Chapter 112
POV: Dante
She was here. I didn’t need to check. I felt her the moment I woke up. Her scent lingered in the air–soft, clean, a little like vanilla, a little like warmth after rain. It clung to the sheets, to my skin, to every part of me that remembered what it was like to have her.
I got up slow, as if moving too fast would make the moment disappear.
Down the hall, her door was shut. That thin wooden barrier keeping me from what I wanted most. My hands twitched at my sides, itching to push it open, drag her out, make her face what she ran from–but not yet. Not like that.
She needed to walk to us. But she’d learn real fast–we weren’t letting her walk away again.
In the kitchen, Enzo was already at the stove like he hadn’t been pacing the floors at midnight, whispering her name when he thought no one heard. Matteo stood near the window, dark eyes locked on nothing. Waiting, like I was. Like we all were.
Then she walked in.
Bare legs. My shirt. That guarded look in her eyes that said she didn’t trust any of us but couldn’t help needing us either. She looked at each of us like we were ghosts–familiar and dangerous and impossible to forget.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched. Her presence was enough to make every part of me ache. She sat, small and quiet, and picked at the plate Enzo placed in front of her. Her lips parted slightly with each bite. Her throat moved as she swallowed. I wanted to feel her like that again–on my tongue, in my hands, underneath every inch of me.
She didn’t look up until the silence stretched too long.
“You weren’t supposed to find me,” she said.
Her voice was too soft for the weight behind it, but I caught every word like a blade.
I set my mug down. “We didn’t find you,” I said, stepping closer. “We hunted you.”
Her eyes widened, lips parting just slightly as her breath caught. There it was–that flicker of heat. Of fear. Of desire. She still felt us. No matter how far she ran, no matter how many walls she built, she belonged to us. That bond didn’t break just because she was angry.
She looked at me like she wanted to believe that, but didn’t know how.
“I never stopped looking,” Matteo said, voice low. “Every day, I searched. You think we could forget you? We tried. Couldn’t.”
Enzo leaned forward, arms crossed, jaw tight. “You didn’t just leave, Aria. You ripped something out of us. You expect us to let that go? Let you 80?”
She stood then, shoulders tense, eyes shining like she might cry–but no tears came.
“Why?” she whispered. “Atter what I said… after what I did… why are you still here?”
I moved first, slow and deliberate, closing the space between us until I could see every small breath she took. She didn’t step back. She didn’t flinch.
“Because you still belong to us,” I murmured, my voice just above a whisper, “and we still want you. Every broken, stubborn, beautiful part of you.”
She shook her head like she wanted to deny it, but I saw the shiver that went through her. I saw her lips part, her knees lock, her breath falter.
1/3
Chapter 112
“You don’t get to leave again,” I said, fingers brushing her wrist. “You can fight us, hate us, scream all you want… but you’re not walking out that door.
Matteo stepped behind her, close enough that her breath caught again. “You think we came this far to be polite? To ask for permission? No, tesoro. We came to claim what’s ours.”
Enzo’s voice was rough behind her. “You remember how we touched you? How we held you down, kissed you like we’d never breathe again without you? You think you can forget that?”
She trembled then. Barely. But I felt it.
Still ours.
She pulled away, stumbling out toward the patio. I let her go, only for a moment, then followed. She stood with her back to me, hands gripping the railing like she needed something to keep her grounded.
I didn’t say anything right away. Just stood beside her, close enough for her skin to feel mine.
“I never stopped loving you,” she said without looking at me.
My throat tightened. I didn’t move.
“Then why did you leave?” I asked, voice lower now. “Why punish yourself? Why punish us?”
She looked at me then. Not angry. Not cold. Just hurt. “Because the second I started trusting you, it all fell apart. And none of you came after
me.”
“I did,” I said, stepping closer. “We all did. You just didn’t want to be found.”
She didn’t deny it.
“I’m not ready,” she whispered. “To be this… again.”
I touched her jaw, just barely. Her lips parted. She didn’t move away.
“Don’t care,” I murmured. “You’re not leaving. We’ll wait. We’ll show you. We’ll make you feel so much, you won’t remember how it felt to
run.”
She didn’t answer, but she leaned into me. Just enough.
Her body brushed mine, soft and hesitant, like she didn’t mean to lean but couldn’t stop herself. I didn’t touch her–yet–but my presence wrapped around her like heat, thick and impossible to ignore. She exhaled slow, shaky, like every breath was a fight between fear and longing, and I felt it–her want, her confusion, her ache–for us, for what we were, for what we could still be.
Later that night, she fell asleep on the couch. Matteo on one side of her. Enzo at her feet. Me sitting close, watching her chest rise and fall. Her hand brushed against mine in her sleep.
She didn’t pull away.
She was still ours. Always will be.
Author’s note: Ugh, love me a possessive man!!, which one of the triplets of you prefer. Let me know in the comments
