Page 40 of Power
Her lips press together like she’s trying to suppress a smile. “That’s what you think?”
“That’s what I know.”
She exhales and shakes her head. “You’re so—”
I don’t let her finish. Shifting closer, I slide a hand over her thigh, my fingers pressing lightly into the fabric. She stiffens, but not in the way that means stop. In the way that means she’s overthinking.
“Dario,” she warns, but there’s no weight to it. Just the echo of hesitation.
“No one’s watching,” I murmur, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
She turns her head, scanning the park. “It’s broad daylight.”
“And?”
“And I’m not—” she huffs, pushing at my chest when I lean in. “We are not doing this here.”
I catch her wrist, my grip firm but not unkind. “Why not?”
She looks at me like I’m insane. “Because people exist, Dario. People with eyes.”
I glance around. “Nobody cares.”
Her face flushes, and she shakes her head. “I care.”
That’s new. She cared about what people thought before, but this is different. This is her trying to hold onto something—a sense of control, maybe, or just the illusion of it.
I should let it go. I should lean back and give her space.
But I don’t.
Instead, I slide an arm around her waist and pull her onto my lap. She stiffens, her fingers digging into my forearm, but she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t push me off.
“Dario.” Her voice is quieter now. Less sure.
“Tell me what happened that day.”
We hadn’t talked about it since—for good reason. I couldn’t stand the thought of her reliving it, so I gave her space. Let her push it down, ignore it, pretend it hadn’t left a mark.
But now, out here, away from the house, with nothing but the open space and the quiet between us, I need to know.
I killed a man because of her.
And I’d do it again.
When I look back at her, I can’t shake the worry that she’s still holding back. I reach for her hand, wrapping my fingers around hers. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t lean in either.
When she says my name again, it’s breathy. Rehearsed. Like she’s been working up to this.
“Tell me.” I press.
She hesitates, then—“How do I know you won’t turn around and do something like that to me?”
The words land harder than I expect. Not because I doubt myself—but because she does.
I tighten my grip, just enough to make sure she feels me. “I will never hurt you.” She should know this by now, but I remind her anyway, so she never forgets. “I will always protect you. I’ll hurt anyone who tries to touch you.” My voice lowers, composed. Certain. “You know I won’t show mercy when you’re in danger.”
She lets me pull her into the safe comfort of my arms. I wrap my arm around her shoulders as she sinks her head against my chest. Her breathing is soft and stable, and suddenly all I can think about is whether there’s a part of her that wants me here as desperately as I want her.
