Chapter 124: I’m Not A Damn Hero

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"I can’t wait for the day I let a crazy man become my therapist." He said with a chuckle.

I grinned, ignoring the fact that he called me crazy because that wasn’t really something I could deny or argue with. "You should be looking forward to it. I might even bring a notebook!"

That got him to crack a faint smile, though it faded as he reached for my hand and noticed my fingers shaking again. He turned my hand over gently, checking the fresh bandages as if he could gauge my injuries just by looking. His thumb brushed my wrist, feeling my pulse racing, and his expression grew serious.

"Anything for the man who saved my life." He murmured looking up at me with those beautiful emeralds. "You need to rest."

"I tried that in the car, but it didn’t really help."

"Then try harder."

"Dracula, I’ve come to realize that I’m not great at following instructions."

"Believe me, tesoro mio, I’ve noticed that as well."

Usually, I might have snapped back or argued, but I was too worn out for any of that. There was something about him tonight that felt different...more intense under his usual protective demeanor and I wasn’t sure if that scared me or made me feel safer.

Maybe it was a bit of both.

He stood up from the chair and moved in front of me, locking his gaze on my face. For a second, I thought he might tell me to sleep again, which would’ve been the least surprising thing of the evening.

But instead, he knelt down. "Dracula?"

Before I could ask what he was doing, he took my hand, holding it gently with both of his. Then, with a seriousness that felt far more meaningful than what he might do in front of an audience, he bowed his head and kissed the back of my hand.

It took my breath away, Lorenzo Castelli, the man who could silence a room full of armed men with just a look, was kneeling next to my bed, kissing my bandaged hand like it was something special.

His eyes met mine. "I’m very proud of you, Alex."

For a moment, I honestly thought I had misheard him. "What?"

"I said I’m proud of you." He repeated it, quieter this time, and something in my chest tightened so much I had to look away. "You fought against the men who tried to take you, even while you were hurt and drugged. You managed to escape when they thought you’d be easy prey, and when you found out what they were planning, you turned back to warn me instead of just running away."

His grip on my hand tightened slightly. "You could have left. You could have let my men take you away, and no one would have blamed you. But you stayed because people needed help, and you did everything you could to get them out."

I stared at the wall behind him, blinking back tears. "That doesn’t mean I saved them."

"No, it doesn’t."

His unexpected honesty made me look at him again. Lorenzo didn’t sugarcoat the truth to spare my feelings, nor did he try to convince me that everything was okay just because we survived. His face was serious, but the way he held my hand was undeniably tender.

"You couldn’t save everyone," he said. "But you tried. And I’ll never think less of you for the things that were beyond your control, that’s why couldn’t help but fall for you. Despite everything you’ve been through in your life... You still have a pure heart."

My throat felt tight as my cheeks immediately decided to give my avoidant ass away by turning red. I wanted to say something witty, maybe make a joke about him ruining his fancy trousers by kneeling on the floor, or point out that he’d developed a knack for making me an emotional wreck. Instead, all I managed was a quiet, "You...you shouldn’t say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don’t know how to deal with that."

His expression softened. "You don’t have to do anything aside remaining by my side. I promise I’ll do better to protect you from now on."

That nearly broke me. I glanced down at our hands, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I might actually cry.

My eyes were burning, my throat aching, and the exhaustion I’d been holding back threatened to pull everything else down with it.

Then I saw the ballroom again, the broken walls, the fire, the people who hadn’t made it out and the guilt came rushing back so fast that I almost jerked my hand away.

"People died," I whispered. "Dracula, people died because of us."

His expression tightened. "They died because someone made the choice to attack us."

"But they were at the gala because of us."

"And the person who set that bomb knew innocent people would be there."

"But if I hadn’t been—"

"Stop."

His voice was quiet but firm enough to silence me. I swallowed hard. He got up from his knee and sat beside me on the edge of the bed, still holding my hand.

"You can grieve for those people without turning their deaths into a burden for yourself," he said. "You don’t have to shoulder the blame for every horrible thing that happens around you."

I looked at him, trying to fit his words into the space where my guilt had settled. "I should have done more."

A tear threatened to escape, and I quickly wiped it away, pressing the heel of my hand against my face harder than necessary.

Crying wouldn’t bring anyone back. It wouldn’t fix the building, find the culprits, or answer the questions nagging at me since I first heard the name Volpe.

I didn’t know how to cope with what had happened tonight, but I knew I couldn’t afford to lose myself in it while those responsible were still out there. I took a shaky breath and lowered my hand.

"All right."

Lorenzo studied me closely. "All right?"

"I’m not saying I’ll stop feeling awful about it. That’d be ridiculous, and I suspect you’d have to sedate me to make that happen."

His lips twitched. "I’d prefer not to sedate my husband."

"Good. I’ve had enough strange medications for one night."

"But?"

I looked him straight in the eye. "But I need answers."

The lightheartedness in his face vanished. I squeezed his hand once before letting go, then shifted against the pillows, ignoring the way my head protested.

"Who is Volpe?"

Lorenzo was silent for several moments. I studied him closely, and his expression told me that this wasn’t a question he’d been eager for me to ask. It was one he had likely been wrestling with for a while, one that had become infinitely more dangerous.

"You said you’d been investigating him for weeks," I reminded him. "I heard the men mentioning Volpe before the explosion. They were terrified of him. One said he’d kill them if anything happened to me."

He glanced my way, and under different circumstances, I might have been satisfied to see the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes. But given that the man in question had attempted to kidnap me and blow up a building full of people, I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable toward anyone who wanted to drag this conversation out.

"Please don’t make me ask you twenty questions," I said. "My head already feels like it’s been through a woodshop, who is this person? He was the one who tried to kill me before right? Why did he suddenly want me alive now?"