Page 106 of Power & Punishment

I level him with a death glare before turning toward Michael. “You need to hold him still.”

Michael nods and gets into position, pinning Leo carefully by his good shoulder while I move to the front of his body.

Leo’s eyes follow me the entire time, making my already erratic pulse beat faster. But I ignore it and try not to focus on the clawing feeling inside my chest seeing him like this.

“On three?” Michael asks.

“Sure,” I say, watching the way Leo’s eyes don’t leave mine for even a second.

“One.”

“Two.”

And then I yank.

There’s a loud clunk, confirming the joint popped back into place.

Leo shouts, followed by a string of colorful Italian curse words I’ve never heard before.

“That wasn’t three! Son of a—Emilia!”

I step back, giving myself a minute to let the adrenaline rush through me. “You’re fixed, aren’t you?”

“Debatable,” he groans, glaring at me.

I fight the smile threatening to break on my lips and go to work unbuttoning his shirt. As soon as I see all the scrapes and bruises littering his perfect skin, I want to scream.

I focus on the injuries instead of the panic wrapping around my chest, grabbing what I need to bandage the rest of his body up.

For once in his life, Leo DeLuca is silent.

There are no innuendos, no smug remarks or even cute little digs.

He just watches me as I work.

Every couple of minutes he hisses through his teeth—mostly when I apply antiseptic to a cut or press too hard against a bruise. But he doesn’t complain.

A bubble forms around us, and everything in the bar just fades away. I can still hear the muffled voices of Dante and his men and feel Michael’s assessing stare as I patch up his boss, but none of it touches us.

We’re in our own little world, and even I can’t deny how comfortable it feels.

I ruminate on that feeling, getting lost in the idea of us outside of this chaos. I think about it while I stitch up his broken skin, wrap his shoulder, and clean dried blood off his face.

“There,” I say, tossing some bloodied gauze onto the table. “Just a few scratches, but I think you’ll live.”

Leo glances over his wounds before looking back up at me. “Why do you sound disappointed about that, Tesoro?”

I finally let myself smile. Too tired to put on a mask. “It would make my life easier, but regrettably more boring,” I say, adding in the last part even if he doesn’t deserve it.

I expect another witty comeback, but instead he reaches out slowly and wraps his hand around my wrist.

I freeze.

“Mia.”

“What?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

His eyes flick side to side, searching mine for a reaction or permission—I’m not sure which. Eventually, he decides for me and brushes his thumb over the inside of my wrist so painstakingly gentle.