Chapter 185
Elena’s Point Of View
The room was quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that hummed in your ears, that pressed against your skin like a living thing, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. I lay there, still as stone, my breath shallow, my fingers curled into the sheets beneath me. The city lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the room in streaks of gold and silver, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts across the walls.
Somewhere below, the city hummed on, oblivious to the storm that had upended my life in the span of a single night, and I envied it, envied the ordinary rhythm of people who didn’t know what it felt like to lose everything and be handed something unrecognizable in return.
The air smelled of him… whiskey, spice, and something darker, something that clung to my skin like a second pulse.
Jaxx.
His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, slow and steady, the rhythm of his heartbeat a lullaby I didn’t want to trust. His arms were wrapped around me, one hand splayed possessively across my waist, the other tangled in my hair, as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let me go.
His face was turned toward me, his features softened by the dim light, his dark lashes fanning against his sharp cheekbones. His lips, usually curled in that infuriating smirk, were relaxed now, almost innocent. Almost. Because I knew better.
I knew the storm that lived beneath his skin, the fire that burned in his touch, the way his voice could turn from velvet to gravel in a heartbeat. I knew the way his eyes darkened when he looked at me, like I was something he wanted to devour and worship all at once.
And yet… here he was. Gentle. Careful. Holding me like I was made of glass, like I was something precious. It didn’t fit. Nothing about this man was supposed to be gentle, and yet the evidence lay wrapped around me, warm and undeniable, unraveling every assumption I’d built about him over the years.
My throat tightened.
I didn’t understand it, and I didn’t understand him.
I should have been asleep. My body ached from the night’s chaos, from the fight, from the adrenaline, from the way my hands still stung from pounding against Graham’s door. But my mind was wide awake, racing, replaying every moment like a film stuck on loop.
I kept seeing Graham’s face, hearing the splinter of wood, feeling the cold air against my skin as I ran. And then, underneath all of it, Jaxx’s arms catching me before I could fall apart completely.
Jaxx’s fingers twitched against my waist, his thumb brushing absent circles against the fabric of his shirt that I was wearing. The contact sent a shiver down my spine, my skin prickling with awareness. I should have pulled away. I should have told him to stop. But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Because for the first time in months, I felt safe, and that terrified me more than anything else. Safety had always come with a price in my life, and some small, guarded part of me kept waiting for the cost of this one to reveal itself.
His sleeping face was a lie.
A beautiful, dangerous lie.
His dark hair fell across his forehead, one lock curling over his closed eye, softening the sharp angles of his jaw. His lips were slightly parted, his breath warm against my temple. He looked younger like this. Softer. Like the boy I’d known in high school, the one who’d smirked at me across crowded hallways, who’d called me Bambina with a glint in his eye that promised trouble.
I remembered hating that nickname back then, how it made my cheeks burn in front of the whole class. I hated it a little less now, though I’d never admit it aloud.
But he wasn’t that boy anymore.
He was a man now. A man who owned underground bars and private elevators, who sent his men to rescue me from a nightmare, who kissed and touched me like he wanted to brand me as his. A man who could turn from teasing to terrifying in the blink of an eye.
I thought of the way his men had moved, silent and precise, the way the entire room seemed to bend to his will without him ever raising his voice. It should have frightened me more than it did.
And yet, here he was, holding me. Protecting me. Gentle. My chest ached, and I didn’t realize I was staring until his voice cut through the silence, rough with sleep.
“Sleep, princess p>
My breath hitched.
His eyes were still closed. His fingers still traced lazy circles on my waist. His lips didn’t so much as twitch. How did he know? I exhaled, my pulse quickening.
“How p>
“Because you’re tense enough to shatter,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear. “And I can feel your eyes on me like a fucking spotlight p>
I swallowed hard. “I wasn’t p>
“Liar.” His thumb pressed a little harder into my side, just shy of tickling. “Close your eyes, Elena. Or I’ll close them for you p>
A beat of silence, then I muttered, “Don’t you dare p>
His lips curved. Just a little. “Or what p>
“Or I’ll p>
“You’ll what?” His voice dropped, dark and velvety. “Hit me again?” His free hand lifted, his knuckles brushing my cheekbone, his touch featherlight. “I liked it when you did that p>
My face burned. “You’re impossible p>
“I’m dedicated,” he corrected smoothly, his breath brushing against my skin. “Big difference p>
“Dedicated to driving me out of my mind, maybe p>
“If that’s what it takes to keep you from thinking about that house, then yeah. Absolutely.” His thumb brushed over my cheekbone again, lingering near my mouth. “Your mind is running a mile a minute, Bambina. I can hear the gears turning from here. Stop overthinking p>
“I can’t just turn my brain off, Jaxx! Everything happened so fast. One second I was trapped, and the next p>
“The next, you were mine,” he cut in, the words slipping out hard, smooth, and utterly final. “Where you belong. Where you should have been years ago p>
I sucked in a sharp breath. “You can’t just claim people like property p>
“I’m not claiming property, Elena. I’m claiming you.” He shifted, his head propping up on one hand while the other remained locked around my waist. In the dim silver light, his dark eyes finally opened, pinning me to the mattress. “There’s a difference p>
“You talk like you own the world p>
“Just the parts of it I care about,” he whispered. “And right now, you’re the only part that matters. So shut your mouth, stop picking fights with me in the middle of the night, and go to sleep p>
“I hate you,” I breathed, though my hands didn’t make a single move to push him away.
“No, you don’t,” he murmured, his lips pressing a quick, fierce kiss to the center of my forehead. “You’re just terrified of how much you don’t p>
I opened my mouth to hit him with a stinging comeback, but the sheer exhaustion finally caught up with my stubbornness. I buried my face into the crook of his neck, letting his warmth envelop me completely. Some small, traitorous part of me wondered what it would feel like to stop fighting this, even for just one night.
“And you’re exhausted,” he whispered into my hair, his arm tightening around me, pulling me flush against his chest. “Sleep. I’ve got you p>
I should have argued. I should have told him I didn’t need him to have me. But the words died in my throat. Because for the first time in so long, I wanted to believe him.
I woke to sunlight.
Not the harsh, glaring light of a new day, but the soft, golden kind that filtered through the curtains, painting the room in hues of amber and rose. The bed was warm. Too warm. My body ached in the best way, like I’d slept for the first time in years.
And then I realized Jaxx was gone.
I bolted upright, my heart hammering, my fingers clutching the sheets like they could anchor me to him. The room was empty. The door to the bathroom was open, the lights off. The couch by the window was occupied, though.
He was there.
Sitting with his laptop balanced on his thighs, his fingers flying over the keyboard, his brow furrowed in concentration. His dark hair was tousled, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times, and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms.
The sunlight caught the gold of his watch, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones as he stared at the screen. There was something almost domestic about the sight, a version of him I imagined very few people ever got to see, and it unsettled me how much I wanted to keep it for myself.
He looked… edible.
And then, as if he could feel my eyes on him, he glanced up. His gaze locked onto mine. Dark. Knowing. Hungry.
“Morning, Bambina p>
His voice was a purr, low and rough, like he’d just woken up himself. Like he’d been waiting for me to open my eyes just so he could say those words.
I swallowed. “You… you didn’t wake me p>
“You needed the sleep.” He shut his laptop with a quiet click, setting it aside. “Besides, you look cute when you’re passed out p>
My face flushed. “I do not look cute p>
“You do.” His lips quirked. “Like a sleepy, grumpy little kitten p>
I glared. “I’m not a kitten p>
“No?” He leaned back against the couch, stretching his arms along the top, the movement pulling his shirt tight across his chest. “Then what are you, Elena p>
My breath hitched.
His eyes dropped to my lips. Then lower. To where the sheet had slipped, revealing the curve of my collarbone, the thin strap of my tank top.
“You tell me p>
I tore my gaze away, my fingers twisting in the fabric of the sheet. “Where’s my p>
“Your clothes are being cleaned,” he answered before I could finish. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t let anyone else handle them. Roman brought up a fresh set of clothes for you anyway. They’re hanging in the closet p>
“I didn’t ask for a whole new wardrobe, Jaxx p>
“I don’t care,” he said simply, pushing himself up off the couch and walking toward the bed with slow, deliberate steps. “You left that house with nothing. You think I’m going to let you walk around in rags p>
“They weren’t rags p>
“They belonged to a life you’re never going back to,” he growled lightly, stopping right at the edge of the bed and looming over me. “Which makes them garbage. Forget them p>
I held my ground, glaring up at him despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs. “You can’t just order my life around like I’m one of your soldiers p>
“I don’t give my soldiers breakfast in bed, Elena,” he pointed out smoothly, leaning down until his face was inches from mine. “I don’t band-aid their knuckles, and I certainly don’t let them sleep on my chest all night while my arm goes numb p>
“I didn’t ask you to let your arm go numb p>
“You didn’t have to,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my mouth again. “I liked it p>
I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress, trying to create distance, but he didn’t budge, forcing me to sit right between his knees as he stood over me.
“You are infuriating,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.
“And you’re deflection-heavy when you’re hungry,” he countered, resting one hand on the mattress beside my hip, leaning in closer. “Breakfast is on the tray.” He nodded toward the small table by the bed. “Eat. Then we’ll talk p>
I blinked, my eyes traveling over the silver tray resting on the side table. “You – you made me breakfast p>
“I had it made.” His smirk was lazy, infuriating. “I don’t cook p>
“Of course you don’t,” I scoffed, though my stomach traitorously rumbled at the incredible aroma floating over from the dishes. “A Moretti in an apron would probably shock the entire city p>
He chuckled, the sound dark and rich. “Don’t test me, Bambina. I’ll burn down the kitchen just to prove a point p>
“I don’t doubt that for a single second p>
“Eat, princess. Or I’ll feed you myself p>
A shiver ran down my spine, the mental image of his large fingers feeding me sending a sudden wave of heat straight to my core. “I have hands, thank you very much p>
“Then use them,” he murmured, reaching out to gently pinch my chin, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to look him dead in the eye. “Because if you don’t eat every bite on that plate, I’m going to assume you need my personal intervention p>
“Is everything a threat with you p>
“Only when it gets you to do what’s good for you,” he whispered, pressing a light, lingering kiss to the corner of my jaw before pulling back.
I reached out and pulled the heavy tray onto my lap.
Not just heavy with food, though there was plenty of that. Fresh fruit, buttery toast, eggs cooked just how I liked them… scrambled, with just a pinch of chives and no cheese. A cup of coffee, black, just a splash of cream, exactly two sugars stirred in until the dark liquid turned a pale caramel tone. No onions anywhere on the plate, despite the fancy garnish setup.
I stared at the mug, then at the plate, my chest tightening as the realization hit me hard.
He’d paid attention.
Not in the careless, half-listening way most people did, but in the quiet, deliberate way that meant he’d been watching me long before last night, cataloging the small things I never thought anyone noticed. And somehow, that terrified me more than anything he’d said or done since he’d pulled me from that house.