Chapter 84

Chapter 84


Rebekah pov

I stood by the corridor, barely breathing, the cool marble underfoot doing little to calm the heat crawling up my spine. Marcello was only a few feet away, arguing with Vincenzo and Lyra like the world was on fire. And maybe it was—his world, at least. Mine had been teetering since I started dodging him, like a matchstick house in the wind.

I didn’t want to show up like a damn celebrity, like some dramatic ex-girlfriend caught in the act of stalking. But I also couldn’t tear myself away. I watched from the shadows as Marcello’s voice rose, sharp as a dagger, then dropped to a dangerous calm. The way his jaw clenched when Lyra stepped in front of Vincenzo told me all I needed to know—he was restraining himself for her. Not because he couldn't fight. But because he wouldn't.

And then—he let them go.

No fists. No bullets. No blood.

That was insane. That wasn’t the Marcello I knew. He never let anyone walk away without a price. Especially Vincenzo. Something was changing in him. And that terrified me more than if he'd drawn a gun.

As they disappeared down the hall, I whipped around, desperate to vanish before—

“Rebekah.”

My name.

One word. One voice. One man.

It cut through the tension like a blade through silk. My breath caught. My knees locked. I was frozen, like prey caught in a predator’s line of sight.

I should’ve kept walking. I should’ve run. But my legs betrayed me, stuttering a few steps forward before stopping, as if my body knew something my brain refused to admit.

He was coming.

I heard the low thud of his boots on the marble. Slow. Intentional. Dangerous.

“Rebekah.” Closer now. Softer. Almost...tender.

I turned slowly, trying to pull oxygen into my lungs. My heart was hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it echo off the walls. And there he was—Marcello, in all his storm-eyed, wolf-hearted glory. His dark shirt clung to his frame, sweat still glistening at his temple from whatever power trip he just endured. But his eyes... they burned for me.

“You’ve been hiding,” he said.

I lifted my chin, summoning the only defense I had left: attitude.

“Maybe I got tired of your psycho games.”

He didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t. Instead, he walked the last step between us and reached for me. I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve slapped him. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. His fingers hooked gently around my wrist and tugged, pulling me into his chest like I belonged there.

“You missed me,” he murmured, voice low and intimate.

“No,” I breathed, but it came out more like a confession than a denial.

His eyes searched mine for a heartbeat before he leaned down, slow and deliberate, and kissed me.

The world shattered.

I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t prepared for the warmth of his lips, the demand in his hold, the way my body betrayed every ounce of logic I had left. I gasped against his mouth, hands caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

“I want you,” he said when he broke the kiss, his forehead pressed to mine. “I’ve wanted you since the second you disappeared on me this morning.”

“Wanted me?” I whispered, half-laughing, half-crumbling. “Marcello, you're a lunatic.”

“I know.” He smiled. God help me, he smiled like the devil who already knew he’d won. “But I’m your lunatic.”

“I don’t want a lunatic,” I snapped, stepping back, trying to catch my breath and find my dignity somewhere along the corridor tiles.

He followed. Of course he did. “Yes, you do. Because he’s the only one who knows what to do with all your fire.”

I turned to him then, fury and confusion colliding behind my eyes. “Do you think you can just kiss me and I’ll forget everything? That I’ll forget what you are?”

His eyes hardened. “No. I’m counting on you remembering. Because you don’t fall for sweet, Rebekah. You fall for chaos. You fall for the fight.”

“I fall for people who don’t play god with other people’s lives,” I said, my voice trembling despite how sharp I tried to make it.

He stilled. Just for a second.

Then—“You’re right.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You’re right,” he repeated, quieter this time. “And maybe that’s why I haven’t gone after you harder. Because if I push too far… I’ll break you. And I don’t want to break you, Rebekah. Not you.”

My throat closed up. My chest hurt. Because I wanted to believe him. I wanted to throw myself into his arms and forget the monster that lurked in him. But I couldn’t.

“You should’ve thought about that before you became him,” I whispered.

Marcello nodded once, as if absorbing the hit. “I can’t erase what I’ve done. I’m not even asking you to forgive it. Just… let me be yours anyway.”

The corridor fell into silence. Only our breathing filled the space between us.

I stared at him, unsure if I was about to slap him or kiss him again.

I shook my head slowly, every inch of me recoiling from the softness in his voice. No. He didn’t get to do this. He didn’t get to kiss me, drop a few soul-wrenching lines, and pretend we were still something real.

“We’re not doing this,” I said, stepping back, my voice a blade. “You don’t get to want me now just because Lyra’s with Vincenzo.”

Marcello’s expression didn’t change. That was the worst part. Like he expected this. Like he’d already calculated the entire conversation and was now watching me tick boxes on his little chart of emotional destruction.

“I’m not using you to get back at anyone,” he said, too calm.

I scoffed. “Of course you are. You think I don’t see it? The way you circle her like a hawk? You hate that she slipped through your claws and now you're bored, so you turn to the next best thing. But I’m not a placeholder, Marcello. I’m not a game. You had me—and you broke me.”

He didn’t flinch. He just tilted his head slightly, like he was analyzing my words instead of actually hearing them. Like I was an equation he hadn’t solved yet.

“You were never a placeholder, Rebekah,” he murmured.

I folded my arms. “But now I am?”

“No.” He stepped closer. “Now you’re the only thing I can’t control.”

I laughed—sharp, humorless. “Is that what this is about? Control?”

He looked at me then—really looked. And for a second, I saw something unguarded in his eyes. Not regret. Not love. Just… emptiness. Like he didn’t know what to feel, so he defaulted to conquest.

“You don’t get to make me your pastime,” I snapped. “You don’t get to invade my space because Lyra won’t look at you twice anymore. You broke her too, and now she’s with someone who actually sees her. You don’t get to take it out on me.”

His jaw tensed. “You think Vincenzo sees her?”

“I know he does. More than you ever did.”

He took a slow breath, eyes narrowing. “And you? You really think he’ll protect her better than I could?”

“I think she’s already safer away from you.”

That landed. He blinked once, the briefest flicker of something dark passing through his expression. Then he turned his face away, running a hand through his hair like he might snap.

“You’re wrong,” he muttered.

“Then prove it,” I challenged, stepping past him. “Let her be. Let me be. Stay out of our lives if all you’re here to do is remind us who you used to be.” I know there's no way we could leave.