Turning Point||Book 2

15. Romano.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again, this time for treating her as if she were just another transaction, for failing to recognize her true needs. "I'm sorry, Xenia," I repeated, my apology laden with remorse for not intervening sooner, for neglecting my duty to her.

Time appeared to warp, granting me an intimate view of her innermost feelings. Hate, fury, anguish, tenderness—each one a weighty presence demanding attention. The sheer magnitude of it all felt suffocating, as if it could swallow me whole

Time seemed to freeze as our gazes held, a silent dialogue passing between us, heavy with truths left unsaid. As she began to crumble before me, I revealed, "I tracked down Rossi today. Made him answer for his sins."

Recalling the vengeance exacted upon him twisted my insides, a tumult of conflicting sensations. Yet, amidst the chaos, guilt remained elusive, replaced by a strange blend of agony and euphoria.

"Answered how?" Her voice wavered, brimming with apprehension. "Did you..."

"No regrets," I affirmed. The whole thing had my resolve unshakable, even though I noe loathed myself for it. "Only wish I'd reached him sooner."

Her silence screamed louder than any words could, revealing a storm of shock, devastation, and confusion that had gained foothold.

Beneath the dull side lamp, tension rustled between us. It suffused the airspace with twisted anticipation. Her gaze locked onto mine. Uncertainty and desire spun in those depths.

I could feel the heat emanating from her body. It drew me in with an irresistible pull. As we stood there, our breath mingling in the chilly air, I was captivated by her presence.

With a tentative gesture, I reached up. Brushing a stray lock of burgundy hair from her face, the softness of her skin sent a jolt of vigor through me. It was so powerful that I bumped into her.

My heart pounded in my chest. When I leaned in, her lips were so close to mine. The suspense was almost unbearable.

She smelled different. No longer like the bubblegum and cotton candy that used to signify her. It was like catching a whiff of jasmine and musk. So delicate yet clinging to me like a loyal associate.

It brought back memories of kicking back on hot summer days. Sharing whispered secrets under the cover of darkness.

The world around us faded into obscurity. Leaving only the two of us hanging in this moment of possibility.

Her bottom lip, soft as I remembered it to be, was tucked between her teeth. I wanted to kiss her so bad. Yet not as bad as I sensed her longing to be.

Her legs crossed each other in a way that hinted at a desire to stop the ache between her thighs. In that fleeting instant, the universe held its breath.

We teetered on the brink of something profound. And just before our lips met in a searing kiss, a knock at the door jolted us back to reality. Like guilty adolescents caught in the act.

"Step inside," I commanded, and Max obliged without crossing the threshold.

Standing rigid as though the world hinged on his next words, Max inclined his head respectfully. "Diablo," he murmured. My hand gesture granted him permission to speak freely, and he wasted no time. "Vitriol's touched down in Sicily. Ottavio's adamant about keeping a close watch on him."

"Why'd he abandon Bologna?"

"Beyond me, Diablo," Max admitted. "But it seems it's got something to do with your cousin."

Naturally, where there was mischief, there was often the tandem of father and son. The stakes were higher when the duo resembled lovebirds.

"For now, keep tabs on him," I decided, knowing full well that if Santo caught wind of Xenia's secrets, he and Angelo would rally the family to discuss her removal. And since everyone was well aware of her status—a foe and a figure of significance to me—they'd expect me, the future don, to handle it decisively.