The Slave of Pleasure
Chapter 37

Vincenzo

The driver accelerated, driving the car down the road toward the Moretti mansion. The silence inside the limousine was almost suffocating. Rachel was beside me, her hands shaking slightly as she reached for two tissues that were lying next to the door. Before I could react, I felt her soft hand gently cup my face, the cool touch of the tissue coming to wipe away the blood that was still dripping from my nose.

She wiped it carefully, her gaze fixed on me, and suddenly she asked:

"Are you okay? Does your nose hurt?"

I shook my head, trying not to look affected.

"No, I don't feel anything. It's okay, Rachel. You don't need to worry."

She didn't look convinced. Her eyes grew more serious as she answered: "Of course I need to worry, Vincenzo."

And she continued to wipe away the blood, her movements firm but gentle. I watched her as she concentrated on cleaning my face, her brow slightly furrowed with concern. There was something so pure about that gesture, something that took me by surprise. In my entire life, no one, other than my Nona, had ever cared for me like that. I had always been the pillar of my family, the man who never allowed himself to be vulnerable. But there Rachel was, without hesitation, wiping my nose as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Little did she know what this small show of care was doing to me. It wasn't about the blood, or the fact that I was hurt. It was about the feeling of being cared for. Something so simple, but it hit me like a punch. I realized that for years, I had grown accustomed to being what others expected: strong, untouchable, impenetrable. And now, in front of this woman who was supposed to be just a pawn in my game, I was feeling something I couldn't define. My thoughts had gone so far that I almost didn't realize the car had stopped. We were at the door of the mansion. Rachel pulled away the bloody handkerchief, looking at my nose, apparently satisfied with her work. I was still lost in the intensity of the moment, trying to process what had just happened. She wiped her hands and looked at me, her eyes still worried, but now with a slight hint of relief.

I wanted to say something, but the words escaped me. How could I explain to her what I was feeling? That for a few minutes, my strength had been broken by that simple act of caring? But of course, I said nothing. It was easier to keep the words in than to expose myself.

Rachel let out a small sigh, wiping the last of the blood from my face.

"There," she said, her voice soft. "I think everything's okay now."

I just nodded, unable to take my eyes off her. The driver opened the limo door, and I realized we were already home. But at that moment, my mind was still stuck on that unexpected fragility that Rachel had brought to the surface. When I got out of the limo, the driver, as usual, tried to help me. Not only because of my nose, but also because of my still bruised ribs. I made a quick gesture with my hand, dismissing the help. I wasn't the type to accept weakness, not even when my body begged for it. I put my feet on the ground and stood facing the mansion, taking a deep breath as I felt the slight pain in my chest, reminding myself how broken I still was inside - literally.

Rachel got out on the other side of the car and, before I could take a step, grabbed my arm tightly.

"Let's go in," she said, her voice low, but full of a concern that I pretended not to notice.

She was right. I tried to walk beside her as naturally as possible, even though with every movement my body screamed for rest. As soon as we reached the entrance of the mansion, the servants were all lined up, their faces carrying expressions of relief mixed with concern. There was a certain tension in the air, something I never liked to see in my house. This was my refuge, where I controlled everything, and the last thing I wanted was for anyone to worry about me. I smiled softly and said in a calm but firm tone:

"It's going to take something apocalyptic to bring down Vincenzo Moretti."

A quiet chuckle echoed among the servants, and the tension seemed to dissipate a little. They knew I was lying. I wasn't even close to one hundred percent, but maintaining the illusion of invulnerability was necessary. "Sir, it's good to have you back," the butler said with a slight bow.

"I'd like tea in my room," I replied, in the same nonchalant tone as always.

As I began walking toward my room, I felt that each step was a silent struggle against the pain that shot through my ribs. But I was determined not to let anyone notice. Rachel was right behind me, watching my every move. I could feel it.

I reached the top of the stairs and was about to enter my room when I realized that Rachel was no longer beside me. I looked up at her.I looked back and saw her, standing in the hallway, talking to the butler. Her posture was tense, and her face showed urgency.

I was curious. What was she up to?

"Rachel, aren't you going to walk me to my room?" I asked, my voice carrying a slight irony.

She turned quickly, a little surprised by my question..

"Yes, of course," she said, with a small forced smile, and said goodbye to the butler.

As she walked towards me, I noticed the slight glint of concern still etched in her eyes. Rachel wasn't the type to hide her emotions so easily, and I was beginning to learn to read every subtle detail in her expressions.

Something was up. Even though she tried to hide it, the urgency in her conversation with the butler didn't go unnoticed. When she reached my side, I linked our arms, gently pulling her into the room with me. I needed to replace out what was going on in her head, but for now, I decided to play the same game I always did: pretend I didn't know anything, while watching her every move.