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Chapter 4

Marco

I shouldn’t have kissed her.

I basically poured gasoline onto a roaring fire, and now that she’s rejected my advances once again, I’m responsible for extinguishing those flames.

Which is why I’m engaging in my usual coping mechanism, which always calms me when my mind threatens to spiral out of control.

I’m in the Benedetti villa’s gym, slamming my fists into the largest, hardest bag available because no one ever wants to face me in the ring when I’m in this mood. Most of the men training in the gym slinked out when they caught wind of my attitude, so I’m alone.

The stitches pull on my side, and the wound seeps under the bandage.

Good. Pain keeps the thoughts quiet.

Sweat trickles down my spine and plasters my tank to my skin. My knuckles have split, and tiny drops of blood dot the canvas of the bag like punctuation marks.

Training with a half-healed stab wound is reckless. But sitting still only means memories of Dr. Lucia Romano and the sweet, sexy taste of her lips would invade my mind.

So, I hit with even more force.

Because I’m built for violence. Not women with green eyes who peer at me like I’m both salvation and damnation.

“You’re bleeding through your bandage again, Santori.” The unmistakably female voice contains a teasing lilt.

Although a crimson stain seeps through the fabric of my shirt where the gauze underneath has soaked through, I don’t stop punching.

“I’m aware.”

Isabella Benedetti ventures closer with crossed arms and a holstered Glock strapped to her hip atop her designer leggings. Izzy is currently a sensation both in the Benedetti family and the underworld at large. Most people can’t seem to wrap their head around why she would betray the old padrino, her own brother, just to hand Enzo a throne that’s been in her family for years.

While many mafia heiresses live sheltered, pampered lives, Izzy’s got zero tolerance for that. She’s a total badass who can shoot and fight better than a lot of foot soldiers.

I lift the edge of my tank to find that the blooming red patch is spreading.

“Sophia’s going to be pissed when she sees you’ve reopened that wound.”

“Then don’t tell her.”

She snorts. “Oh, I’m telling her. Watching you get lectured by our new padrino’s wife is about the only entertainment I get around here.”

The punching bag swings back to me. I catch it, hold it steady, then drive my knee in.

Izzy’s expression shifts. “I hear Tomas is talking. Says Enzo’s distracted by Sophia and making the famiglia weak. He believes you’re also distracted. By some civilian doctor?”

I slam my fist into the bag with enough force to rattle the chain. “Tomas can say whatever he wants to my face.”

She chuckles. “He won’t. He’s a coward. But he’s poisoning the capos against the new regime. Is there any plan to curtail him?”

“Enzo won’t act without proof. You know how he is about familial bloodshed.”

She sighs just as the door opens behind us.

Sophia Ricci shuffles in like the embodiment of calm, her hair pulled back and a cardigan over her gym clothes. Her hand rests briefly on the prominent curve of her abdomen. She’s carrying Enzo’s heir, and though she’s midway through the second trimester, pregnancy has done nothing to slow down the former kindergarten teacher.

Once she notices the bloodied bandage, her eyes narrow. She pins me down with her stare like I’m a student who’s injured himself on the playground.

She exhales. “Exam room. Now.”