Chapter 184 - 0184: Sleep, Bambina

Chapter 184: Chapter 0184: Sleep, Bambina

Elena’s Point Of View

He glanced up from my knuckles, his dark eyes gleaming with a sudden, wicked amusement, clearly enjoying the fact that I was flustered and sputtering instead of staring blankly into the dark like I had been an hour ago.

"Well, you see..." He reached up and lightly tapped my temple with his index finger, the contact sending a spark straight through me. "Small. Very compact. Clearly lacking the capacity to process basic self-preservation if you thought punching glass was a solid escape strategy."

I gasped, my free hand flying up to touch my own head, as if I could somehow measure it on the spot. "You... you arrogant jerk!" I sputtered, my face burning hotter. "I have a perfectly normal-sized head! A very intelligent, highly capable head, I’ll have you know! It got me through six years of surviving that lunatic!"

Jaxx let out a low, deep chuckle, a sound so rich it vibrated through the floorboards under his knee. "Oh, I know, Bambina." His voice dropped an octave, turning low and husky, his gaze darkening as it traveled slowly over my face, lingering on my lips like he was memorizing something he’d once feared losing forever. "But you look so much cuter when you’re flustered."

"I am not cuter, I am angry!" I shot back, waving my uninjured hand dramatically in the air. "I just escaped a six-year domestic nightmare, I survived Roman’s terrifying driving where he blew through three red lights on the highway, and now I’m being insulted by a man who thinks he’s a doctor!"

"First of all, Roman drives like an absolute professional," Jaxx argued smoothly, applying a neat, sterile bandage over my knuckles with terrifying efficiency. "Second of all, a doctor?" He raised an eyebrow, pinning me with a look. "Sweetheart, I’m taking care of your wounds with elite-level precision. The least you could do is offer a little gratitude. A ’thank you, Jaxx, for saving my life,’ or perhaps ’Jaxx, you look exceptionally handsome in this lighting while tending to my minor battle injuries.’"

A breathless, incredulous laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. "You are completely delusional! Who taught you how to comfort people? A manual written by narcissists?"

"I am a realist," he corrected smoothly, standing up in one fluid motion and looming over my chair like a wall of solid muscle and tailored fabric. "And right now, the reality is that you’re exhausted, you’re combative, your defensive instincts are entirely uncalled for, and your head is still very small."

"Stop saying that!" I yelled, albeit with zero actual venom, my hand shooting out, palm flat, to slap his shoulder.

The smack echoed through the room, sharp but carrying almost no weight.

Jaxx immediately gasped, stumbling backward two full steps, clutching his chest with both hands as if he’d been struck by a high-caliber round. He threw his head back, letting out an absurdly theatrical groan that belonged on an opera stage rather than a high-rise penthouse.

"Oh, the agony!" he cried out to the ceiling, staggering against the side of the sofa with shocking commitment to the bit. "She’s killed me! My vision is fading! The light, Elena, it’s getting dark! She’s wiped out my memory! Roman! Call an ambulance, I’ve been mortally wounded by a five-foot-five assassin!"

"Jaxx, stop it!" I yelled, trying and failing to keep a straight face as he dramatically draped one arm over his forehead. "Roman isn’t even in the room!"

"His spirit hears my suffering!" Jaxx insisted, letting out a weak, dying wheeze as he sank against the plush cushions. "Tell my empire... that I loved them... tell my capos... to avenge me..."

I stared at him, my jaw dropping as I sat frozen in the chair. My lips twitched violently despite the dark mood that had been clinging to me all night. Who was this man? One minute he was a terrifying syndicate boss sending tactical teams through gates, making men disappear with a single whisper, and the next, he was putting on a full theatrical tragedy because I tapped his shoulder. Eight years apart, and somehow he still knew exactly how to reach the girl buried beneath all my scars.

"You are an absolute lunatic," I muttered, but the corners of my mouth betrayed me, curving upward into a helpless, genuine smile.

Jaxx stopped his dramatic dying routine instantly. He straightened his shoulders, brushed an invisible speck of dust off his shirt, and looked down at me. The theatricality vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by an intense, golden gleam in his dark irises, a look so raw and focused it made my breath catch in my throat.

"There it is," he said softly, his voice dropping back into that rough velvet tone that made my stomach do flip-flops. "The smile I’ve been waiting eight years to see again."

My smile faltered, my pulse suddenly racing for a completely different reason. The weight of eight long years, of lost time, of dark roads that had kept us apart, suddenly rushed back into the room, pressing against my ribs until it hurt to breathe. "Jaxx..."

Before I could say another word, he stepped forward, reached down, and effortlessly scooped me up out of the chair, sweeping one arm under my knees and the other behind my back.

"Hey! Put me down!" I squeaked, my hands instinctively wrapping around his neck to keep from falling as the floor suddenly dropped away. "What are you doing?!"

"I need to recharge," he announced casually, carrying me across the wide living room like I weighed nothing more than a light jacket. "My energy levels are dangerously low after being brutally assaulted by you."

"Recharge?!" I hissed, my face burning as I glared up at his sharp, stubble-dusted jawline. "What does that even mean? You aren’t an iPhone!"

"You’ve drained my molecules, Elena," he said with complete, deadpan seriousness, stepping into the dimly lit bedroom at the end of the suite. "It’s a medical condition. Very serious. Requires immediate physical contact with the source of the trauma."

"The fuck are you saying?!" A loud, unrefined laugh finally burst out of my throat, breaking through every last layer of stress and fear that had suffocated me for years. "You are making zero sense!"

"I don’t need to make sense, I’m the one carrying you," he retorted smoothly, stopping beside the massive king-sized bed.

"That’s not how logic works!"

"It’s how my logic works," he countered. "And considering I’m the one with the intact knuckles and the proper head size, my logic wins."

"I am going to bite you," I threatened, though my fingers were still tangled tightly in the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

"Try it, Bambina. I dare you."

He didn’t throw me down or do anything wild. Instead, he carefully lowered me onto the soft mattress, handling me like priceless crystal, then immediately swung his long legs over the side. He pulled the heavy, velvet duvet over both of us and wrapped a heavy arm around my waist, pulling me back against his broad chest until there wasn’t an inch of air left between us.

"Jaxx!" I protested, squirming weakly against his solid frame. "Let go! You can’t just trap me here!"

"Sleep, Bambina," his voice rumbled low against the back of my neck, warm and deep. He pressed a firm, lingering kiss to the crown of my head, his grip unyielding but completely safe. "You’re running on pure adrenaline and bad attitude. You’re exhausted."

I froze, feeling the steady, rhythmic thud of his heart against my back, the sheer heat of his body enveloping me like an impenetrable shield against the rest of the world. The scent of cedar, leather, and rain clung to him, a scent that had meant safety to me long before the darkness took over my life.

For a moment, I let myself remember the boy who used to smell that way in a different bedroom, in a different lifetime, before circumstance and blood and duty tore us apart.

"I’m not tired," I lied softly into the dark room.

"You’re practically snoring already," he murmured, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles into my side through the thin fabric of my shirt. "Go to sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up."

I blinked into the soft shadows of the bedroom, my mind finally quiet, the ghost of Graham Sinclair completely eradicated by the sheer, overwhelming presence of the man holding me. Somewhere beneath the exhaustion, a small, fragile hope began to stir, the first I had allowed myself to feel in six long years.

And for the first time in six long years, I closed my eyes and let myself fall fast asleep.