Isabella's POV:

Niccolò sighed against my stomach, "The funny thing about Lorenzo is, to the outside world, it might seem like he needs me, but it's the other way around. I need him. I don't know why or how, but that little fucker has grown on me."

His breath brushed against my arm, making me ticklish. I internally giggled at his remark about Lorenzo. He loved him like a little brother, and seeing their bond was melting the last restraints I had towards Niccolo. "You know you're allowed to feel things for other people?" I asked him. Because it seemed to me he didn't want others coming close to him. 

He nodded, brushing his head against my stomach, "I know, but it means I put their lives on the line. He might have lived in this world from the start, but still... Knowing me and choosing me puts him in line with his father's wrath. You heard it yourself. He wants to get free from that man, but his father would rather shoot his son than lose his best soldier in the process."

Niccolo wasn't seeing things from other people's perspectives. Only his own. He liked to blame himself for all the things that would go wrong in his world. Maybe that was how he was raised, that with great power comes great responsibility. Niccolo held great power in his hands. He thought that every little thing that would go wrong would be put on his shoulders. 

I crouched down and put my palms on his face to lift it so I could see him, "I'm sorry you feel responsible for his life decisions and his future, but you don't have to. You're trying to be enough for him, and that is enough. You aren't his father, and the mistakes that he makes are all on him, not on you. So, please don't be so hard on yourself."

His fingertips engulfed mine, his eyes flickering with blame and guilt for everything that was happening around him. I could see he didn't have much to live for. As far as I was concerned, he didn't have anything to live for. He only had something to die for. He might have had it all: money, power, and women if he chose, but he didn't have the sense of peace that comes with being content with yourself. He still blamed himself because he had some sort of moral compass. And in his world, having that meant having a rope around his neck. I was beginning to see him more as a human than as a monster with every passing minute I had been spending in his vicinity. 

"How do you know what to say and when to say it?" his raspy voice made me blush. His eyes were trailing the outlines of my face as his fingers were leaving slow, tantalising strokes against the back of my hands. The softness of his voice made my body quiver with desire to be someone for him. Someone special. But I was afraid. Because he was, after all, somebody with a different moral compass than mine, albeit he had one. His world was scary; he wanted to be a better person, but he was still pulled into its shadows. He was on the verge of dying tonight, but he still managed to spark something in me by showing me how he put others before himself. 

He was simultaneously so close while being worlds apart from me. I could touch him and mould myself to him, but I was also afraid that he was so far away that I would never understand how he truly felt. So, instead of replying to him and deepening my empathy towards him, I did the next best thing I thought of. I deflected, "I think you should take a bath. You have dirt on your arms, and your wound might still get infected."

My change of conversation took him by surprise, but he obliged. I helped him get up and go to the bathroom closest to us. I helped him out of his clothes while looking away. Before I left him to his shower, he instructed me on where I could find his clean clothes. I made my way to the pile of neatly stacked clothes in the foyer of the apartment. I took a set of sweatpants and a loose shirt from it. 

I knocked to give them to him, but he didn't answer. So I opened the bathroom door, and he was already in the shower. Maybe his wound wasn't so serious after all. He managed to get in by himself.

 All I could see from the door was a mass of muscles slowly but not any less lethally moving under the cascade of water. I gulped. For the first time, I got to admire his physique. I wondered how it would feel to be standing in his embrace. How would I feel with a mass of his muscles on top of me, pinning me to the bed? I knew I felt a strange attraction towards him, but still... Thinking about it and seeing it were two completely different things. 

Even though his body was enough to send my hormones jumping from planes, the thing that turned me on even more was his vulnerability. His sense of duty to protect his friend and all those around him. For a twenty-six-year-old, he had a lot on his shoulders despite them being very broad. I got a front-row seat to how he was under stress, and seeing him made me respect him even more. 

I was awoken from my daydreaming by the sound of the shower head closing and the bathroom stall opening. I put his clothes on the nearest shelf before I could be caught staring at him. It didn't help. His head peeped from behind the shower door, his wet hair plastered to his head. "Is that you?" he asked. 

"Yeah, I was wondering if you needed anything else?" I lied, trying to catch my breath. I could feel the tension forming between us. I was always taken by him, some force driving me to him. It was making me think there was nothing wrong with giving in to my desires. 

He took a towel that was hanging by the shower door and put it across his waist. He chuckled before mischievously remarking, "You can say you were taken by the view. You don't have to lie."

I blushed because I was caught red-handed. His remark didn't even come out as malevolence or something to make me embarrassed; it was just a quiet chuckle to himself. Something he was pleased by. "Okay, so if you don't need anything else, I'll wait for you in the kitchen?" I asked, hoping I could get away from an enclosed space with him, where the only thing separating me from my dirty thoughts was a towel around his waist. 

He was in a vulnerable position, and I was tired from the whole day of worrying. My rational mind was long asleep, and in its wake, the only thing that remained were my feelings. Feelings of wanting someone, while everything else blurred in comparison. I wasn't in a position to make smart choices. I was in a position where I would only be led by my heart. 

"No, wait," he spoke in a rushed tone. His head hung low like he didn't know how to ask for something if he needed it. Like he didn't know how to ask for help. I waited so he could get over any demons clouding his head. 

"Could you help me brush myself off and then help me with the T-shirt? I don't know if I'll be able to put it on," he admitted. 

I nodded before taking another towel and stepping forward towards him. My breath was uneven, and my heart thudded against my ribcage, knowing I would get to touch him. Knowing he would probably notice my uneven breathing and the pull I felt towards him. However, all of that was better than shaking hands. It took all my willpower not to look at his face and to stop my hands from shaking. I was preparing myself for a spark that would undoubtedly rush through me when our skin touched, but my breath still left me at the same moment as he took one in. We were both feeling our attraction. 

I needed to step on a stool I had in the bathroom to reach his hair with the towel. I tried to be gentle while massaging his scalp and getting his wet hair dampened. Then I moved to his shoulders, stepping down from the stool. His hands were hanging by his side, and his eyes were closed. His eyelids were fluttering while he tried to control his breathing. 

I didn't know what to make of it. I went gently across his collarbones and down his back, where I noticed already healed wounds. But I didn't mention them. He had his life before me, and he'll have his life after me. But as I was watching his body go rigid beneath my touch, I decided he wouldn't get any scars from me. I could give him that much. He deserved that much from me. 

I moved to his arms, and once they were clean, he clasped my hipbones for support. That touch alone made my heart flutter, and my insides clench. It was possessive and gentle at the same time. By that touch alone, I felt like his, and he felt like he needed me. But other than our kiss in front of his ex, there wasn't much else I could hope for from him. 

I wiped his stomach next. And then came the towel. When my fingertips brushed against the tucked-in part, his hand stopped me, "No, that part I can do myself."

"Okay," I breathed out and blushed. My fingertips grazed his stomach when I reached my hands back up. His torso clenched, and I looked up. His eyes caught mine, and everything that went through my mind at the time was that this was what lust was supposed to look like. His eyes were filled with it, and mine were probably looking the same. 

It shook me to my core as my body went still between his hands. His warm palms were at my side, sending shivers down my spine. Urging me to get closer to him, to defy him with the towel comment. But I didn't. All I did was stand there, trying to bathe in the moment. Trying to stand on the precipice right next to him. 

"I'm sorry," he unexpectedly murmured. I would ask him what he was sorry for, but his gaze told me everything. He was sorry for wanting me the way I sometimes wanted him. He was hating himself for wanting something of his own. He was loathing himself for wanting me. 

"Don't be sorry," I whispered because I wasn't sorry for him wanting me the way I hadn't been wanted by someone in a long time.

"I should be," his lips twitched in a sad smile. My heart broke because something that should be unique and beautiful between two human beings was just plainly difficult for him to feel. 

"And we shouldn't be feeling this way," I spoke for him and me. I tried to get some sense back in my mind before we would do something we would later regret. 

"But we do, and we want to," he concluded before his lips found mine and my fingertips intertwined with his hair so I could tug him closer to me. His lips on mine were all that was needed for my mind to erase any conflicts I had before. At that moment, nothing seemed wrong, morally conflicting or stupid for me to do. When I was with him, everything just felt normal. 

I stepped on my tiptoes. His good hand was urging me higher on the lower part of my back as his head was dipped down to meet my height. I would like to say his kiss was romantic, but it wasn't. I would like to say his kiss was brutal, honest, and raw, but it wasn't. No, his kiss was tempting and wanting and rushed at first. His tongue was demanding its space inside my mouth, taking me with him on a dance, for which I didn't know I could keep its rhythm. 

And then, like a light switch, it changed to a controlled, gentle and attentive one. He gave me the reins, letting me lead the way with my hands dancing across his shoulders and tugging at his hair. Sparks were flying across my skin, his fingertips showing them the way. Then, he changed the pace to a fiery one, an all-consuming one, by pushing me up against the bathroom counter and stepping between my legs. Before I could take off his towel, he became more controlled again. 

It took me a couple of seconds to register that he was confused, even more than I was. He desired the kiss, he desired me, but he didn't want everything else that came with it. He was confused, it was in the way his lips crushed against and then separated from mine. He didn't know what he wanted, not clearly, at least. So, I put my palms on his chest to stop him from going anywhere further, anywhere we might regret later. 

"I'm sorry, but we shouldn't be doing this. Not when you're injured and when I'm your employee. But we also shouldn't be doing this because you don't know exactly what you want. So, when you get things sorted in there," I tapped his chest gently, "come find me. Suppose it's tonight or in a month. Come find me."

Before he could pull me in again, I slid from the counter and walked out of the bathroom directly to my room. My heart was beating with a steady rhythm, and my breath was still uneven as I closed the door behind me. Sliding next to it, I asked myself, 'What did I just do?' 

I soon became a trembling mess as my actions caught up with my mind. But my mind wasn't my biggest problem. No, my biggest problem was my heart because that little thing in my chest continued to defy me. My heart wanted to give whatever our relationship was a try if he was going to be honest with me. But if he was going to doubt us, then I couldn't bear it. I never wanted him to doubt my feelings for him. I never wanted him to doubt that he was worthy of love because he was.