𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗮 𝗨𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲.
I never thought my world would crumble at the hands of a man like Alessandro Rossi-a 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 draped in silk suits and ruthlessness. One moment, I was Yasenia Fraga, daughter of the...
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She looked so peaceful lying in my arms, as if the chaos of the world couldn't touch her here. The softest dark brown curls framed her delicate face, her luscious full lips slightly parted as she breathed evenly. And those eyes—those big, beautiful eyes that stared back at me whenever she was awake—were filled with a trust and love I didn't deserve.
How could someone so innocent, so pure, find warmth in a heart as cold as mine? How did she find comfort in the arms of a man like me? A monster, some would say. Hell, I would say it. Yet, here she was, nestled against me, as if I was her safe place.
It confused me. But in a way, it was the best kind of confusion. I didn't understand the faith she had in me, but I couldn't deny how good it felt to be the man she loved, the man she trusted. Even after all the pain I'd caused her—more than I dared to admit—she still found something in me worth holding onto, something in my arms worth running back to.
She stirred softly, her lashes fluttering open, and those warm brown eyes met mine, still hazy with sleep. "Hey," she murmured softly.
"Hey," I whispered back, my fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. God, I'd never felt this kind of worry for anyone before. Seeing her faint in my arms last night had nearly stopped my heart. The memory of her crumpling in front of me was burned into my mind. She'd woken up a little while after, just as I was carrying her to the car, to take her to the hospital. But she insisted otherwise, begging me to bring her home instead.
"How do you feel?" I asked softly, scanning her face for any signs of discomfort.
"Like I'd been asleep for ages," she chuckled, her voice still tinged with sleep. But as her gaze lingered on mine, I saw the moment she registered the worry in my eyes. She sat up slightly, her hand reaching out to gently cup my cheek. "I'm okay. Really."
Her reassurance should have calmed me, but it didn't. I took her hand in mine, pressing a kiss to her palm. Guilt churned inside me like a storm. "You wouldn't let me take you to the hospital."
"There was no need to," she said softly, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "I don't want you to feel guilty. This wasn't your fault. I already had a nasty headache before it happened."
How did she do that? How did she always know exactly what I was thinking? What I was feeling? It was almost uncanny how well she had come to know me.
"But it was my fault," I said quietly, my voice betraying the guilt I felt. "You've been restless in your sleep. Jumpy. I know it's because of what you saw in the storage room. It's haunting you. I can see it."
The bastard we'd been roughing up all night in the storage room turned out to be one of Diego's men. My fucking sick father had somehow managed to infiltrate my inner circle—my own fucking men. If it weren't for Fico being sharp and vigilant, we might've missed it entirely, because the prick was careful. Too fucking careful.
