Chapter 35: Breaking the Ice

The early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the kitchen. Isabella moved with a quiet confidence, knowing that today she would take another small step towards breaking down the walls that Antonio had built so carefully around himself. It had been a week since his drunken confession, a week of tension, moments of fleeting warmth, but also a cold distance that still clung to him. He had been more reserved, more guarded, but there were cracks—small, but cracks nonetheless. And it was those cracks she aimed to nurture.

She had noticed how his eyes softened when he interacted with Luca, how he hesitated just a moment too long when she asked him to do something. It was as if he was holding back, trying to protect himself, but at the same time, he didn’t want to push her away completely. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. **Progress**. That’s what she held onto.

Today, she decided to make a gesture—a gesture of warmth. She wasn’t sure if he would appreciate it, or if he would even notice, but she had to try. She was tired of the cold distance. She needed him to know, in the simplest way possible, that she was here for him.

Antonio’s favorite breakfast was simple: scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and freshly brewed coffee. As she prepared the meal, her mind raced with thoughts of him. His stoic face, his clipped words, the way he had shut himself off from the world after everything that had happened with Valentina. He had never really learned how to trust again, not even with Luca, though he loved his son more than anything. But she had seen how he struggled with it. The love was there, but so was the fear. The fear that it could all be taken away, just like it had been before.

Isabella cracked the eggs into the pan, watching them sizzle, the sound filling the quiet kitchen. She thought back to the way he had spoken to her last night, the way he had said **he couldn’t let her in**. It had hurt. More than she had anticipated. But she had understood.

**He’s scared**, she thought. **He’s terrified of feeling again.**

The coffee brewed, its rich aroma filling the space around her. She set the table with care, placing the food on the plates as if they were a message, a silent invitation for him to join her in a moment of peace. She wasn’t asking for love, not yet. But she was asking for something real, something genuine—an opening, however small, to let down his guard.

---

Antonio had woken early, his mind immediately going to the tasks of the day. He had things to do, men to manage, and plans to make. But as he stood in the shower, the sound of sizzling from the kitchen caught his attention. He frowned, his mind trying to catch up with the unexpected sound. **Isabella**.

She was cooking breakfast. He hadn’t asked her to. In fact, he hadn’t even thought about it. But there she was, in the kitchen, doing something so... domestic, so normal. And that thought made him uneasy.

The last few days had been strange. He had tried to keep his distance, to maintain the cold, indifferent barrier he had perfected over the years. But every time he saw her with Luca, laughing, playing, or even just quietly talking, something inside of him—a long-dormant feeling—stirred. He had pushed it down, tried to ignore it, but it lingered like a shadow. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to feeling so... unsettled.

As he stepped out of the shower, the scent of eggs and bacon reached him, reminding him of the breakfast his mother used to make when he was a boy. His stomach growled in response, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside. He didn’t have time for nostalgia. Not now.

But still, he couldn’t ignore the fact that she had gone out of her way to make his favorite meal. There was something about it that caught him off guard. She didn’t have to do this. She had every right to ignore him, to keep her distance, especially after the way he had treated her the past few months. But instead, she was trying to melt the ice. **Trying to get closer**.

He walked down the stairs, his thoughts swirling in a cloud of confusion. As he entered the kitchen, he saw her standing by the counter, arranging the plates. Her back was to him, her hair cascading down her back, her movements graceful, purposeful. There was a calmness to her demeanor that made the chaos inside him feel out of place.

“Good morning,” she said without turning around, her voice light but sincere.

“Good morning,” he replied, his voice rough. He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure how to act.

She turned around and smiled, though the smile was soft, as if she were testing the waters, unsure of how he would react.

“I made your favorite,” she said, gesturing to the breakfast she had laid out on the table.

Antonio’s gaze shifted from her to the food. His stomach gave another quiet growl, and he realized he hadn’t eaten much the night before, too lost in his thoughts. But he wasn’t about to admit that. Not now.

“That’s... thoughtful of you,” he said, his words clipped, the warmth he felt inside quickly masked by the coldness he so often wore.

She didn’t respond immediately, just nodded, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before turning to serve the food onto the plates. Her actions were deliberate, each one carefully measured, and he could feel the weight of her attention on him.

He sat down at the table, his body tense, as if waiting for the inevitable silence to follow. But to his surprise, it didn’t come. She sat down across from him, placing the plate in front of him with a small smile.

“Go ahead,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s still warm.”

Antonio stared at the food for a moment, the scrambled eggs and bacon looking almost... comforting. But he couldn’t let himself indulge in comfort. He had spent too many years not allowing himself to feel that. **To feel anything.**

But as he picked up his fork, he couldn’t help but notice how she looked at him—so quietly hopeful, so open. It was as if she was waiting for something. Waiting for him to do something, to say something. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do.

He poked at his eggs, pushing them around on his plate, as if trying to find the right words. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t need... I don’t need anyone trying to fix me.”

Her eyes met his, unwavering, and for a moment, he saw the softness in them—something that had always been there but that he had ignored. “I’m not trying to fix you, Antonio,” she said quietly. “I’m just trying to make things easier. I’m here. That’s all.”

Antonio’s jaw clenched at her words. He didn’t want her pity. He didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. But deep down, he realized she wasn’t offering either of those things. She was simply... offering herself.

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice rougher than before. “You don’t understand how hard it is to trust again. How hard it is to let anyone in after what happened. After Valentina.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached over and gently placed her hand on top of his, her touch warm, comforting. His body stiffened at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t know why, but something about the way she touched him made him want to stay. To feel the warmth of her hand, even if just for a moment.

“I don’t need you to trust me all at once,” she said softly. “But I do need you to let me in. Just a little. If you let me in, Antonio, I can help you heal. I won’t abandon you.”

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. He had built his life around the idea of not needing anyone, of never depending on anyone. But with her, it was different. She wasn’t asking for anything in return, not really. She was just offering him... everything. Her trust. Her care. Her warmth.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he could keep pushing her away.

---

The silence between them stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a quiet understanding that neither of them had fully accepted yet. They ate their meal in the soft morning light, each of them wrestling with their own thoughts, their own feelings.

Isabella kept stealing glances at Antonio, watching as he ate, his usual cold demeanor slowly thawing in the warmth of the morning. She didn’t know what the future held for them, but she knew one thing for sure. **She wasn’t going anywhere.**

And slowly, just maybe, Antonio would learn to trust that.