Alberto slid into the backseat. Vittoria was already there, sitting stiffly by the window as the driver assigned by the chief took his place and pulled the car into motion.
She didn't speak.
Her gaze remained fixed outside, distant and hollow.
But inside… she was breaking.
Alberto hadn't told her.
Not once.
All this time, he had been carrying something this heavy pain, fear, guilt and he had chosen to bear it alone. She had noticed it, of course. The tension in his shoulders, the way his expression tightened after certain calls, the unease that clung to him like a shadow. She had asked him, more than once.
He had said nothing.
Not to her.
His mate.
"Vittoria…" His voice came out low, careful, as his hand reached for hers where it rested between them.
She pulled away immediately.
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away just as quickly.
Alberto's chest tightened painfully at the sight.
He had never wanted to hurt her.
He had only been afraid.
