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To that, Alessa let out a deep breath. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I really don't think he would, you know, assault her. Or raise a hand to her. But I can't imagine he'd be a good husband by any stretch of the definition. I just... I can't believe this shit still happens in this day and age. Isabella should have gotten the chance to marry someone she cares about."
"She wanted to stop a war that was only going to get worse as the months and years went on," I reminded her. "In that position, what would you have done?"
"Agreed to it, then suffocated him in his sleep," Alessa declared, giving me a small smile.
"I believe that," I said as we moved out of the elevator.
"Is Avi okay?" she asked, looking at my apartment door. "And Salvatore?"
"Salvatore is spitting mad that Lorenzo wouldn't let him come to the sit-down," I told her. "He had Brio fish out the bullets, and help him deal with the wounds. He says he'll be fine. Avi... Avi is terrified for you," I told her, reaching down to give her hand a squeeze, turning her to face me before we went in. "I want to thank you," I told her.
"For what?"
"For thinking of Avi first. For hiding him. And trying to protect him."
"He wasn't actually in danger," she insisted.
"But you didn't know that at the time. You did everything you could to protect him. I owe you for that."
Her smile was a little wobbly before she moved forward, pressing her chest to mine.
"I know a way you can pay me back later. After Avi goes to bed," she clarified with a smirk.
"Well, it would only be right to pay you back," I agreed, arms going around her, then pulling her in for a kiss.
"Nope. That's enough," she declared, pulling away. "Don't start something you can't finish," she added, eyes a little hazy.
"I'll finish later," I promised her, following her into the apartment.
Where Avi flew into her arms, knocking her into mine.
Chapter Nineteen
Alessa
I loved them.
It was a pretty immediate and overwhelming realization.
But when I walked through the door of that apartment, and Avi flung himself into my arms, knocking me back into his father's arms, it was a sensation that rocked my system, the intensity of love that I had for them.
It felt too soon to care so much.
I was not someone who loved easily.
It took me years to realize I loved my half-brothers and father and step-mother.
And, well, I'd never loved anyone else.
So it seemed impossible to love these people I'd only known for a couple months.
Maybe, though, I was quicker to love them because I lived with them day in and day out. I got to not only love the surface stuff, but everything else as well.
Like how both Santi and Avi did the same little stretch as they stood up from the dinner table. Or how fervently Avi said his prayers before bed, making sure he said one for his closest loved ones. Or how Santi always brought me a cup of coffee if he was getting himself one.
I think it was easy to love Avi.
He was an all-around good kid. Funny, loving, adventurous, and sweet. It made sense to love him.
But Santi?
I'd never known anything even close to love for a man before.
God, if I were being completely honest, I'd never really even liked one much before. Sure, I'd like some enough to have a few drinks, maybe a meal, then some time between the sheets. But as soon as the sweat was dry, I started noticing all the shit about them that bothered me. From the way they chewed their food or didn't keep their fingernails clean and trim or how they pronounced certain words or had some asinine little catchphrase that they thought made them cute and unforgettable, but just made me hate them a little bit.
I was really, really good at finding reasons not to love a man.
But I couldn't come up with a single one not to love Santi.
Yes, I was sure that over time, I would find things about him that irritated me, but I couldn't imagine it would be anything big, anything that could change the strange squeezing sensation I felt in my chest when I was around him. Hell, even when I just thought about him.
I loved him.
And I loved his kid.
And I loved the idea of being a little family.
I just had no idea what to do with that information.
So I said nothing.
Not that afternoon as I comforted Avi, assured him I was okay, let him make me tea, or as I talked with Salvatore, then helped him change his wound dressings.
It wasn't too soon to feel what I felt, but it seemed too soon to say it.
"He said a prayer for Isabella," I said as I walked out of Avi's room after sitting with him until he fell asleep. I pressed a hand to my chest. "He's got a huge heart."
