His eyes search mine, and I wonder what he sees there. Finally, he exhales, his hand dropping to his side.

“Just a few days,” he says, his tone reluctant but firm.

I nod, feeling the weight of his agreement settle in my chest. “Just a few days.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Ari

The rain hasn’t stopped since I arrived. It streams down the windows in rivulets, distorting the view of the manicured gardens outside. This house isn’t home, but at least it’s familiar—the faint strains of my uncle’s favorite opera drifting through the halls, the sharp scent of espresso filling the kitchen.

I sit at the island, stirring sugar into a cup of coffee I don’t even want. The silver spoon clinks against the porcelain, a steady rhythm that does nothing to calm my thoughts.

“You’ve been quiet since you got here.”

André’s voice startles me, and I turn to find him leaning against the doorway, a mug in one hand, his other resting casually on his holster. His dark suit is immaculate, but his tie is loosened, a rare concession to the current climate and the tension humming through the house like a second heartbeat.

“I didn’t realize I needed to narrate my thoughts,” I reply, my tone sharper than I intend.

His lips twitch in a faint smirk, but his eyes are serious as he enters the room. He pulls out the stool and sits, setting his coffee down with a soft clink. “I’m not asking you to narrate,sorella. But I recognize that look. You’re planning something.”

I grip the edge of my cup, the ceramic warm against my palms. “I’m thinking. That’s all.”

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