Page 76 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession
“Go on,” I said softly, sitting straighter now.
“I think I didn’t want to believe it so bad that it was easier to assume those horrible things about you. I heard you, you know? I heard you tell me to just look at that photograph of…” his voice cut off with a choke and took a moment to collect himself.
“I saw that photo of them kissing, and I realized you told me to look at it. But I was so shocked by what I’d heard that I never listened. I was a fool. A complete fool, and when Ricardo told me everything, I hated myself.”
My hand reached across the table of its own accord, settling over his. “I'm so sorry, Gastone.”
He turned his hand over to grip mine, like it was a lifeline. “All these years, I thought I knew what happened. I was so certain. To hear him confirm what you said meant I didn’t trust you. The one person I should have trusted most.Can you believe how pathetic I am, Elena?I needed Adriana’s murderer to tell me what you were saying all along!”
“You were grieving,” I said softly. “People believe what they need to in grief.”
“But I hurt you,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “I drove you away when all you were trying to do was help me see the truth.”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, you did.”
“I don't deserve your forgiveness,” he continued. “I know that. But God, Elena, I miss you. Every day. Every hour. It feels like there's a hole in my life where you should be.”
I blinked back the tears that threatened. “Gastone...”
“I know it won't happen overnight,” he rushed on. “I know I have to earn back your trust. But please, give me the chance to try.”
I withdrew my hand from his, needing the space to think clearly. “I'm afraid,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Of what?”
“Of believing you. Of going back and trying again, only for something else to happen, and we're right back where we started.” I looked up at him. “I don't think I can survive that a second time.”
His face crumpled. “I understand. But Elena, I would rather cut off my own arm than hurt you like that again.”
The raw honesty in his voice and eyes made something inside me crack. A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.
“Hey,” he said, rising from his chair to kneel before me, taking my hands in his. “Don't cry. Please.”
“I can't help it,” I sniffled. “I've been holding it all in for so long.”
“Let it out,” he encouraged, reaching up to brush a tear from my cheek. “Let it all out. I'm here.”
That was all it took. The dam broke, and I was sobbing, great heaving cries that shook my entire body. Gastone pulledme into his arms, holding me against his chest as I cried. For myself, for him, for Adriana and her unborn child, for the mess we'd made of everything.
When my tears finally subsided, I became aware of the damp spot on his shirt where my face had been pressed. “I ruined your shirt,” I mumbled.
“I don't care about the shirt,” he said, his voice rumbling under my ear. “Besides, I’ve ruined plenty of your dresses, haven’t I?”
The memories gushed back. All those times he tore those dresses, hungry to reach for skin, how starved I’d felt, not having him inside me, how my toes still curled at the thought of us together again.
I pulled back slightly to look at him. His face was so close to mine, his eyes full of an adoration I’d never seen before.
“I've missed you so much,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to my lips.
I knew I should push him away, knew we still had more to resolve. But in that moment, with his arms around me and his heart beating steadily against mine, I couldn't remember why.
“I've missed you, too,” I admitted.
He leaned in, slowly, giving me every chance to pull away. But I didn't want to pull away. I wanted to feel his lips on mine again and remember what it was like before everything fell apart.
So, I leaned in and wrapped a hand around the back of his skull. His eyes widened, ever so slowly, and I parted my lips.
He groaned as he moved closer and his one hand curled around my cheek, his thumb resting on my jaw, and he pulled me in, so very slowly that time stood still. My heart raced in mychest, every nerve ending screaming for him, punishing me for denying what I needed most: him.
