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Matteo hacked a laugh through wheezing lungs. Fuck. I took a deep breath, hating that I was so far from my normal, rational self. I was usually impossible to rile, slow to anger. Emilia had changed that, though.
I took in Matteo’s pinched brows, the scar that marred the entire side of his face thanks to his last encounter with my wife. I remembered her giving it to him, almost killing him. I wished I hadn’t stopped her now.
“I’m not going to kill you, Matteo. I want to know where Sergio is.”
“Fuck you,” he spat, and I laughed.
“No, fuck you. Because Jackson and Renzo are going to do things that will make what you did to Chiara look like Disneyland. By the time they’re done, you’ll wish you had the chance to kill yourself like she did.”
I cracked my neck and glanced at Jackson.
“Let me know when you’re done.” I turned toward the door, taking in Luca’s pale face before I left.
As much as I wanted to stay, I was too emotionally compromised to remain level-headed. I’d kill Matteo, and I refused to give the asshole what he wanted. Renzo had more than enough rage to make sure Matteo thoroughly suffered, and if not, well, suffering was Jackson’s specialty.
25
EMILIA
I spent the next couple of days barely getting out of bed. My shoulder hurt, but the painkillers practically knocked me out.
Renzo hadn’t been around much, and aside from sleeping and forcing me to eat three times a day, neither had Gio. I didn’t need to ask where they were. The screams that echoed up from the basement were answer enough, and also not the one I wanted. Because Matteo was still alive, and I wanted him dead.
Another cry rang through the house just as Tommy walked into the living room.
“For you.” He placed a mug of coffee on the side table, then took a seat in the chair beneath the window, clasping his own coffee. He was still nowhere near full health, and I thought he secretly liked having another invalid to keep him company.
I moved into a cross-legged position before picking up the mug and taking a sip.
Tommy glanced at the TV, taking in the crappy housewives reality show playing. “You watch this shit?”
I glared at him. “Don’t start judging my entertainment choices.”
He snorted. “Just didn’t take you for the type.”
I wasn’t. Simply because most of the time in Chicago, I’d been locked in the basement or out at the lake. Painting, drawing, reading, writing…those were the things I indulged in. But right now, drawing or painting was enough to make my shoulder ache after just a few minutes, and Gio’s books were mostly non-fiction bore fests. I was more of a smutty romance girl. And I was not asking him for that.
But I had to admit, lying here with my blanket and watching TV was so normal that I wanted to cry at the simplicity of it. Well…if I just ignored the tortured screams echoing around my husband’s house.
“I’ll give it to Matteo; he’s holding up pretty well,” Tommy said while staring a little too intently at the TV. He was into it. “Jackson is pretty inventive when he wants information.”
“I have no idea why my uncle inspires such loyalty in everyone,” I mumbled. “Then again, he did give Matteo a wife, with free rein to do whatever he wanted to her.” My stomach rolled at the thought, and I placed my mug back down.
Tommy’s earnest gaze met mine. “I’m really sorry about your sister.”
“Thanks.” I pulled the blanket around me. “I just…I’ve never wanted anyone dead as much as that man.”
“Not even Sergio?”
“No. Matteo is at the top of the death list.”
“There’s a list?” He smirked and leaned back in the chair, his red hair catching in the morning sun. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Gio will make sure he gets what he deserves.”
“Oh, I know.”
He tried to suppress it around me, but I could practically taste the violence vibrating off Gio ever since Matteo had gotten to me. Adamo lingered more closely, and there were guards outside our room every night. He was extra protective, impossibly overbearing, and bubbling with barely leashed violence. Never toward me, just everyone else.
Tommy’s gaze flicked behind me. “Speak of the devil…”
My spine prickled with awareness seconds before I heard the muted whisper of footsteps over the rug, then felt the trickle of hot breath at my neck. And finally, the warm press of lips, accompanied by the rough scratch of stubble.
Those stupid butterflies erupted in my chest, and my entire body melted in his presence. If I craved Gio before, I was now deep in the throes of addiction. But that was okay. Gio made me feel safe and loved, cherished in ways I’d never known. Anyone would be addicted to that.
“Amore mio.” His tongue caressed the words in a way I wanted caressing other parts of me.
