Chapter 84 Terrified in His arms
Chapter 84: Terrified In His arms
Gianna’s POV
I was terrified in Dante’s arms as he carried me up the stairs effortlessly, his big arms locked around me like steel bands. My body trembled against his chest, and I couldn’t stop it no matter how hard I tried.
“Dante…” I whispered, my voice shaking.
He didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed straight ahead. My fingers clutched his shirt without thinking, desperate for something to hold onto, even though he was the very thing I should have been running from.
He pushed open a door and stepped inside the room. My heart raced wildly. This was it, I thought. Whatever punishment he had in mind, it would start here.
He set me on the bed, and I instantly moved back until my shoulders hit the headboard, folding my knees close to my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, tears burning my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dante. I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, please
He didn’t respond. Not even a glance. Just silence.
Then he turned and walked into the bathroom. I sat still, afraid to move or even breathe. My hands shook as I rubbed at the marks on my wrists, the skin red and raw from the ropes. When he came back, he was holding a small box. I couldn’t tell what was inside.
“Come closer,” he commanded, sitting on the edge of the bed.
I shook my head instinctively, pressing myself harder against the headboard.
“I… I don’t understand. What are you…”
“Gianna.” My name on his lips was a warning. “Come. Closer.”
Too scared to argue, I obeyed. I inched forward on the bed, my whole body trembling so violently I thought I might collapse by the time I reached the edge. I didn’t know what to expect anymore, nothing made sense.
My breath came in shallow, shaky pulls.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again when I was near him. “I know I messed up. I know you’re angry. Please don’t…”
His scowl made my heart stop. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the worst, for pain, for his hands around my throat, for anything.
But instead, something cold touched my forehead.
My eyes flew open. I looked down and saw the box, cotton wool, antiseptic, ointment. Then I looked back up at him, and for a second, I forgot to breathe.
He was focused as he began cleaning my wound, tenderly, as though I was something fragile. His fingers were steady, his movements precise.
“Ouch,” I flinched when the antiseptic stung, jerking slightly. It was the first time I’d really felt the pain since waking up. I’d been too focused on his anger, on what he might do to me, that I’d forgotten I was knocked out for my failed attempt at escaping.
He didn’t say a word. He steadied me with one hand on my shoulder and continued cleaning. Everything about this
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Z5 Bonus
was so sinister, so wrong. This version of him scared me the most, this silent, controlled version that gave nothing away.
I almost wished he’d yell or even punish me and get it over with. At least then I’d know what was coming. He was holding back. I could feel it. I’d broken his trust, tried to escape, and been caught. He’d left his family, his peace, because of me. And here he was, treating my wound with so much tenderness that it left me confused.
“Dante, please,” I said softly, my voice cracking. “Say something. Yell at me. Do something. This silence… I can’t
“}
His face showed nothing. No anger. No softness. Just emptiness. I searched his eyes, desperate for a sign, but there was nothing there.
He paused for a moment, then reached for a small plaster and pressed it gently over the cut on my brow. Then he reached for my wrist, cleaning the bruised skin the same way, quietly, carefully, like it was second nature.
When he finished, he stood.
AM
The moment he turned away, panic seized me. I couldn’t let him leave, not like this.
I reached out and grabbed his hand with both of mine. “Dante, wait! Please!”
My words tumbled out fast, desperate. “I’m sorry. I know you’re pissed. I know I betrayed your trust and I shouldn’t have run. It was stupid and selfish and, please, forgive me. It won’t happen again. I swear, it won’t. Just … please, say something. Anything!”
He withdrew his hand slowly, deliberately. He didn’t say a word. Just looked at me with those cold, dark eyes that revealed nothing and walked away.
A few seconds later, he walked back into the room, silent as ever. In one hand, he held an opened bottle of water, and in the other, a small white pill resting in his palm.
“Take it,” he ordered.
I stared at him, confused. “What is it?”
“Aspirin.”
He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. My palms were sweaty as I slowly opened one hand. He placed the pill in it and handed me the bottle.
I threw the pill into my mouth and drank, swallowing hard.
Why was he being kind? Why was he caring for me when he should have hated me? He had beaten a man half to death for knocking me unconscious, even though I probably deserved it. He’d protected me when I was certain he’d destroy me.
None of it made sense. His silence, his restraint, his unexpected gentleness, it terrified me more than his fury ever could. I had never met a man like him. One moment brutal and violent, the next calm and protective. He was a contradiction that made my head spin.
He waited until I finished the water. My hands trembled as I handed the bottle back, and the question that had been burning in my mind finally slipped out.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked softly. “Why are you being kind to me when you should be mad?”
He smirked. At least that was an emotion, the first real expression I’d seen on his face since he brought me up
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here.
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering. “Are you going to kill me?” I pressed, needing to hear something. anything.
He shook his head slowly, a look of disbelief flashing across his face, like I’d just asked the most ridiculous question imaginable. But his reply made my blood run cold.
“Tonight, you sleep.”
“What does that mean?” I asked desperately. “Dante, what will you do tomorrow?”
Before I could ask what that meant, he set the bottle down, pulled back the sheets, and guided me toward the bed.
I hesitated, unsure if this was some kind of trick, but when his hand brushed my arm, there was no force, only subtle insistence.
I lay down stiffly, my body tense and uncertain.
“Please just tell me what you’re going to do to me,” I asked one last time as he tucked me in like I was something precious instead of a prisoner who’d just tried to run.
But he said nothing. He just turned off the light and walked toward the door, leaving me alone in the darkness with my fear and a thousand terrible possibilities.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
