Bad Habits: Chapter Thriteen
prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - twelve - thirteen - fourteen - fiveteen - …
Yes folks, I know, life happened, and we're again behind the schedule. New parts coming Saturdays and Wednesdays.
Words: 1315; Warnings: lots of Italian pet names, some gun violence as well, mentions of blood, swearing; Summary: It's the next morning after the pursuit ended and you're hoping for at least some tranqulity;
Readers tag list:
@marytvirgin; @penwieldingdreamer
Chapter 13: “What The Night Brings”
As you lay down, the plush bed doing little to ease your racing thoughts, you couldn’t help but wonder if the truth Santino promised to reveal would make anything better—or if it would only deepen the chaos swirling around you.
In the quiet of the villa, your mind drifted between fear and resolve. Whatever was coming, you would face it head-on. But as your eyes closed and sleep began to claim you, one thought lingered: Santino D’Antonio was a man you could neither trust completely nor turn away from. And that terrified you more than anything else.
The sound of the door creaking open pulled you from the edge of sleep. Your heart jolted for a moment before you saw the figure silhouetted in the dim light spilling from the hallway. It was Santino. He hesitated in the doorway, as if unsure whether to step inside.
“Santino?” you murmured, your voice hoarse from exhaustion.
“Did I wake you?” he asked softly, his voice carrying an edge of guilt. He stepped fully into the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
“Not really,” you replied, sitting up slightly against the pillows. “I wasn’t fully asleep.”
His eyes lingered on you for a long moment, as though he were debating something. Then, with measured steps, he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, the faint scent of his cologne reaching you—a mix of cedar and something darker, smokier.
“You should be resting,” he said, his tone low but warm.
You gave a tired smile. “So should you.”
He exhaled a quiet laugh, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Touché.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was charged, as if both of you were waiting for the other to speak. Finally, he leaned back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours.
“I needed to see you,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “I told myself I wouldn’t disturb you, but…”
“But?” you prompted, your pulse quickening.
“But I couldn’t stay away,” he finished, his expression unreadable, a mixture of vulnerability and resolve. “After everything tonight, I needed to know you were truly safe.”
“I’m here,” you said softly, reaching out instinctively. Your hand brushed his, and he turned his palm upward, his fingers curling around yours. The warmth of his touch sent a strange comfort coursing through you.
“I’ve lived my life surrounded by danger, bella,” he said, his voice tinged with something uncharacteristically raw. “It’s not often that I care about who might get caught in the crossfire. But with you…” He trailed off, his thumb gently tracing the back of your hand.
“With me?” you asked, your breath catching.
“With you, it’s different,” he admitted, his dark eyes searching yours. “I can’t ignore it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and before you could respond, he leaned in, his movements deliberate yet cautious. The moment his lips brushed against yours, the rest of the world seemed to vanish. The kiss was soft, tentative at first, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away.
But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into him, your fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss deepened, growing more fervent, his hand sliding to the small of your back to draw you closer. Heat blossomed between you, and for a moment, nothing else existed but the press of his mouth against yours and the way he held you as though you were the only thing grounding him.
When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingled in the small space between you. His forehead rested lightly against yours, his hand still cradling your face.
“Santino,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid.
“I know,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently along your jawline. “There’s so much I should tell you. So much I still need to explain, amore.”
“Then tell me,” you said, your fingers still gripping his shirt as though afraid he’d disappear.
He hesitated for a beat, his gaze searching yours. “Not tonight,” he said finally, his tone soft but firm. “Tonight, you need to rest. And I need… I need to make sure I don’t lose my mind worrying about you.”
You wanted to protest, but the vulnerability in his eyes silenced you. Instead, you nodded, letting him ease you back against the pillows. He stood, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer.
“Sleep, bella,” he said, his voice a quiet command. “I’ll be right here.”
And as your eyes fluttered shut, you felt his presence settle in the chair beside the bed, a silent guardian in the night.
The warmth of his presence lingered even as sleep began to pull you under. His steady breathing, the faint rustle of his movements as he adjusted in the chair beside the bed, offered a strange comfort. Each subtle shift of his weight, each quiet sound, felt like an unspoken reassurance that he was there, watching over you. His presence, a constant yet gentle reminder, grounded you in a way nothing else could. In the midst of everything—the chaos, the fear, and the confusion—he became a steady anchor, keeping you tethered to something safe.
You weren't sure when it happened, but his nearness became the one thing that felt like a refuge. It was as though the world outside had faded away, leaving only the two of you in the dimly lit room. It wasn’t just his physical proximity that made you feel this way, but the underlying sense that he was protective, steadfast, and unwavering, even if you didn’t fully understand why.
Despite the sharp, throbbing pain in your shoulder—the dull ache that throbbed with each breath—and the lingering fear that still clung to the edges of your mind, sleep began to weave its way through you. The soft rise and fall of his chest as he sat nearby seemed to lull you deeper, the rhythmic pulse of his presence like a lullaby that promised peace. The world beyond the confines of the room seemed to slip away, leaving only the safety of the moment.
But just as you were about to slip fully into the welcoming embrace of sleep, his voice sliced through the quiet, low and almost inaudible. It was as if he was speaking more to himself than to you, his words soft, yet filled with a weight that made your heart stutter.
“I’ll protect you, bella,” he whispered, the rawness in his tone so thick, it sent a shiver through your entire body. "No matter what it takes."
The words wrapped around you like a soft, dark blanket, weaving into your mind and heart. His promise was both unsettling and comforting all at once. There was an undeniable sincerity in his voice, a depth to his words that left you breathless. It was a vow not just to shield you from physical harm, but to keep you safe in ways you couldn't quite understand yet. It felt like a binding thread between you both, a promise in the dark.
The intensity of those words settled deep within you, but sleep was quick to claim you, pulling you deeper into its embrace. His voice became a distant hum, his presence beside you a faint echo in the back of your mind. As you surrendered to the warmth of unconsciousness, you felt a strange sense of security, despite everything. His promise lingered, like a tether you could hold on to, even if you weren’t sure where it would lead.
And as sleep finally wrapped its comforting arms around you, you let yourself drift, allowing the storm of emotions to settle for the time being, content in the knowledge that Santino would be there when you awoke.