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“Also,” Miceli said, “FBI agents will be here to take statements from all of us. Rocco will be with them. Answer their questions as honestly as you can. I’ll deal with the rest.”
Statements? I didn’t agree with that. “Miceli, I—”
“You’ll be fine,” he reassured. “This new team comprises agents only Rocco approves of. No one else. I swear it.”
I didn’t want Miceli to swear anything. “I feel like everything is happening so fast.”
“As do I,” he agreed. “Robbie will go with you to the cottage to grab as much of your belongings as you wish to bring here, then we’ll instruct Mrs. Petry on what we’d like for dinner.”
The subtle way he slipped between the criminal world and domesticated home life was effortless. I idolized him because right now, food was the last thing on my mind. I was afraid I’d puke it all up because I’d been so scared. When we broke apart, I followed Kyle to the cottage like we were told and gathered up as much of my clothes and things as I wanted.
At some point, the cottage had become a home for me. Being in the space had healed me more than even rest. I’d felt safe there. Been at peace. For the last few months, I’d relearned how to relax and enjoy myself. Minus, of course, the little run-in at the shopping center. That I’d chalk up to me being stupid, arrogant, and beyond out of my mind, paranoid. I promised myself after that, I wouldn’t make anymore rash decisions.
So far, I hadn’t.
After Miceli called the impromptu meeting, we’d all settled into a routine. The summer passed in a slow, gentle flow of time. Rocca and I spent as much time by the pool as we could while Kyle continued with his training while also picking up other skills I wasn’t sure I wanted him to have, though I also knew it had to do with feeling guilty he couldn’t protect me or himself better. When this was over, I’d make sure he talked with a therapist. He needed to confide in someone other than me and other than the men in the estate.
By the time August rolled around, I became a little disillusioned by the process. We were stuck in limbo. The stress was taking a toll on everyone and all we wanted was answers. The more I thought about our situation, the more I wanted to walk away from everyone and everything and let chance determined what happened next. I was caged, fighting for my life. Then Miceli would wrap me in his arms at night and all of those fears and anxieties would drift away.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he’d say. “We can’t expect Rocco to be our personal magician.” No, we couldn’t. I felt guilty then. It was a vicious cycle. One I hoped would end sooner rather than later. Then there was the fact I hadn’t told Miceli how I felt about him. I’d planned on doing so when everything went live, but as the weeks and months crept by, I never said a word. Perhaps I’d been afraid if I said it too soon, he’d misconstrue why I was saying it. Or if I did, was it too soon? For two months, I lied to him about my identity and for two more months we’d been stuck in this house with around the clock security because we had no clue when things would get better.
I blamed proximity.
Timing.
Fear.
I threw everything, including the kitchen sink, at my emotional connection with the man I’d yearned for longer than should have been appropriate, for why it was wrong. Yet, nothing stopped the excitement or the absolute joy that consumed me the minute he walked into a room. The glimmer of hope glowing inside of me exploded the minute he took my hand. I wanted to sing my love and praises for him, yet I kept everything bottled up, because deep down, I was still afraid I’d wake up and this would all be over.
“You’re pensive this morning,” Miceli said, tucking me to his chest after waking me up for an early morning nookie session. “Are you sure you’re okay with this arrangement?”
“I am,” I said, not sure which arrangement he was talking about. “I’m... Stuck in my head.”
He tipped my chin up and pressed his lips to mine. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
For a second, I thought he’d be the one to say the words first. “Every day.”
“You are my everything,” he whispered before kissing me again. “I don’t say I love you.”
Cold water splashed over me, chilling me to the bone. He didn’t say; I love you? Considering how his life has gone, I suppose I could understand that. The last person he loved was brutally murdered, leaving him to raise a daughter on his own. “Oh? Yeah, I get it. I guess. Has to be hard after everything you’ve been through.” I tried to play the confession off like his words hadn’t affected me while on the inside, I was falling apart.
He exhaled and gathered me into his arms, so our gaze locked. “I don’t say the words, doesn’t mean I don’t feel them, Stephanie. I let my actions speak louder. Saying “you are my everything,” is the same as saying, I love you.”
Dumbstruck, I lay there, staring at the most beautiful man in the world, still surprised he’d even consider giving me a chance. “Miceli...” My mouth dried. My throat closed up as tears burned behind my nose. The words were right there. I could say them too, however I couldn’t get my brain and voice to cooperate. “Me too.” Was all that came out and at that, the words were a squeak. I swallowed the lump of emotion clogging my throat and tried again. “Which do you prefer said to you?”
He gave a nonchalant lift of his shoulder as that cocky smirk of his tugged the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to say anything. I already know the truth of your heart. It’s written all over your face.”
“Cocky much?” I playfully shoved him.
“Always,” he replied, smacking my ass.
I laughed. The tension filling me for the last several weeks bled from my system as I cuddled next to him. “I love you, Miceli.” There, I said it.
He kissed me again as his phone rang on the bedside table. Whatever happened next in our lives, I knew one thing: I wouldn’t let him go. Not for everything in the world. Miceli picked up the device and slid his finger across the screen, putting the call on speakerphone. “Miceli. I have you on speaker.”
“It’s time,” Rocco said. “The press conference is at two pm. Be ready.”
“Where?” I asked, stomach churning.
