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Amara is safe.
Gigi is with me.
All should be right in the world, but it’s not yet.
Gigi provided the worst description of where she was, but I had to give her credit for trying. It surprised me she even had her driver’s license since Bruno drove her everywhere.
The rain soaks us to the bone as I hold her. I’ll stand here all day if it’s what she needs. When she pulls away, our clothes cling to each other’s body.
“My bag is in the passenger seat,” she says, shivering.
I glide my hands down her arms to soothe her. “Let’s get you in the car to warm up.” I cranked up the heat and turned on the passenger seat heater on the drive here.
I help her into my car before returning to hers to retrieve her bag. There’s no stopping me from offering a nod toward Cristian before ducking into my car, tossing Gigi’s bag in the backseat, and driving off.
The only sound in the car is the windshield wipers squeaking. When I brake at a red light, I snatch a blazer from the backseatand drape it over Gigi’s shaking body. Smiling softly, she adjusts it around herself before glancing out the window. She needs a moment to process everything before I bombard her with questions about how this came about.
She doesn’t ask where we’re going. The rain intensifies, almost becoming a monsoon. Her attention snaps away from the window when we approach my front gate. Vito sticks his head out from the guard booth and salutes me with two fingers, and the gate opens.
Gigi’s gaze darts everywhere, taking in the exterior of my home.
No, our home.
Unless she doesn’t like it.
If that’s the case, I’ll buy her something else. Whatever makes her happy.
She doesn’t say a word when I pull into the garage, nor when I help her out of the car and lead her inside. The lights are on, a result of my rush to leave.
Damien and I were mid-convo when the burner rang in my desk. He cocked his head to the side, and my blood warmed when I answered the call. I told him we’d talk later.
Water drips from our bodies, and she stops to kick off her shoes. I do the same before shrugging off my blazer and tossing it to the side.
“Where’s Amara?” she asks as I unbutton my shirt.
“Italy with my family.”
She slips off her top and uses it to dry her hair. “Eden and Dante?”
“Safe.”
Her lack of asking about Sonny confirms she knows the fucker is dead. When she drops her shirt to the floor, I take the three long strides that separate us. I stare at her in devotion while cradling her face in my palm.
Fuck, how I missed her.
Gigi shudders, her breathing hitching. Our gazes collide, as intense as the storm outside. She chews on her lower lip, causing mine to tingle.
I want to suck on it.
Taste it.
Bite it.
Just like every other inch of her body.
She blushes, lowering her head, and breaks our eye contact.
My wife, suddenly growing shy on me.
