Page 24 of Bound to the Enforcer

For a moment, everything else fades—the danger, the betrayal, the chaos. There's only her, her touch, and the unguarded look in her eyes.

Chapter Seven

Alessio

The warmth of Sophia's touch lingers on my skin even after she pulls her hands away. My pulse quickens, the air in the cabin thick with something else now, something that wasn't there before. Her fingers brush lightly against my side as she presses the clean cloth to my wound, and for a second, the pain subsides, replaced by the heat of her proximity. I can't help but notice how gentle her movements are—more tender than I've ever known her to be. She's close enough that I can feel the rhythm of her breathing, the slight tremble in her fingertips as she works.

I focus on the sting in my side, trying to distract myself from the way her eyes flicker over my skin, the way her lips part slightly when our eyes meet. The quiet in the room is heavy, filled with unspoken words, with the unacknowledged tension that has been building between us for days. It's impossible not to feel it. The rawness between us, the connection that has always simmered beneath the surface, is now pulsing with undeniable intensity.

She finishes cleaning the wound and reaches for the bandages, her hand brushing mine in the process. A simple touch, but it sends a shock through me. I force my pupils to the wound, a small cut that seems insignificant compared to the rest of the chaos around us. But the sharpness of the pain is nothing compared to the ache that's growing in my chest. The need to pull her closer, to feel the warmth of her body against mine, is overwhelming.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she secures the bandage, and for a second, I wonder if she feels it, too—the pull between us, the longing that's so thick it's nearly suffocating. She's not looking at me now, her eyes focused on her hands, but when she's done, she straightens up but doesn't immediately step back. There's a vulnerability that wasn't there before. It's in the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the way her eyes flicker to mine, but then dart away.

She opens her mouth to speak, but the words die in her throat. I can see the struggle in her—wanting to say something but unsure of how to say it.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. The anger I'd been holding on to is still there, but it's buried beneath something else now—something far more complicated. I don't trust myself to speak yet, not when everything inside me is screaming to just… feel. To give in to the overwhelming pull between us. But I can't. I won't.

I stand, slowly, pushing myself off the couch and away from her touch. My body aches from more than just the wound. The space between us feels too small, too intimate, but I don't move farther. I can't. Not when I know she's feeling the same way.

"I don't know if you understand," I utter. "This isn't just about you anymore. You've put everyone at risk. The people we've been protecting… their lives are in jeopardy now."

Her face falls, and I can see the weight of what I've said settle in. She looks at me with guilt in her eyes, the remorse clear on her face.

"I know," she says quietly. "I wasn't thinking. I was so… caught up in everything, I didn't see how far it could go." She swallows hard, her stare drifting to the floor. "I just wanted to feel like I had control, like I could make my own decisions. But I see now what I've done. And I'm sorry."

She's not just apologizing for the mistake. She's admitting that she understands the gravity of her actions, that she gets it now—the way I've been protecting her, not controlling her. She's beginning to see that I'm not the enemy.

I take a step closer, my anger now mingling with something else. Something I can't name. A desire to forgive, to pull her close and wipe away the pain she's feeling, but I can't let myself do it. Not yet.

"You can't keep pushing me away and expecting me to just fix everything for you, Sophia," I say, quieter now, more measured. "You have to trust me. We're in this together."

She looks up at me then, her eyes softening, and for a brief second, I almost believe she understands. There's a flicker of something—vulnerability, maybe, or something deeper—that passes between us.

"I know," she whispers. "And I want to. I do. I just… I was scared. I am in over my head here. I know this."

I reach out, placing my hand on her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her shirt. It's a simple touch, but it speaks volumes. I can feel the stiffness in her body, but also the longing to close the distance between us.

"We'll figure it out," All I feel is chaos. "We have to. But you need to trust me. Okay?"

"I do," she says under her breath. But I'm not sure if either of us believe her. "So, what now?"

Her question lingers in the air between us, and for a moment, I don't know how to answer.What now?It feels like a question we've been dancing around for days, and yet, here we are—standing in the aftermath of a decision that's already set the wheels in motion.

I glance at her, and I see the shift in her eyes. There's an openness there now—vulnerable but strong, like she's come to terms with what she's done, with the mistakes she's made. And for the first time, I see the weight she's been carrying. The fear that she's been trying to hide from me.

I don't want to comfort her. I don't want to be soft, to show her the gentler side of me. But I can't help it. Something in me wants to take her hand, to reassure her that everything will be okay. But I know better than that. I can't promise her anything.

I take a slow breath, pushing the thought aside. "Now, we lay low for a while. No one can know where we are, especially Carlo." I pause, my eyes drifting away from her for a moment, searching the shadows of the room. "I'll figure out the next move, but right now, I need you to stay calm. Stay focused."

She nods. I can tell there is an argument on her lips, but she bites down on her tongue.

"I understand," she says quietly. She's trying, I can tell, and for a brief moment, I almost believe her. But I know how quickly things can change. How easily trust can be shattered. And how hard it is to rebuild once it's gone.

I exhale slowly, pushing away the ache in my chest, and turn to the small kitchen area, needing something to occupy my mind. I grab a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap with more force than necessary.

"You should rest," I suggest. "We'll figure this out in the morning."

She doesn't argue, just watches me for a beat longer than I expect, and then turns toward the small bedroom at the back ofthe house. She's quiet—so quiet that I almost wonder if she's just shutting me out again or if she is trying to do what she promised. But then I hear her footsteps stop, and she turns back to me.

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