Chapter 7

Unspoken Desires - Chapter 7

Gabriella

I sat at the corner café, absently stirring my cappuccino even though the foam was long since gone.

It had officially been a week since I’d last seen Maximus. Seven full days. Not that I was counting - I totally am.

Every single morning I’d woken up to a text message from him. Always saying the same thing:

Good morning, Tesoro Mio. Your Dad

or Uncle (depending on the day) have me working today. I can’t make our date. I miss you. Call you later.

Sometimes the “later” came, and sometimes it didn’t.

He can’t tell me what he’s doing because it’s Familia business, and when I ask Dad or Zio, they just tell me to leave him alone, that he’s busy.

I wasn’t an idiot. They were keeping him busy so he wouldn’t have alone time with me. Like I couldn’t be trusted to sit across from my own boyfriend without falling into some scandalous mess of kisses and poor decisions.

Honestly… they were half-right. But I still kept hoping I’d bump into him accidentally; on-purpose.

My dad and Zio Luca were clearly on a mission to keep us apart.

I actually lied to my parents yesterday, told them the Creative Writing Department at Columbia was hosting a reading at the downtown public library, and it was mandatory for all second-year students to attend.

Magically, Maximus was given the day off… as long as he was nowhere near the library. They didn’t say he couldn’t come to the campus.

So, I gave my guards the slip and texted Max to meet me here.

I glanced at the door for what had to be the fiftieth time. And still no Max.

I sighed and reached for my phone, but it wasn’t Max I was checking for.

Vincent’s voice had been replaying in my head all morning like a broken record: There are traitors. They’re inside both families. Sophia and Sareena are being watched. They’re in real danger.

Why couldn’t God just let us have some peace? Just… a moment to breathe?

My stomach twisted. My fingers clenched tighter around my phone. I punched in Sophia’s contact and hit call again. Straight to voicemail. Again.

Come on, Soph. Answer.

Next, I tried Sareena next. My heart actually fluttered when she picked up.

“Gabby?” She questioned.

“Oh my God, thank God. I’ve been trying to reach you both. Vincent told me everything the other day and I….” My voice cracked. I hated how shaky it sounded.

“I know,” she said gently. “Damian told me too. He’s… being intense, like usual. But I’m okay. We’re laying low.”

“And Sophia?”

“I talked to her the same day we heard - on our birthday. She was fine then. I didn’t want to tell her that day… she was finally happy and enjoying it. But Damian promised to talk to Matteo and warn him. Did you call her?”

“Yeah, but no answer. Straight to voicemail.”

“She’s probably just busy. She and Connie are full-on planning the wedding of the century. Like, actual royal wedding levels of madness.” She laughed lightly.

I let out a small breath of relief. “That sounds about right.”

“She’s safe, Gabby. Don’t spiral, okay?”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Okay. Thanks.”

We talked for a few more minutes, about nothing, mostly. But it helped. Sareena always had that calming energy, like she could absorb my anxiety through the phone and breathe it out for me.

When I finally hung up, I felt… not okay, but a little better. At least I knew they were still alive.

Another twenty minutes passed and still no Maximus. At this point, I was less worried and more annoyed. I glanced at the time, groaned under my breath, and reached for my bag.

I was literally halfway through packing up when the door to the café flew open so hard it slammed against the wall.

“Gabriella, DOWN!”

Everything happened in a blur. Maximus came charging toward me, eyes wide with panic. He didn’t stop - just lunged, grabbed my waist, and threw me down. The air whooshed out of my lungs as I hit the floor, and then he was over me, shielding me completely.

Gunfire. The windows exploded. Screams filled the café. Glass and wood splintered as bullets tore through everything around us.

They didn’t stop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My ears were ringing, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Max’s face hovered above mine, eyes scanning everything. “They’re going to need to reload soon. They aren’t organized - they all just started shooting at the same time. They should’ve gone in waves,” he muttered quickly.

“We gotta get you out of here. There’s a vent in the guys bathroom. When the bullets slow down, slide across the floor to the men’s bathroom. Go. Now.”

I nodded, too scared to speak. We started crawling, staying low. My palms slipped on shattered glass, on spilled drinks, on… blood.

My stomach turned, but I kept going. I had to.

Then more gunfire. Even louder this time. Pop. Pop. Pop.

People were crying. Screaming. I saw someone lying still with their eyes open and forced myself to look away.

Max was right behind me, pushing me forward, keeping his body higher than mine, like a shield. We made it to the hallway. He shoved the bathroom door open.

“There’s the vent,” he said, pulling a knife from his boot and unscrewing the bolts. “We can get out through here. Go, Gabby. Go now.”

I stopped in front of the sink. I needed to wash as much blood off me as possible. Max must have noticed my queasiness because he followed suit.

Then he hoisted me up and practically tossed me through the opening, then pulled himself in behind me, resetting the vent grate as quietly as possible.

“We need to slide back and wait,” he whispered. “We don’t know if they have the entire area surrounded. But we have to stay quiet, our voices will echo through the vents.”

We started sliding, inch by inch, through the narrow space. Until we finally found another opening.

I kept crawling, the sharp metal of the vent digging into my elbows and knees with every movement. My whole body felt shaky - part fear, part adrenaline. Maybe part fury too.

We reached another grate, and I slowed down instinctively, peeking through.

Max gently nudged my foot. “Keep going, Gabby. Just past it.”

I did as he said, inching forward, pressing myself flat against the metal as I slid by. Once I was past, I turned and watched him crouch near the grate.

He pulled out his knife again, working the screws quickly, quietly. Then he angled his head and peered inside.

“It’s some kind of crawlspace,” he murmured. “Above the office, I think. They built it to hold the wall safe in place, but whoever did it? Did a shitty job.”

He popped the grate open and turned his flashlight app on, angling his phone into the space.

“We can hide in here and not be detected. Even if they check the vents.”

He helped guide me in first, his hand steady on my waist as I crawled down and turned around. The space was small - about six feet long, four feet wide, and maybe four feet high.

Dust clung to every surface, thick enough to choke on. The air smelled like old insulation and forgotten secrets - like no one had breathed it in years.

Max followed me in, replacing the grate behind him, and crouched beside me. For a moment, we both just sat there, knees brushing, breathing hard. I could still feel the tremble in my chest from earlier, but the silence around us now felt thick and surreal.

No more gunfire. No more screaming.

He pulled out his phone and tapped out a message quickly, his jaw tight.

“To Damian, Vincent, and Matt,” he whispered, not even looking up. “Told them what happened. Gave our location.”

I watched him in the dim glow of his phone screen - his focused expression, the smudge of blood still on his cheek, his chest still rising and falling like he hadn’t quite come down from the high of battle. My heart stuttered. Something inside me just… snapped.

I reached out, grabbed the front of his shirt, and kissed him.

He stiffened immediately. His hands came up like he meant to stop me, like he always did when things got too real.

I grabbed his shirt and pulled him close, breath catching, skin flushed. His eyes went wide, jaw clenched, but I didn’t care.

“You’re not getting away from me this time,” I whispered, voice raw, eyes locked on his.

“Gabby.”

“No.” I pulled him down to me, my fingers threading into his hair. “I could’ve died today. You could’ve. And all I could think about was how much I missed you, how much I wanted this, us. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

His forehead pressed to mine, and for a second he didn’t move. Just breathed.

Then he kissed me back. Deep, urgent, full of everything we hadn’t said. This wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow.

It was survival. It was us.