brushes a thumb softly across my cheek. "You look tired."

"Mm. I'm fine. I just need more coffee." I lean against him, and he holds me, and it's easier to lie when I don't have to look at his face.

We're outside the courtroom and it's kind of busy, but I haven't seen him in days and God it feels so good to be held. To feel his arms around me, to feel safe.

But it's no time at all before he has to go back to Daniel, to my dad, to the case. I wish him luck and then watch as he makes his way into the courtroom, his dark suit and bright hair so familiar. I can't even remember not knowing him.

I am tired. So, so tired. Tired of lying, of hiding, of being scared. My lease was up on my apartment a couple months ago, and there has not been a day since where I haven't wondered why I renewed it, not a day where I doubt that moving would help me escape it all, forget.

But the longer time goes on, the longer it feels like my fate was sealed all those months ago, the instant I stepped foot into that place. The longer it feels like my life is this, has become this. That this is all there is.

I feel him before I see him, standing behind me, looking at me, breathing. Not close, not right there. But I know even without turning around that Nero is here, and I haven't seen him in a long, long time, and I fight the urge to turn around because, once I meet his eyes, I won't be able to help what comes next.

And so, I walk past the armed guards into the packed courtroom, finding a seat somewhere near the back of the defense's side. There are so many people here; the press, the mother who lost her son all those months ago, the brother of the accused, and a dozen rough men whose presence here in this courtroom I'm all too familiar with.

With a cold shiver, a sudden thought comes to me.

I remember how during the first trial, they threatened Daniel and my dad into keeping quiet about evidence they knew would win the case.

And I wonder, a chill rushing down my spine, whether or not Nero's thugs decided to give them a reminder, like they did to me. Would my dad have even told me?

Nothing surprises me anymore.

My shoulders feel heavy, because then too Nero tried to convince me he had nothing to do with it, it was against his orders, he felt so bad. It now sounds so ridiculous, even in my head.

•§•

myself scan the courtroom too much because I don't need to know where Nero is sitting, what he looks like, how he's feeling. I force my attention to the front, where the prosecutors talk about why Mario is guilty, why the first trial was wrong and why he killed Antonio and honestly, I can't listen to this anymore. It's tearing me apart.

I slip out of my seat and sneak away from the courtroom, into the main hall. It's busy and I can't hear myself think, and if my mind doesn't stop rushing around in frenzied circles I'm going to end up with a massive headache sometime soon.

My feet take me around corners and through hallways until I reach a secluded corridor. Leaning against the wall, I remember the only other time I found myself in this obscure part of the courthouse, and I close my eyes, feeling the memory of Nero's tall form hovering over me, threatening me and flirting with me and messing with my head all at the same time. Damn it. It feels like a lifetime ago, like it was just yesterday. It hurts.

As soon as I hear the slow, quiet thud of footsteps against the marble tile, I know it's him, here, and I have given up on stopping him, stopping this.

If I had any delusion that I could stay strong, it all vanishes the moment I meet his eyes. They are the same eyes that haunt my dreams; today they are bright and dark and so, incredibly soft.

There is no single word to describe the look on my face, what I'm feeling. Vulnerable, betrayed, lost, needy, tired, angry, pissed, hurt...

But his face is as brilliant, as perfect as always. Sharp cheekbones, golden skin, that same rough dust of stubble.

Except, he looks different. It takes me a second but it's just because there isn't any hardness in his expression, any anger or irritation.

He looks so... innocent.

There is no malice, nothing even remotely unkind.

He looks like he's lost something that he can never get back, and I know the feeling.

I watch as he steps nearer; I keep leaning against the wall until he's just a couple feet in front of me, and I'd be lying if I said my body doesn't want to feel him closer. But hell if I tell him that.

I keep my eyes set angrily at some spot on a far wall, refusing to look at him. Even then, I can feel the steadiness of his gaze on my face, on the tightness of my lips, on the frown that has captured my forehead.

"Dolcezza."

Just a small, rough breath, but it's enough to send heat down my spine. I have to close my eyes to stop myself from looking at him.

I can hear as he brings his hand up, close to my face, but I still have a little self-respect. "Don't touch me, Nero." It comes out shakier than I wanted, but just firm enough.

His arm pauses, eventually dropping to his side. He sighs, resigned to the fact that I am going to make this spectacularly difficult.

After what seems like forever, I convince myself that it's safe to look at him.

As soon as my eyes meet his, I realize that I was so wrong, because the sight of him, close enough to touch, melts the anger right from my face.

All that's left behind is pain, and he sees it, and he actually looks like he feels something.

"What do I have to do to make you believe that I'm sorry?"

Oh Nero.

He waits for me to say something, anything, but I have nothing to tell him.

"I don't know if there is anything you can do."

It's the truth, plain and clear, but he doesn't seem ready to accept it. Running a hand through his hair, he watches me. He doesn't speak for a long time, and the silence between us is so heavy I can barely breathe.

"Just tell me that you're okay."

Crossing my arms, I raise a tired eyebrow. "Do I look okay?" I wish my voice was stronger than a strangled whisper, but it isn't.

He studies my face, lets out a huff of breath, exhausted. He steps closer so I have to look up to find his eyes, and I can feel the heat coming from him, and it makes me dizzy. There is no part of me that tries to push him away. "I'm sorry," he whispers, barely audible.

And the worst part is that he looks sorry, he looks so full of concern and remorse that I want to believe him. I even want to forgive him, but then I would lose a part of myself that I cannot afford to live without.

His eyes are so, so dark, and they hold me captive, and I don't look away, I can't. I have never see him like this. Similar, maybe, but never like this.

And I get it, and it confuses me, and in the end all I'm really thinking is yeah? "Prove it."

And it's just two syllables but it's all he needs to close the distance, to pull me towards him and wrap his arms around me, and I let him. I let him I let him I let him, and I bury my face in the warmth of his shoulder, hear him whisper soft words into my ear and he tells me. He tells me everything.

He tells me that he never knew Marco was going to come and do that.

He never even told them about me.

He beat the living shit out of that bastard when he found out.

He needed to know I was okay because he never meant for this to happen.

He was worried.

He was angry.

And damn it, I believe him. I really do.

Don't give me that. If you were there in his arms, if you heard the brutal, halting sincerity in his low, heavy voice you would believe him too.

I lean against the wall and he clutches me by the waist, and his nose brushes ever so softly against mine, and for the first time I know, with absolute certainty, that this wrong, messed up, completely and utterly impossible thing that there is between us is real. It is real, and that's the scariest truth I have ever known.

"Tell me you believe me." He whispers it, softly, against my skin.

"I believe you."

A small breath. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

It is intoxicating, the feeling of him against me, even with layers and layers separating us. His forehead against mine, our breaths a heavy, warm mess between us, the heat from his skin, the roughness of his face against my neck.

He doesn't try to kiss me, and I'm grateful. He just holds me, and for the first time in a long time, I feel safe.

"I missed you, Rosalina."

I missed you too.

My hands resting softly against his shirt, I press my face into his neck, and he smells the same. "I can't do this, Nero." If I sounded more sure, maybe one of us could believe me. "I can't keep pretending that this is okay."

I feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, and I can feel it more than hear it when when he says quietly, "It's not." He leans back just a little, brings a hand up to hold my face, gently, touching my parted lips with the pad of his thumb. "But I can't help it." And he looks at me like I'm magic, and for a second I feel like I could be.

My eyes flutter shut, and he touches his lips to my forehead, and I sigh against him. And we just stay like that.

"I have a boyfriend, Nero." It seems irrelevant as I press my face into his chest, but it is one of many, many issues with what is happening, with what I let happen.

"I know that." He holds me by the hips, his hands brushing at the skin just beneath my blouse, and even that smallest touch sends heat low in my belly, between my legs. I can feel the warmth, the want, from the tips of his fingers.

His face rests softly against my neck, and he kisses me lightly on the collar, a whisper, a promise. "And..." I try to say something, I had something to say, I did, but... oh, his nose trails a light path up to mine, and his lips are right there, and no. No, I can do this, at least. "And you're not a good guy, Nero. I can't..." His breath is a flutter against my warm face. "This can't work."

He looks me in the eye, his forehead against mine, a sigh falling from his lips. "Then why can't I keep my hands off of you?"

"Nero..." I breathe, and his words make my face burn. "I need... some kind of, of..." Damn it this is hard. "I can't be with you. You and I can never, we can't..." I want to say it, to tell him that we can never, ever work. That there is no way. But with him against me, holding me, I can't seem to get the words out.

So I don't say anything, and neither does he. And yeah, there are things we should say, things that need to be put into words, but it feels like just being here, just leaning against him and feeling his body and mine and his arms and my arms, this is enough.

•§•

myself away from him, keeping my body at a distance. I have to decide, and there is really only one possible decision.

"I don't hate you, Nero."

He raises an eyebrow, his same dry humour returning. "I'm glad."

Pursing my lips, I look into his eyes once more, holding his dark gaze, letting him know that I mean what I'm about to say. "But I can't do this anymore. I can't live like this."

If there is one thing I know about Nero it's that he is the master of a guarded expression, and now is no exception.

There is a long stretch of silence.

"All I know, dolcezza, is that I can't stop thinking about you." He tilts his head to the side, and I'm warm all over. "And maybe we're not good together." He shrugs, and I think I see a glimmer in those eyes. Leaning in, his voice is just a soft whisper. "But I always get what I want."

A sharp jolt down my spine. My words come out soft, quiet. "What exactly do you want?"

The darkness, the challenge, the glint in his eyes... they confirm it. He holds me, tight, as he answers, and I want him closer. "Something I don't really deserve, dolcezza."

I don't say anything, for a long time.

"I would ask you to change, Nero, but that's not fair."

Leaning against me, against the wall, he keeps my gaze hostage. "Do you think I like being a monster, Rosalyn?" He sounds almost regretful.

"Then why are you?"

His chuckle has little humor behind it. "I think that's a story neither of us has time for."

Of course, I'm curious. I'm always curious.

I see his long lashes, perfect eyebrows, pink lips, thick hair. I wonder who he is, beneath it all. I wonder if I will ever know.

"You should tell me, sometime."

A small, tired smile plays at his lips. "Maybe." His eyes float down to my mouth, and I feel my face flush. "But then I would scare you away for sure."

My turn to laugh. "Nero." Holding his face in my palms, I stare into his eyes, I see his soul in front of me, feel the roughness of his cheeks beneath my fingers, whisper my words close against his skin. "At this point I don't think you could even if you tried."

And the smile he gifts me, warm and soft, is real.

***

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XOXO Ami

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