Chapter 18: ALMOST CONFESSIONS
The storm came without warning. Rain lashed against the windows, thunder rolled like war drums, and the power flickered once, twice, before settling into a dim glow.
Elena paced her room, restless. She hated storms. Always had. As a child, they had kept her awake, each crash of thunder rattling through her bones. But this time it wasn’t just the storm outside that left her unsettled, it was the storm inside her.
A knock at her door pulled her from her spiraling thoughts.
"Elena?" Matteo’s voice was deep, softer than usual. "Are you awake?"
She froze. "What do you want?"
"I could ask the same," he said. "I saw your light still on."
"I can’t sleep."
There was a pause. Then, "Neither can I. May I come in?"
Elena hesitated, every instinct screaming to say no. But her lips betrayed her. "Fine."
The door opened, and there he was, shirt half-buttoned, hair damp from a recent shower, shadows under his eyes that made him look devastatingly human. He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him.
"Storms," she explained quickly, before he could ask. "I’ve hated them since I was little."
Matteo’s eyes softened. "I know."
She blinked. "How could you possibly know?"
He moved closer, stopping just within arm’s reach. "I pay attention."
"That’s unsettling," she muttered, though her pulse quickened at the idea that he noticed her beyond the surface.
"Unsettling," Matteo echoed, tilting his head. "Or comforting?"
She crossed her arms, as if the gesture could shield her. "You don’t comfort people, Matteo. You control them."
"Maybe I’m trying to do both tonight."
His honesty cut deeper than any threat. Elena swallowed hard. "Why?"
He studied her, gaze unwavering. "Because for once, I don’t want to see you afraid. Not of me. Not of storms. Not of what’s between us."
Her breath caught. "There’s nothing between us."
"Liar." His voice was quiet, but unyielding. "Every look, every word we exchange, it’s a war you’re fighting with yourself."
Elena shook her head, trying to laugh, but it came out broken. "And what if I am? You’d love that, wouldn’t you? That I’m just another pawn in your little game of power."
"No." His tone sharpened, conviction searing. "You’re the one thing I can’t control. And that terrifies me."
Silence stretched between them, charged and unrelenting.
Elena whispered, "Why tell me that?"
"Because it’s the truth. And because you deserve to know you’re not alone in this... madness."
Her heart thundered louder than the storm. "You don’t do truth, Matteo."
"I do with you."
The room seemed smaller, the storm louder, the air thicker. She could feel him, his presence wrapping around her like heat, suffocating and exhilarating all at once.
"Don’t," she whispered, backing toward the bed.
"Don’t what?" He followed, each step deliberate, measured.
"Don’t make me believe you."
"I’m not making you believe," he said, voice low. "I’m asking you to admit what’s already there."
Her back hit the bedpost. She gasped softly, trapped not by force, but by the weight of her own feelings. Matteo’s hand rose, hovering near her face, trembling as though even he feared the next move.
"Elena..." His voice cracked with something rare, uncertainty. "Tell me to leave, and I will."
She searched his eyes, desperate for the monster she’d painted him to be, but all she saw was fire—and the man underneath it, burning for her. Her lips parted, words caught in her throat.
"Tell me," he urged again, softer now, almost pleading.
"I..." Her voice faltered. "I can’t."
His hand brushed her cheek then, tentative, reverent, as though she were something fragile in his brutal world.
"Then don’t fight me anymore," he whispered.
Her breath trembled as she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch without meaning to. "This is a mistake."
"Maybe," Matteo said. "But it’s the only one I want to make."
The distance between them vanished. His forehead rested against hers, his breath warm and ragged, his lips hovering just shy of hers. The moment was unbearable, every second stretched, heavy with everything unsaid.
Elena’s fingers clenched at her sides before finally betraying her, rising to clutch the fabric of his shirt. "Matteo..."
He exhaled her name like a prayer. "Say it again."
"Matteo." Her voice cracked, raw, vulnerable.
His lips brushed hers, barely, a ghost of a kiss, enough to shatter every wall she’d built. Her knees weakened, her resolve melted, and for one stolen heartbeat, she gave in.
Then,
A sharp knock rattled the door.
"Boss!" a voice called urgently. "We’ve got a problem downstairs."
Elena jerked back, breathless, her hand still fisted in his shirt. Matteo closed his eyes, jaw tight, every line of his body screaming frustration.
"Not now," he growled toward the door.
"It’s urgent," came the muffled reply.
Matteo cursed under his breath, stepping back reluctantly. His hand lingered against hers for a fleeting second before he forced himself away. "Stay here. Lock the door. I’ll deal with this."
And just like that, he was gone, storming down the hall, leaving Elena trembling against the bedpost.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, still tingling from the almost-kiss. The storm outside raged on, but it was nothing compared to the chaos inside her chest.
For the first time, she admitted the truth to herself, dangerous, damning, undeniable.
She wanted him.
And that was the one thing she couldn’t afford.