Chapter 83 CHAPTER 083
Chapter 83 CHAPTER 083
Upon hearing Vincenzo’s voice, Anna’s breath caught.
Shock rippled through her chest, tightening her lungs, and a lump rose in her throat.
She swallowed hard, forcing it down, but it kept threatening to rise again.
Vincenzo stood at the window, watching her with his grey, piercing eyes.
The cigarette burned slowly between his fingers, smoke spiraling upward.
“Are you done?” he asked again.
Anna pushed herself off the couch. Her legs trembled beneath her, but she forced herself to stand.
“I wasn’t—” Her voice came out too high.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “I wasn’t eye-fuc… I wasn’t doing what you said I was doing.”
Vincenzo took a long drag from his cigarette. The tip glowed orange as smoke filled his lungs, and he let it out in a slow, controlled exhale.
Then he moved, crossing the space between them with slow, measured steps.
Trails of smoke followed him like a veil, curling over his shoulders and chest.
He stopped directly in front of Anna, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
He drew another long drag from his cigarette, leaned down slightly, and exhaled.
The smoke washed over Anna’s face, making her cough and stinging her eyes.
She jerked her head away, tears welling in her eyes.
“You know I hate liars,” Vincenzo said.
Anna coughed again, waving the smoke from her face.
“I’m not lying,” she muttered, avoiding his eyes.
“You are,” he said, his voice low.
She stayed silent, eyes darting anywhere but his, as if meeting his gaze might set her ablaze.
His fingers closed around her chin, firm but gentle.
Slowly, he tilted her face back toward him, his thumb pressing lightly beneath her jaw, holding her in place.
The simple touch ignited a shiver that ran straight through her.
“Eyes on me when I’m speaking to you,” he growled.
His words sent Anna’s heart slamming against her ribs so hard she thought it might rip out from her chest.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze, and it met his grey eyes, steady and unreadable as they held hers.
In that moment, she became aware of how close he was.
The bare inches between them.
His chest rising and falling within reach.
Up close, she noticed the faint lines at the corners, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, and the small scar bisecting his left eyebrow.
The scent of cigarette smoke clung to his breath, mingling with something cleaner, soap perhaps, or maybe the lingering freshness of morning air still caught on his skin.
Anna swallowed.
The nausea she had expected never came. Neither did the urge to pull away.
Instead, a strange warmth spread from Vincenzo’s fingertips, tingling across her skin where he touched her.
His eyes stayed on her.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.
His gaze drifted slowly over her—her eyes, her nose, her lips—slowly, as if he was memorizing something.
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in, the air growing thinner.
Anna could hear her own pulse thrumming in her ears.
Vincenzo’s thumb shifted slightly against her jaw, a motion so small she might have imagined it.
But she didn’t. She felt it.
They opened their mouths at the same time.
“Anna—”
“I—”
A sudden knock at the door cut them off.
Both of them snapped their heads toward it.
“Breakfast is ready,” Martina’s voice came through the door, muffled but clear.
Vincenzo’s hand dropped from Anna’s chin.
In one fluid motion, he stepped back, putting space between them.
The intensity in his eyes faded, leaving his expression calm, almost blank.
Another knock came.
“We’ll be down in a minute,” Vincenzo called.
“Okay,” Martina replied, her footsteps fading down the hallway.
Anna stood frozen, her chin still tingling from Vincenzo’s touch.
Slowly, she lifted her hand, pressing her fingers to the spot where his had been.
Vincenzo turned away, crushing the cigarette in his hand against the ashtray on the nightstand, then strode toward the dresser.
He slid open a drawer, took out a fresh shirt, and pulled it over his head without glancing at her.
Anna watched the shirt slide over his back, covering the ink, concealing the skin she had been staring at moments ago.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Breakfast passed in near silence. No one spoke beyond a few casual greetings before Papa bowed his head and murmured a prayer.
When it ended, the soft clink of cutlery against porcelain filled the quiet.
Even then, no one said a word.
Anna kept her eyes fixed on her plate throughout breakfast.
Across the table, Isabella remained silent.
She hadn’t greeted anyone when she sat down, hadn’t looked up once.
Her fork moved in slow, aimless circles through her plate, but she didn’t eat and kept her eyes down the entire meal.
After being scolded by her sisters last night for speaking too freely, she had resolved to remain silent throughout breakfast.
When the meal ended, everyone went their separate ways.
Rosalia and Isabella headed upstairs to prepare for school, while Martina returned to her room.
Vincenzo and Papa went to the study, while Anna made her way back to Vincenzo’s room.
Inside, she paced before stopping at the window—the same one where he had stood that morning.
Then, unbidden, the memory of Vincenzo’s tattooed chest rose in her mind: the sharp lines of his abdomen, the dark ink curving over his ribs, the way the morning light had caught the ridges of muscle, carving them in gold.
A flush spread across her cheeks, hot and impossible to ignore.
She shook her head, pressing her palms against her burning cheeks.
“What is wrong with me?” she whispered. “Why can’t I stop thinking about it?”
She pressed her hands harder against her cheeks, as if she could push the thoughts away.
But they lingered, stubborn and unyielding.
“I can’t believe I was checking out the Boss… and he caught me. God, I’m so embarrassed. But… why did I even do that? No… no, it can’t be. I can’t… I can’t possibly be falling for him, right?”