Chapter 45

*Grace POV*

I wake up feeling a mix of emotions swirling in my chest. The memory of last night’s kiss with Elio lingers in my mind, both exhilarating and bittersweet. It had been intense, passionate, but at the same time, it was incomplete. After the kiss, he withdrew, retreating to his own room, as if the moment between us never happened. He didn’t say *good night* or even *see you in the morning*. It was like the kiss had opened a door, but he slammed it shut just as quickly.

Now, it’s morning—nine o'clock, to be exact—and I’m still in bed, nursing the remnants of my injuries. My body has been healing, but the pain is still there, making even simple tasks like walking a challenge. I hear a knock on the door and know it must be Eleonor with breakfast. She’s been so attentive, always making sure I’m taken care of while I recover.

She enters the room quietly, placing the tray of food on the small table beside my bed. But something is off with her today. I can sense it in the way she moves, slower than usual, as if she’s hesitant about something. Her eyes dart to me, then away, as if she’s holding back words that are ready to spill.

"Eleonor, just simply ask me what you want to know," I say gently, moving to sit up and position myself at the side of the bed. The movement sends a dull ache through my ribs, but I push past it, my curiosity about what's bothering her outweighing my discomfort.

She pauses, wringing her hands nervously. “Is it true that you and the master are…close?” she asks, her voice careful, as if she’s afraid of overstepping.

I take a moment to gather my thoughts before answering. I know what she’s implying, and the truth of it stings more than I care to admit.

“If you mean that Elio and I are in a relationship, the answer is no,” I say, keeping my voice steady as I start picking at my breakfast. “It’s true that we feel some things—there’s something between us, but I’m sure Elio doesn’t want a relationship with me.”

Eleonor’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why?”

I sigh, putting down my fork. “If he allowed himself to have feelings for me, to openly acknowledge them… that would mean he sees himself as weak. In his world, emotions are vulnerabilities, and he can’t afford to have any.”

Saying the words out loud feels like a confession, one that I’ve been avoiding, even to myself. The disappointment settles in my chest, heavy and unyielding. No matter how much I want to be close to him, to mean something to him beyond the walls of his control, I know deep down that Elio sees love—or even affection—as a risk he can’t take.

Eleonor nods slowly, absorbing my words. “He does care for you, though. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

I smile weakly at that. “He does, but that doesn’t change the fact that he won’t let himself act on it.”

Eleonor opens her mouth as if to say something else, but then she stops. After a pause, she finally adds, “His father is coming here again today. I think he’ll want to talk to you again.”

The mention of Domenico, Elio’s father, sends a cold shiver down my spine. Our last conversation hadn’t been pleasant, and I can only imagine what more he wants from me now. He’s suspicious of me, of my loyalty, and I know he’s not someone who’s easily convinced.

“No problem,” I reply, trying to sound indifferent, though my nerves are starting to spike. Domenico’s presence in the house is always unsettling, and I know he has more questions for me, especially after what happened with Moretti.

Eleonor leaves the room, and I’m left alone with my thoughts. The looming conversation with Domenico weighs on me, but more than that, it’s the uncertainty with Elio that gnaws at my mind. Last night had been a glimpse into something real, something that could be so much more, but Elio’s walls are impenetrable. I can’t break through them, not without him letting me in.

A part of me wishes I had the strength to push harder, to demand answers from him. But at the same time, I understand why he’s keeping his distance. His world is violent and unforgiving, and he’s been raised to believe that love makes you weak. For someone like him, trusting another person is the ultimate gamble.

After a while, I force myself to eat some of the food Eleonor brought. The taste is bland, and I barely register it as I eat mechanically, my mind still focused on the tangled mess of emotions surrounding Elio and me.

Later that morning, I hear voices coming from downstairs. I can’t make out the words, but I recognize one of them as Domenico’s. The other is Elio’s—deep, steady, but edged with frustration. They must be discussing the situation with Moretti, the traitor that’s been hanging over their heads for weeks.

I take a deep breath and decide to go downstairs. My body protests with every step, but I push through the discomfort. If Domenico wants to talk to me, I’d rather get it over with. Besides, I need to see Elio—to look into his eyes and try to understand what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling after last night.

When I reach the living room, I find Domenico standing by the window, looking out over the estate with his arms crossed. Elio is seated on the couch, his posture rigid, his jaw clenched. The tension in the room is thick, and it only intensifies when Domenico turns to face me.

“Grace,” he says, his tone flat but laced with suspicion. “I see you’re recovering.”

I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. “Yes, I’m getting stronger.”

Domenico studies me for a long moment, his eyes sharp and calculating. “Good. I hope you’ll continue to stay strong, because this isn’t over. There are still threats we haven’t dealt with.”

Elio’s eyes flicker to mine, and in that brief moment, I see the storm brewing behind them. He’s holding back—keeping something from me, from everyone. It’s as if he’s on the verge of breaking, but he’s too proud to let it show.

“I’m ready to face whatever comes,” I say, holding Domenico’s gaze even though my insides are churning with anxiety.

Domenico doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turns his attention back to Elio. “You should be careful with her,” he says, his voice dripping with warning. “Emotions are dangerous in our world. They cloud your judgment.”

Elio’s jaw tightens, and he stands up abruptly, the tension between him and his father almost palpable. “I know that,” he replies, his voice low and controlled.

Domenico doesn’t push further. Instead, he walks past me, leaving the room with an air of finality. When he’s gone, the silence between Elio and me is deafening.

“Elio…” I start, but he cuts me off.

“I can’t do this,” he says, his voice rough, as if the words are physically painful to say.

My heart sinks. “Do what?”

“This,” he gestures between us, frustration evident in his expression. “Whatever this is. It’s too dangerous.”

I take a step toward him, ignoring the ache in my ribs. “You don’t have to protect me by pushing me away, Elio. I’m not afraid of your world.”

He looks at me, conflicted, as if he’s fighting an internal battle. “You should be.”

“But I’m not,” I whisper, closing the distance between us until we’re standing just inches apart. “I’m more afraid of losing you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. His eyes search mine, and I can see the war raging inside him. Finally, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle but hesitant.

“This won’t end well,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“Maybe,” I reply softly. “But I’m willing to take the risk.”