Chapter 17: Actually all his

Lorenzo Calabria

“Belle, take it easy.” I take her hands in mine, guiding her to sit on my bed while I kneel before her. She's breathing too fast, too hard. I shouldn't have pushed her this far. I shouldn't have exposed her to that, forced her to participate.

I made her break two kneecaps and she watched me kill a man. What the hell is wrong with me? I wanted to reveal the beast I am, and I did. Now she's in the throes of a panic attack.

She can't seem to regain control, like Ranger had explained to me. She just stares, eyes wide, not blinking. Her chest heaves in an unsettling rhythm.

Her heartbeat is so loud, I can hear it myself.

“Belle,” I say, cradling her face in my hands, trying to get her to focus on me. But she's frozen, seemingly unaware of what's happening. Then she faints, collapsing into my arms and off the bed. Damn it.

I change her into something more comfortable, removing her bra and pulling a tank top over her head while she's still unconscious.

I slip her into some tiny sleep shorts and tuck her into bed, climbing in beside her and whispering apologies. I know she can't hear me, maybe that's why I can say it.

I know what I did was wrong, but I can't bring myself to apologize to her face. I'm tough and apologies are for the weak. I'm not the caring, considerate type. I don't do this kind of thing.

But with Belle, I can't help but want to comfort her. I want to kiss her, sleep with her, claim her as mine. But I also want to hold her, care for her, give her everything. She deserves the world.

I'm not a good man, though. She doesn't deserve me. But I'm a cold, ruthless bastard and she's mine. I'm never letting her go.

Eventually, I realize she's awake, probably has been for a while, and we just sit in silence. She might have heard my apology. Damn. It doesn't matter. At least she knows I'm sorry.

Soon enough, she's out again. But this time, she's asleep, thank God. She mumbles in her sleep, making adorable noises as she snuggles closer to me and wraps her legs around mine.

I feel... something for her. She gives me a warmth that's more than just lust. I was angry about it at first, and arrogant.

I tried to ignore it, but the more I get to know her, the more I realize I can't. It's getting stronger. But she's mine. Completely mine. No one is taking her from me.

“Enzo,” she murmurs in her sleep, clutching my arm. I find her sleeping habits endearing. She pouts and scrunches her face, clinging to me like she wants to be even closer. Why would she want me? Does she want me? Or does she just need someone, anyone? And I'm just here.

As morning arrives, sunlight filters through the gaps in the curtains and I feel Belle stirring in my arms. Her eyes flutter open and lock onto mine.

“Good morning,” she whispers. Even though she squirms a bit, I can't let her go, tightening my hold on her. She stops squirming. “I'm sorry.” Why the hell is she apologizing? She's the one who should be receiving apologies, not giving them.

“For what?” I ask.

“For being weak. For panicking. I shouldn't...” she trails off, rubbing her eyes with her small, clenched hand.

“I'm not mad. I did kill someone in front of you. It's a normal reaction,” I respond, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Was that the first dead person you've seen?”

“No,” she mumbles, staring at my chest while biting her lip. Who else has she seen dead?

“Who?”

“My dad. I found him,” she answers.

“Tell me about it,” I command. I didn't mean to order her to talk about something so painful. But she doesn't seem to mind, as if she's okay with me bossing her around.

“I woke up, and it was afternoon. He had hurt me the night before and I was sore and bruised. I walked downstairs and found him bleeding out on the floor, almost dead, almost. But I couldn't do anything. I couldn't make myself get help. I let him die,” she shares, still staring at my chest. Maybe that's why she panicked, not just because I killed someone in front of her, but because I stirred up painful memories, memories she's tried to forget.

“Do you get panic attacks often? Ranger saw you once, you were humming and listing things.”

“I get them sometimes, when I remember things I'd rather forget, it makes me anxious. I list things that calm me down and I sing this song, it gives me hope.”

“Sing it to me,” I whisper, hoping that a softer voice would make the demand less harsh, but it's still there. Yet again, she seems willing to comply.

“High up above, the angel sleeps, soon she will come, to rescue me. Be patient and wait, for she won't be long, hold on ‘til then, and sing this song,” she sings and I fight the urge to smile at her beautiful voice, and her words.

“Who wrote that?”

“I did. I know, it's bad. It... just feels hopeful. The idea of an angel just sleeping, that's why she's not here to help me, but she'll wake up and come soon.”

“You need rescuing?” I ask. I can't help but feel a punch to my gut.

“From the attack, yes.”

“From here? From this place? From me?” I question, hugging her tighter to me.

“I'm yours,” she breathes out.

“Is that real? Answer me honestly. I make you say it. It doesn't mean you believe it, I know that. Are you mine?”

“Yes,” she replies, furrowing her eyebrows at me. “I'm yours, sir.”

“Enzo,” I correct her and I see the small smile form on her face. I know she's trying to hold it back.

“Enzo, I’m yours.” Her fingers start to explore my body, tracing the tattoos and scars that mark my skin. She’s got me all twisted up inside, turned my world on its head. But when I’m away from her, I’m still me. And when I’m with her, I’m still me. But it’s different. It feels different.

“Mine,” I rumble, my hands sliding down to cup her perfectly round ass, my fingers brushing her skin beneath her shorts. “You’re mine, ~gattina~.”

She looks up at me, her face sleepy and soft. “Why do you call me ‘kitten’?”

“Because you’re small, cute, and curious,” I tell her, a smirk playing on my lips.

“And I have an owner,” she adds, her eyebrows lifting in a playful challenge. Her tone is light, so I know she’s not mad.

“Maybe I should call you ~cucciola~ (pup),” I tease her. “They’re loyal to their owners.” I press my lips to hers and she kisses me back, showing me her loyalty. “But, we found a kitten in your apartment, a stray when we went there. It reminded me of you.”

“A stray?” she asks, her voice filled with curiosity.

“A baby stray cat. Just like you.”

“Why do people always compare me to animals? Once, I was compared to a horse.”

“A horse?” I ask, a smirk spreading across my face.

“He said he didn’t want to kick a beaten horse. And I guess I was the horse,” she says, her smile tinged with sadness. I pull her closer, letting her rest her head on my chest, my chin resting on top of her head.

“You’re mine, ~bambina~,” I whisper into her hair. “Do you want breakfast?”

“No. I just want to stay here,” she murmurs into my chest, her lips brushing against my skin as she speaks. She wants to stay here, with me. She’s mine. All fucking mine.