Chapter 100 His Return
Isabella POV
When Dante left without saying goodbye, it cut deeper than I expected because e had never done that before.
Normally, I could not shake him even if I tried. He lingered in my space like he belonged there. My sheets carried his scent long after he climbed out of bed. His coffee mug would sit in my sink as if my kitchen were his. He used my toothbrush without asking, like the line between mine and his had blurred beyond recognition. His clothes draped across my bedroom floor but now he was gone and the apartment felt hollow.
I did not like sleeping without him there.
The next two nights, I forced myself into bed and stared at the ceiling, pretending I was not listening for every faint sound outside. I told myself I was not afraid of the shadows beyond my windows.
Each night, I peeled the curtain back just enough to glance at the curb, hoping to see his truck parked outside. It never was.
I reminded myself that Dante would never leave if he believed I was truly in danger. If he thought someone might hurt me, he would not risk it.
Still, I hated that he was not there. I hated curling beneath layers of blankets while the bed remained cold. I missed his scent. I missed the weight of his powerful arms around me. I missed the intimacy that always came before sleep, the way he made the world disappear.
I had gone to Milan to clear my head, to gain distance, to remember who I was without him. Yet the moment I returned, I fell right back into his arms like I had never left and now that he was gone again, my thoughts would not leave him alone.
The painting had pushed him away.
I wanted him and he did not know what to do with that, so he left and I could not even blame him.
He told me he would never leave that no matter what happened, he would always come back.
Those words wrapped around my heart like a lifeline. They comforted me when they should not have and they reassured me that whatever this was between us, it was not temporary.
A part of me wished he would break that promise and a larger part prayed he never would, four days passed in silence.
I threw myself into my paintings, into cleaning, into anything that would keep my hands busy and my thoughts quiet. The portrait I made of him hung on my bedroom wall where I could see it from my bed. At night, I stared at it until sleep finally claimed me. It gave me a strange sense of security, even though Dante could not step out of the canvas and shield me from harm.
Sleeping alone grew easier, but it was never the same. I missed the way his weight sank into the mattress and forced me closer. I missed the way he claimed space on the nightstand, as if he had always belonged there.
I told myself I was being pathetic and I had never been the type of woman who needed a man to survive.
I had always been strong and independent but when it came to Dante, everything inside me softened.
He made me weak in ways that frightened me.
It was almost ten in the evening when my phone lit up, it was a message from him. I am coming inside in ten minutes, my heart skipped.
He never warned me before, he usually just appeared without notice but I understood why he was doing it now. He knew I startled easily at night. Even the smallest noise could keep me awake for hours but I did not reply.
I stayed on the couch, staring at the dim glow of the fireplace after turning off the television. My eyes shifted to the window, waiting.
A few minutes later, I saw his silhouette through the curtains then came the sound of his boots against the concrete.
He reached the door, unlocked it with his key, and stepped inside, he locked it behind him.
Dante stood there in a blue hoodie and black jeans. The ink on his arms showed beneath the sleeves. He looked the same as always, strong and composed, like nothing had shifted in his world but the way he stared at me made my chest tighten.
His eyes burned with intensity, studying me as if measuring the distance between us.
After a few seconds, I stood and walked toward him.
I wore black leggings and an oversized long sleeved shirt. My hair had fallen from its curls, and I had no makeup on. I felt exposed, raw.
His gaze dropped to my lips but he did not kiss me and I did not reach for him either.
The silence between us felt fragile then he moved.
His hand slid around my waist, firm and familiar, his other palm cupped my cheek. His thumb brushed across my skin, rough yet gentle at the same time. He pushed my hair back slowly, his eyes locked onto mine.
The moment he touched me, I melted.
I closed my eyes and leaned into his hand, savoring the warmth of his palm against my cheek. I felt his fingers tighten in the fabric at my back as if he needed to confirm I was real.
He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth, when his lips finally claimed mine, the restraint vanished. The kiss deepened, filled with possession and longing. He caught my bottom lip between his teeth before kissing me again, slower this time.
When his tongue brushed against mine, it was tender rather than demanding.
He kissed me harder, then unexpectedly pulled back and lowered his mouth to my ear.
“I missed you,” he whispered.
My hands slid up his chest and around his neck. “I missed you too, more than I should have.”
He cradled the back of my head and kissed me again, his touches soft but heavy with emotion, his fingers tangled in my hair, holding me close as though he had no intention of letting go.
I lost myself in him instantly as my hands slid through his hair, anchoring myself to his warmth. The emptiness that haunted me for days vanished the moment he walked back through that door.
With him here, I felt complete again and whole but as the kiss slowed and his breathing changed, I felt something shift.
His hands tightened at my waist, then he pulled back just enough to look at me.
The intensity in his eyes had changed.
It was no longer just longing, It was something darker and something serious.
“Isabella,” he said quietly, his voice different now.snd the way he looked at me made my heart drop because I realized he had not come back just to hold me.