Ricardo stumbled into the penthouse, his shirt soaked with blood, his arm visibly wounded. His men followed behind, their faces bruised and exhausted from the fight. Antonio, though injured himself, helped Ricardo inside, only to stop short when they saw Elisa was still awake, sitting in the dimly lit living room.
Her breath hitched at the sight of him. He looked rough, his normally sharp presence dulled by the injuries he had sustained.
"I thought I told you to sleep," Ricardo muttered, his voice laced with exhaustion.
Elisa stood slowly, her gaze fixed on his arm. "I couldn't," she admitted, a quiet defiance in her tone.
He didn't have the strength to argue. Instead, he turned toward the stairs, but Elisa didn't let him walk away alone. She followed, her instincts screaming at her to help. Antonio, sensing her gave a knowing glance before stepping back, leaving the two of them alone.
Inside Ricardo's room, the weight of the night settled around them. The room was spacious, yet at that moment, it felt smaller, more intimate. Ricardo dropped onto a chair, his body tense as he unbuttoned his ruined shirt, revealing the deep gash on his arm.
Elisa hesitated only for a second before grabbing the first-aid kit. She knelt beside him, reaching for his wound, but he caught her wrist midair.
"Get the alcohol," he ordered, his voice rough but unwavering.
She didn't question him, returning moments later with a bottle. Ricardo took a heavy swig before handing it back to her. Elisa soaked a cloth in antiseptic and pressed it against his wound.
He inhaled sharply, his muscles flexing beneath her fingers. Elisa focused on the task, but as she worked, the space between them grew unbearably small. She could feel his heat, sense the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Ricardo exhaled through his nose, his gaze fixed on her. "You're too close."
Elisa swallowed, trying to ignore the way her body reacted to the deep timbre of his voice. But she didn't move away. Neither did he.
Her hands continued their work, tracing over the rough ridges of his arm, her fingers brushing against his skin. Ricardo tensed beneath her touch, his free hand gripping the chair, as if grounding himself.
"Elisa," he murmured, her name rolling off his tongue like a whispered confession.
She looked up, meeting his gaze was dark, intense, filled with something she couldn't quite name. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
Elisa's fingers curled slightly against his arm. "Because you're hurt."
Ricardo let out a quiet chuckle, but his expression remained unreadable. "That's not the only reason."
Something unspoken passed between them, something neither of them could ignore. Before she could think, Ricardo reached for her, his fingers grazing her waist, pulling her just close enough to feel the heat between them.
His lips hovered near hers, a silent question lingering in the air. Elisa's heart pounded, her mind at war with the way her body reacted to him.
Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Ricardo closed the space between them, his lips brushing against hers in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. It was slow, deliberate, yet hungry. Elisa gasped softly, her hands gripping his shoulders, steadying herself even as the world tilted beneath her feet.
The kiss deepened, his touch searing against her skin, and for the first time in days, she let herself forget everything—the danger, the war, the reason they were in this situation to begin with.
For the first time, she wasn't thinking about what came next.
She was only thinking about Ricardo.
Ricardo woke up before dawn, the first rays of sunlight barely peeking through the curtains. His head was clouded, not just from the events of the previous night but from the weight of everything else, his injured men, the brewing war with Emiliano, and the growing realization that Elisa was becoming more than just a means to an end.
He glanced at her, still asleep beside him, her breath soft and steady. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to take her in the way her hair sprawled across the pillow, the way her lips were slightly parted, the way she fit so perfectly beside him. But he couldn't afford distractions. Not now.
Without a word, he slipped out of bed, dressed, and left with his men to deal with the aftermath of the attack.