Chapter 139 She Wants Only You

Chapter 139 She Wants Only You
Massimo froze, completely caught off guard by the raw sincerity in Eloise’s declaration. “I love you, Massimo.” The words hung in the air like a gunshot in the silence of the playroom.
Fuck. He should say something. He should fucking say it back. But his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, heavy and useless. Love? 
He didn’t know how to give it. He wasn’t a man capable of love. He killed. He destroyed. He took what he wanted and left ruins behind. 
Massimo Caputo was not worthy of love, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to offer it in return.
Eloise blinked rapidly, trying to hold herself together. The small, awkward sound that escaped her nearly drove a dagger through what remained of his blackened heart.
“I care for you, deeply, Cara,” he finally managed, his voice rough as he tried to gather her into his arms.
Eloise offered him a smile—fragile, held together by nothing but sheer dignity. 
"You don't have to say anything." She shook her head quickly. "Forget it. I… I need to use the bathroom."
She slipped from his grasp before he could stop her, padding across the room on unsteady legs. The moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind her, she turned on the faucet to drown out any sound and let the tears fall freely. 
Hot, silent sobs wracked her body as she leaned against the sink, gripping the marble edge until her knuckles turned white. She had laid her heart bare, and he had given her “care.”
Her lips trembled. Was that all he felt? What the fuck?
After several long minutes, she forced herself into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the evidence of their passion—the sweat, his release still leaking down her thighs. 
She dried herself mechanically, brushed out her damp hair, and wrapped herself in a silk robe before stepping back into the playroom.
Massimo was gone.
Eloise breathed a shaky sigh of relief, even as fresh pain lanced through her chest. She couldn’t look at him right now. She couldn’t fall apart in front of him. 
Her eyes drifted to the rumpled bed, and memories flooded her—the way he had stretched her open, the overwhelming fullness, the devastating pleasure that had torn through her soul. She had never felt that connected to another person in her life.
The tears gathered again. She was a big girl. She had been the one stupid enough to catch feelings. And now she was in deep, devastating trouble.
She crawled onto the bed, curling into the spot where his scent still lingered strongest. 
“Pathetic,” she whispered to herself, angrily wiping at her tears. Not long after, exhaustion finally claimed her, pulling her into a restless, heartbroken sleep.
Downstairs in the dimly lit bar of the mansion, Massimo stood like a man falling apart. He snatched a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, twisted the cap off, and drank straight from it, the burn doing nothing to dull the chaos in his chest. 
His hands shook slightly as he fumbled through drawers for a cigar. He found one, clamped it between his teeth, and searched for a lighter.
In his frustration, he knocked the whiskey bottle. It tumbled off the counter and shattered on the floor in an explosion of glass and amber liquid.
“Son of a bitch!” he roared. “Bloody fucking hell! Fuck me!”
Footsteps approached from the hallway. Massimo tensed, jaw clenched, expecting one of his men. Instead, Rosa appeared, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders against the night chill.
“Don Massimo,” she said softly, surprise flickering across her face as she took in the shattered glass and spilled whiskey, the unlit cigar clenched in his fist.
Massimo ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Hope the racket didn’t wake you.”
Anyone else would have fled from the black storm radiating off him. But not Rosa. She smiled in that warm, motherly way of hers and stepped forward
“Ah… I rarely sleep much these days,” she admitted, taking a seat at the bar.
Massimo offered her a drink. She laughed outright, the sound gentle and knowing. He opened another bottle instead and poured himself a generous measure, downing it in one burning swallow.
"I had no business marrying her."
He laughed once. It was a terrible sound. "I should've listened to my father. Married Rose. Kept Eloise out of this."
Rosa remained quiet for a long moment, watching him with wise, steady eyes. 
“Don Giovanni was a hard man. Hard in all the wrong ways."
Rosa's eyes lowered.
"He made a misery of that marriage. Wounded people everywhere he went and look what it created—this whole mess. The war. The heartache. The broken sons.”
She coughed lightly. Massimo immediately straightened, alert, and poured her a glass of water.
“Are you okay, Rosa?”
“Oh yes, I am,” she said easily, waving him off. “Pay an old woman no mind.”
Massimo stared into his glass, jaw grinding. “I don’t want to hurt her. I cannot hurt her.” His voice cracked with rare vulnerability. “I want to give her everything. Fuck… I want her to be happy. I want to give her the fucking world.”
Rosa smiled then—slow, elderly, and impossibly wise. She reached out and gently patted his large hand.
“But she only wants you, Don Massimo. Only you.”