Chapter Hundred-Eight – Breathing Room

Chapter Hundred-Eight – Breathing Room


The rain hadn’t stopped since afternoon.

The sound of it filled the small cabin, tapping against the old wooden roof like a slow, steady heartbeat.

Dante sat near the window, a cigarette between his fingers, though it had already gone out. He stared at the smoke stain on the wall, lost in thought.

Isabella moved quietly around the kitchen corner, drying her hands with a small towel. “You’re going to burn a hole through that wall if you keep staring at it,” she said softly.

He didn’t turn around. “It’s better than watching the news.”

“There’s no signal here,” she reminded him, walking over to the couch. “And even if there was, you wouldn’t like what you’d see.”

“Probably not,” Dante said, voice flat. He leaned back, rubbing his temples. “They’ve erased everything. The Deluca name, our people, our holdings. It’s like we never existed.”

Isabella sank down beside him. “You still exist. I still do.”

Dante looked at her finally, his eyes tired. “For how long? Every time we find a place to breathe, someone tracks us down. I’m starting to think there’s no end to this.”

Isabella folded her legs under her. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

“I’m not sure I know what that means anymore,” he said quietly. “I don’t even know what I’m fighting for now. Revenge? Survival? Maybe I just got too used to losing things.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, then reached over and took the cigarette from his hand. “You want to know what I think?”

He gave a half shrug. “You’ll tell me anyway.”

“I think you’re still standing,” she said simply. “And that’s what matters. You’ve lost everything before and you’re still here.”

Dante leaned back in the chair, staring at her. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” she said, shaking her head. “It never is. But you’re not alone this time.”

Dante looked away. “I’m supposed to protect you, Isabella. That was the deal. But look at me — hiding like a rat in a wooden box.”

“You’re protecting me by being alive,” she said, her tone firm. “If you die, all of this falls apart.”

He didn’t respond right away. He stood, pacing across the small room. The wooden floor creaked under his steps. “I used to think power meant control. Now I can’t even control where I sleep at night.”

Isabella followed him with her eyes. “You still have control over one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Whether you keep going.”

He stopped near the table, his hands resting on the edge. “You sound like Bianca.”

“Good,” she said with a faint smile. “That means I’m making sense.”

He gave a low laugh — the first sound close to amusement in days. He pulled out the chair and sat across from her. “When did you become the reasonable one?”

“I’ve always been the reasonable one. You just never listened.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then said quietly, “What if I can’t do this anymore?”

Isabella’s smile faded. She reached out and rested her hand on his. “Then I’ll hold you up until you can.”

He looked down at their joined hands. His fingers twitched, hesitating before he finally intertwined them with hers.

“Isabella,” he said softly. “If I fall, don’t follow me down.”

She shook her head. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the rain and the faint creak of the wood when the wind shifted outside.

Isabella leaned back in her chair. “You’re tired, Dante. You’ve been tired for a long time. You don’t have to pretend you’re made of steel when it’s just us.”

He gave her a look. “If I stop pretending, I might not start again.”

“Then don’t stop,” she said quietly. “Just rest. You can pick it up again tomorrow.”

Dante watched her, really looked at her. The dark circles under her eyes, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulder, the quiet steadiness in her voice.

“You don’t get tired of this?” he asked. “Of running? Of me?”

Isabella smiled faintly. “Sometimes. But then I remember you’re the only man I’ve ever met who could drive me insane and still make me want to stay.”

He chuckled under his breath. “That’s not a compliment.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

They sat there for a while longer, the silence between them no longer heavy. Just... quiet. Safe, for once.

Isabella pushed her chair back. “You should lie down for a bit. You haven’t slept properly in two days.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“I’ll rest when you do.”

He smirked. “Then I guess neither of us is sleeping.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said, standing up slowly. “But you keep choosing me anyway.”

Isabella looked at him — really looked — and didn’t answer.

She moved toward the small bedroom, glancing back once. “Come on,” she said quietly. “You can stare at walls in the morning.”

Dante watched her walk ahead, the rain outside still falling in steady rhythm. He hesitated, then followed her inside.

ISABELLA'S POV

I pushed him to the couch in the room then ran a hand through his hair and he raised his head, pressing his face against my stomach and letting out a sigh.

“Fuck, I missed your touch.” He gripped the backs of my thighs, lifting me to straddle him. Slowly, tentatively, he reached for the hem of my shirt, gauging my reaction.

“Can I undress you?” A shudder rippled through him under my palms.

“I’ve never wanted anyone,” he said, his voice uneven, “the way I want you.” My heart faltered, then picked up again, beating at twice the speed,

desire heavy in my veins.

He waited for my permission, and once I gave it, I shifted off him and our clothes began to fall to the floor in a heap.

He gently grasped me by the elbows and encouraged me to climb back into his lap. I put a knee on either side of his hips as he sat back with his shoulders against the cushions.

He crushed his lips to mine in a fierce and desperate kiss.

“Until death do us part,” he grunted, his touch hot and possessive.

“Until death do us part,” I echoed as we were caught in each other’s gazes.

His hot length brushed against my core and my breath cut off. His palm coasted from my elbow up my arm. It traveled over my shoulder, slid up my neck, and continued until his fingers wove into my hair. His head rested on the back of the couch as he stared up at me hungrily.

His other hand was on my waist, guiding me to move. I rubbed my hips against him, the head of his cock right at my entrance, and lowered myself onto him, feeling him deep inside me.