Chapter 52

*Grace POV*

I spent the rest of the day with Eleonor’s words spinning in my mind, leaving me restless and frustrated. The image of Elio as a boy—raised and molded by Sony’s cold, ruthless philosophies—haunted me. It became painfully clear why Elio couldn’t bring himself to be vulnerable or act on his feelings. He saw it as a betrayal, not just to his father but to the very identity he was taught to embrace. To him, loyalty was everything. His upbringing made it impossible to see that emotions weren’t his enemy; they could be a source of strength.

So if he wouldn’t make the first move, then I would. I had to show him that he didn’t need to be chained to his father’s ideals forever, that love didn’t make him weak.

I took a deep breath, gathered every ounce of courage I had, and made my way to his office. Standing in front of the heavy wooden door, I hesitated, anxiety coursing through me. But I couldn’t turn back now. I knocked, the sound seeming louder than it was in the empty hallway. When there was no response, I was about to knock again when the door swung open, revealing Elio.

He stood there, his shirt completely unbuttoned, exposing a chest that looked like it had been carved by the gods. The muscles of his torso were taut, his skin marred only by faint scars that hinted at the life he’d led. My breath caught, and I struggled to keep my gaze from lingering too long.

"Do you need something?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

"I need to talk to you," I said, my voice steadier than I expected.

"Can it wait?" His voice was distant, and I frowned, confused by his coldness. But then I noticed a few small splatters of blood on his collar.

*Don’t panic, Grace.* I reminded myself. *You know who he is, what he does.*

"I… I’m sorry. I’ll come back later," I said, stepping back to leave, but he reached out, his hand wrapping around my arm in a firm but gentle grip.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his eyes searching mine.

I shook my head, pulling myself together. "No, it’s just… I’ll talk to you later," I whispered, my voice faltering as I broke free of his grasp and hurried back to my room.

Once I closed the door, I leaned against it, my heart pounding. The reality of his world—the danger, the violence—hit me harder than I wanted to admit. This was exactly why I’d wanted to stay away from the mafia in the first place. But I couldn’t deny the way he made me feel, and I couldn’t walk away from him now.

I spent the evening lost in thought, the desire to talk to him pressing on my mind even as my nerves churned. The hours passed slowly, and I had nearly convinced myself to abandon my plan when a quiet knock sounded on my door.

"Come in," I said, my heart racing as Elio stepped inside, his expression unreadable.

He closed the door softly and looked at me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "You said you wanted to talk," he said quietly, his voice rough.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "Yes… there’s something I’ve been wanting to say." I hesitated, then finally forced the words out. "Almost two months ago, you met me in that café and told me I could leave the mafia world for a certain price. But instead, I was taken—*by you.* You took away my choice. And since then, you’ve done nothing but push me away, pretending that whatever’s between us is nothing, just because you think it clouds your judgment."

I paused, watching his expression change, his mask slipping for the briefest moment. He opened his mouth to respond, but I held up a hand, not finished.

"But I don’t believe that. I believe love makes you stronger," I said, my voice fierce. "You’ve spent your life convinced that emotions make you weak, that loyalty means suppressing every human feeling you have. But that’s not true. Loyalty doesn’t mean giving up on happiness or denying yourself the chance to feel something real. It’s taken me a long time to understand, but I’m willing to show you, Elio. All you have to do is let me in. Don’t push me away."

His face softened, and I saw something raw and vulnerable flicker in his eyes—a glimpse of the man beneath the carefully built walls. "Grace…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

He took a step closer, his hand rising to brush a strand of hair from my face. His fingers lingered on my cheek, his touch achingly tender. I closed my eyes, leaning into his hand, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine. And then, before I knew it, his lips were on mine.

The kiss was slow, tentative, as if he was testing the boundaries of his own emotions. But as our lips moved together, something shifted. The hesitation melted away, and he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me against him. My fingers tangled in his hair, and I felt a rush of heat spread through my body as he held me close, our breaths mingling in the dim light.

For a moment, he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against mine as he looked into my eyes. His expression was open, vulnerable—a side of him I’d never seen before. "I don’t know if I can do this, Grace," he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet desperation. "I don’t know if I can be what you need."

"You already are," I murmured, my hands cupping his face. "You just have to let yourself believe it."

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as if releasing a burden he’d carried for far too long. When he looked at me again, there was a softness in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of everything he’d tried to bury.

Without another word, he kissed me again, and this time there was no hesitation, no holding back. His hands slid down to my waist, pulling me closer as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against mine with a hunger that took my breath away. My fingers traced the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, the unspoken fears and doubts he carried. But in that moment, none of it mattered. All that mattered was that he was here, letting himself feel, letting himself be vulnerable with me.

When we finally broke apart, he stayed close, his forehead resting against mine as we both caught our breath. His hands lingered on my waist, and for once, he didn’t pull away. He just held me, his walls momentarily lowered, his eyes reflecting a vulnerability I knew he rarely showed.

"Just… don’t let go," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"I won’t," he replied, his voice filled with a quiet resolve that made my heart swell. "I can’t."

In that moment, I knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, we would face them together. And maybe—just maybe—Elio was finally ready to believe that love didn’t make him weak; it made him stronger.