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"Jesus, woman," I chuckle, "is there anything that slips past you?"
"I didn’t realize the man who threatened me was related to you." She lowers her chin to her chest. "If only I had come to you first with it, I—"
"Shh," I reach forward and rub my thumb across her mouth, "don’t waste your breath on it."
"But I asked him to distract you, Christian. How could I have done that, knowing he could use my words against me? Knowing he could have easily decided to hurt you anyway? How could you forgive me for that?"
"Because," I hold her gaze, "it's what I would have done if I were in your position, and if I had been under so much pressure. Because I’m equally to blame. After all, I didn't think twice before believing him, despite my every instinct screaming that he was lying. Because"—I lean in close enough for our eyelashes to tangle—"we both have Mafia blood in us. It's in our DNA, and try as we might, we can't get away from it. Because you hadn't yet fallen in love with me, and what you did tells me that you can look after yourself when you are in a tight spot; it reassures me that you can take care of yourself. What you did shows that you were born to be a mob wife."
She winces.
"I meant that as a compliment."
"What's scary is that I understand what you mean, even though I wish I didn't." She draws in a breath.
"And most of all, because that part of our life is done, we’re starting afresh, remember?"
"Yeah," she nods, "it’s why I want to come back to Palermo with you, Christian."
"But your job—"
"They’ll miss me, but they understand. Also, they have agreed that I can consult with them, so—"
"That’s wonderful news." I grip her hand between mine. "I don’t want you to feel like you are being pushed into this decision. Or that you are compromising more than I am in this relationship."
She stares.
"What?" I quirk an eyebrow. "What’s wrong?"
"Are you the same macho, misogynistic Christian who implied that cooking was a woman’s job and that a man’s role is to take care of her?"
"Hey, I still think so."
She tries to pull her hand from my grasp, and I laugh. "Just kidding. But no, seriously, I admit I have been an ass sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
"Okay, many times. I have been a jerk, a complete … what do the Brits say—a wanker," I quirk my lips, "but somewhere along the way, this fiery doctor wore me down and made me see the error of my ways."
She sniffs. "Now you’re making me cry." She half-smiles. "Also, don’t stop talking; it’s good for my ego."
I throw back my head and guffaw. "Woman, you’re one of the few people who can go toe-to-toe with me, you know that?"
"I enjoy it, though." She places her hand on mine. "I find it exhilarating when you challenge me and push my limits, in bed and outside. It’s an adrenaline rush to stand up to you, take you on, knowing I can’t possibly win, and then when I do"—she shakes her head—"I can never figure out if you let me win or if it was—"
"It’s you." I bring both of her hands to my mouth and kiss the backs of her palms. "You worm your way under my skin and figure out just what my failings are, and you take advantage of them, and you get your way. And you know what?"
"What?"
"I love you even more for it."
59
Epilogue
Aurora
The next day, we fly back to Palermo on the Sovranos’ private jet. Even though I have grown up with the Mafia, I’m still not used to the Sovranos’ lifestyle. Christian held my hand all the way through on the flight, and even now, as we walk into the elevator of the hospital where his triplet is, he doesn’t let go. I glance up at him and recognize the slight tic at the edge of his jaw. A telltale sign that he is one edge. I squeeze his hand, and he glances down at me. "You okay?"
