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I’m used to violence.

I’m used to men who fuck like they’re trying to prove something and then disappear before the sheets cool.

But Matteo?

He washes me like he’spraying.

Like the act itself means something more than just soap and water and skin.

His fingers glide over the bruises on my calves, the dried streaks on my thighs. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t leer, doesn’t flinch. He just presses a kiss to a scrape on my knee like it’s instinct.

And that… that does something to me I’m not ready to unpack.

Then he washes between my thighs.

No hesitation.

He slides the cloth between my legs, parting me with firm, patient hands, cleaning me with the kind of care I’ve never been given after being fucked. No teasing. No filthy comments. No rush to shove his fingers in just because he can.

When he stands, he keeps going—arms, shoulders, collarbone. The cloth moves to my breasts, slow and methodical. He wipes away the crusted streaks of Bodhi’s release, the grit of sweat and lust from every violent second of our fight.

Like it matters.

LikeImatter.

His breath is quiet. The heat of his body is steady. The cloth slips down over my sternum, across the curve of one breast, then the other. No grope. No lingering. Just intention.

He moves behind me again, hair already damp from the steam. His hand lifts. Fingers drag through my hair once, twice, then slowly start to lather shampoo into it with strong fingers, massaging my scalp gently.

“You don’t have to,” I mutter. My voice is rougher than I expected.

“I know,” he says again, quiet.

Then nothing. Just the sound of water and the motion of his hands in my hair.

I close my eyes.

Just for a second.

And that’s when it happens.

I think of Hydessa.

A sharp, uninvited image—her face scrunched in worry, her voice cracking on the other end of the line as I said the wrong words to her.

Hey sis, I said. She knew. I could hear it in her breathing. Could feel her panic the second I hung up.

God. She must be spiraling by now. Calling everyone. Searching every contact she can trust. Probably not sleeping. Probably blaming herself.

My chest tightens.

And the worst part? Matteo is right.

Not that I’ll admit it out loud.

It wasstupidto let her know something was wrong. And I know I can’t even warn her now without it risking my location. All I can do is hope this ends soon.

Hope she holds on.