Page 11

And then, it starts small. A soft twitch of her hand, a quiet whimper barely loud enough to hear.

My body snaps to attention instantly, every instinct I’ve spent a lifetime sharpening kicking into overdrive.

I watch her shift under the blanket, restless, her face pinching in pain.

Her hands twist in the sheets like she’s fighting something only she can see.

Then it gets worse.

She gasps, broken and desperate, her legs kicking weakly against the bed. Tears slip from the corners of her closed eyes, soaking into the pillow. She whispers something...so soft I almost miss it.

“No,” she breathes. “Please... no. Mum ...”

The sound cuts straight through me, tearing past every wall I’ve built. Cazzo . She’s back there. Reliving it. The crash. The blood. The wreckage.

Before I even think, I’m moving.

I cross the room in two strides and drop to my knees beside the bed. My hands hover for a second before I reach out, gently wrapping my fingers around her wrists to stop her thrashing. My touch is light, but firm.

“Jordyn,” I rasp, my voice low and rough. “Hey, hey, wake up. It’s okay, you’re dreaming.”

She jerks harder, caught in the nightmare. I tighten my grip just enough to anchor her. “Jordyn,” I say again, closer to a command this time. “It’s just a dream. Come back to me, bambina.”

For a moment, she fights me. Her entire body tense and shaking. Then, with a broken sob, she wakes. Eyes snapping open, wild and glassy. Before I can react, her fists clutch the front of my shirt, clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing left in her world.

“Ares.” She whispers, her tone broken and raspy.

I don’t hesitate. I pull her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her small, shaking frame. She’s still cold, her hair wet, her heartbeat hammering against mine like a terrified bird trapped in a cage.

I close my eyes and press her tighter against me.

“You’re okay,” I murmur, my voice low and steady, one hand cradling the back of her head as she buries her face into the crook of my neck.

“Ti ho presa, bambina,” I whisper against her hair.

I’ve got you, baby girl . “You’re safe.” She doesn’t speak.

She doesn’t move. She just holds onto me, trembling so hard I feel every tremor in my bones.

I sit there on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around her, rocking her gently without even realising it while she sobs.

And for the first time in years, I don’t think about anything else. Not the blood on my hands. Not the ghosts that follow me. Not the walls I’ve spent my whole life building.

All I think about is her, and the gnawing feeling inside telling me I can’t let go, not even for a second, because if I do, she might shatter into pieces that will never be put back together again.

So, I don’t let go. I stay exactly where I am, holding her through the nightmare, through the grief, through the broken, splintering pieces of whatever the fuck this thing is between us.

I sit there in the dark, her breathing slow and even against my chest, my arms locked around her like some fucking lifeline I can’t let go of.

I should put her back in bed.

I should call Enzo.

I should do a lot of things.

But I don’t move. I can’t.

Her weight anchors me, holding back the worst parts of myself. The rage simmering just beneath my skin, the brutal, ugly urge to tear apart everyone who’s ever failed her, including the people she calls family.

Sighing, I tilt my head back against the wall and close my eyes for a second, breathing her in. She smells like chlorine and my hoodie now. Like home and heartbreak wrapped up in something too fragile for a world like mine.

I keep telling myself it’s just for tonight. One night. One time, as I glance down at her and keep her against me. Because I know the pain of losing a parent. I know it all too well.

I can feel every tiny tremor that rattles her body with every broken, uneven breath she drags in. Jordyn’s fingers are still fisted in the fabric of my shirt. I tighten my hold without thinking, my hand cradling the back of her head, my thumb stroking absently through her damp hair.

It’s not just stupid, it’s beyond reckless. Fucking dangerous , in fact.

What are you doing, Ares? You’re not the guy who stays. You’re not built to carry fragile things. And yet here you are, playing with fire, letting her get close.

“Troverò chi l'ha fatto...e li farò sanguinare finché non imploreranno la morte.” I’ll find who did it… and I’ll make them bleed until they beg for death. I murmur against her hair, my voice low and hoarse.

Slowly, piece by fragile piece, her body softens against mine. Her breath evens out, still shaky but lighter, less frantic. Slowly, she shifts, curling closer against me like a wounded kitten, her head fitting perfectly against my chest like it’s built just for her.

The trust in that small, broken movement punches through me harder than any bullet I have ever taken.

She slips into sleep a few moments later, her fists still tangled in my shirt. I don’t move. I don’t breathe too hard to not startle her. I just sit there, gripped by the feel of her against me and something darker, something colder, uncoiling inside me.

Even as I hold her, my mind isn’t still. It’s hunting.

The bastard responsible for this...the reckless piece of shit who destroyed her world and left her choking on her grief is still out there, still breathing.

But not for long.

I don’t care how deep I have to dig or how many lines I have to cross.

I’ll find him. And when I do, there won’t be enough left of him to scrape off the ground.

Because no one... no one... hurts what’s mine and walks away alive.

My arms tighten around her without meaning to, my jaw grinding until my teeth ache.

Mine? No, what the fuck? She’s not yours. I remind myself.

I keep telling myself it’s because she’s family. This need to protect her isn’t stemmed from anything romantic. No one hurts someone from the Russo family and lives to talk about it. Not on my fucking watch.

Jordyn’s quiet whimper in her sleep pulls me from my internal musings.

She shifts closer, and the rage boiling under my skin twists into something even worse—helplessness.

Because no amount of blood spilled will bring her parents back.

No amount of violence will erase the hollow carved into her chest. But I can make damn sure no one else ever hurts her again.

The hours crawl past as I still there, the silver light of the moon stretching long shadows across my bedroom floor. The house is quiet, the world muted, as her soft, steady breaths fan against my neck.

It’s okay. It’s just for tonight. Just until she stops shaking. Just until she doesn’t need me anymore. But deep down, despite all the lies I try to convince myself, I already know the truth.

I’ll stay for as long as she needs me.