Chapter Seven

Diego 

I just stood there, staring at the bastard tied to the chair. My men had already roughed him up before I even walked in—face swollen, lips busted, one eye practically sealed shut. Good. He deserved worse.

How fucking dare he touch what was mine?

I should’ve ended him the moment I saw him walk up to her. Should’ve pulled the trigger and watched his brains paint the wall. But I didn’t. Not when I saw the look on Elena’s face.

Her eyes had stopped me. Pleading. Scared. 

"Pour water on him," I said coldly.

Eli stepped forward and did as told. The man gasped awake, choking, sputtering. He looked around, dazed, then saw me and instantly began shaking.

“I-I didn’t know she was with you,” he stammered, voice trembling. “I swear, I didn’t know, Diego! I’m sorry! Please—don’t kill me, man. I didn’t know!”

Pathetic. Watching him beg made me want to laugh, but I didn’t. My lips only curled into a slow sneer.

“You’re lucky,” I said, crouching to his level. “Because if it were up to me, you’d be in a body bag already.”

He started crying. Actually crying. It made my skin crawl.

“But,” I continued, tone cold, deliberate, “she asked me not to kill you. And for her... I’m letting you live. But you’ll remember this night for the rest of your pitiful life.”

I stood and looked at Eli. “Make it permanent. Drop him off somewhere he won’t forget. Then go check on Elena.”

Eli nodded and grabbed the man by the collar. I gave one last glance at his bleeding, swollen face before turning and walking out. But the rage didn’t leave me. It coiled tighter inside my chest, burning hotter with each step.

I didn’t feel satisfied. Not even close.

All I wanted was to be with Elena—bury my face in her neck, hold her close, slide inside her from behind and hit that sweet spot until she moaned my name like a prayer. But I couldn’t. Not yet. She wasn’t ready. And I wouldn’t push her. I wouldn’t let her regret her first time with me.

The wedding was close. She needed peace. Comfort. Not more reminders of what I really am.

I got into my car and sped through the city. The streets blurred past as I made for the one place I could breathe, my apartment just outside of town. Nobody knew about it except Eli. I have always wanted to keep it that way. 

The shooting range in the basement was where I went when I needed to let go.

I sent Eli a quick text:

“Go home. Check in on Elena. Update me.”

The silence of the apartment swallowed me as I descended into the range. I grabbed my favorite Glock and loaded up. I walked over to the mini bar in the range, and slid my fingers over the bottles trying to find the strongest thing for the moment before settling on a bottle of vodka. I took a full swing from the bottle before going to the stand and putting my goggles on. I didn't think twice before firing at the targets. Over and over. I imagined the bastard’s face on each one. Then my own. Then the world. 

Hours passed. My arms ached. My shirt stuck to my back. I grabbed the bottle of vodka and took another long swig. It didn’t burn enough. Didn’t do anything to soothe my body nor the storm in my soul. 

Then the text came.

ELI: “She’s home. In bed. But she didn’t eat dinner.”

I let out a tired sigh and set the gun down gently. I placed everything back in its holder with mechanical precision and stared at the wall for a long second.

She’s not eating. She’s hurting.

Goddamn it.

I grabbed my phone and keys and left. Straight home.

—---------------------------------------

The house was quiet when I got in. I walked straight to Elena’s bedroom. She was lying on her side, back to the door, still as stone. But I could see the tension in her shoulders. She wasn’t asleep.

“Elena,” I said softly.

She didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

I moved closer, slowly, and gently turned her to face me. Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears. Her eyes were red. My heart clenched painfully in my chest.

“Did you eat?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“I’ll get Maria to fix something. Just... wait here, alright?”

She didn’t say anything. I stepped out, told Maria to prepare something light, then came back with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. She sat up without a word, took the plate, and nibbled on it. Two bites. Maybe three before pushing it away and lying back down.

I sat beside her, watching her closely.

She didn’t cry again. She just stared at the ceiling. Then, after what felt like forever, she whispered, “Did you kill him?”

I exhaled slowly. “No.”

She turned her head slightly, eyes meeting mine.

“I know how much it would hurt you if I did,” I continued. “And I couldn’t do that to you. Not after everything. He deserved worse than death for touching you, Elena. But I let him go. Because you asked.”

Her eyes softened just a little. “Thank you,” she said, voice small. “He wasn’t a good man. But he didn’t deserve to die.”

I nodded slowly. My chest felt heavy. The rage was still there—but something else was replacing it. Something warmer. Foreign. Dangerous.

“Will you sleep in my bed tonight?” she asked, breaking the silence again. “I don’t want to be alone.”

I blinked, caught off guard.

“You sure?” I asked carefully.

She gave a little nod.

With a small smile, I stripped off my shoes, shirt, and watch but left the trousers on. No assumptions. No expectations. Then I pulled back the covers and let her get in first before sliding in beside her.

She curled into me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I wrapped my arms around her, holding her gently but firmly. Her breath slowed. Mine did too.

For the first time in years, I felt peace.

A quiet kind of peace that didn’t come from blood or revenge or sex—but from her. From just holding her.

I rested my chin on the top of her head and whispered, “I’ll protect you, doll. Always.”

She didn’t say anything. But the way her fingers clutched my shirt said everything I needed to hear.

I closed my eyes and listened to the silence.

And for once, I let myself rest.