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I’m still not sure what my life with Luca will be like. Not heaven, I’m certain of that. But if he cared enough to throw himself on top of me during the explosion, maybe a tentative middle ground. A purgatory, if you will.
The nurse walks with me all the way to the window of Luca’s room. He’s in a bed, hooked up to the same sorts of tubes and wires, and asleep just like she’d said. He looks paler than usual, and I can see the bruises around his eye and the side of his face, cuts on his neck and hands.
“He was lucky, too,” the nurse says quietly as she follows my gaze. “If something as large as what embedded in his side hit his neck, he wouldn’t be here now.”
That sends a chill through me that I didn’t expect, and I’m not sure if it’s for him or me. Me, at least partially, because of how tied my life is to his. But also him—and I don’t want to admit that I care. That even if I don’t want to be married to him, even if I do hate him more than a little for all of this and blame a good deal of it on his willingness to go along instead of finding some other way out for me, I don’t want him todie.
He looks almost that peaceful, lying in the hospital bed with the sheet tucked up underneath his armpits. His face looks softer like this, younger, the harsh lines of his jaw and cheekbones more relaxed in sleep. He seems more like a man I might run into on the street or swipe right on Tinder, not a hardened criminal. Not the second-in-command of the most notorious, powerful organization in the world.
I’m his wife. A Mafia wife.It makes me feel cold all over. I don’t want any part of this, and yet Iama part of it and always have been. I’d tried to get out, but I’m getting sucked in deeper and deeper every day.
“What about the others?” I ask quietly. “The Rossi’s—Caterina and her mother, and—”
“Ms. Rossi and her fiancé Mr. Bianchi are well. I'm told Mr. Bianchi wasn’t even in the room, so he, of course, didn’t sustain any injuries. Ms. Rossi had some bruising and mild eardrum perforation as well, but she’ll heal quickly. As for Mr. Rossi—” The nurse takes a deep breath. “He’s in critical condition. I can’t give exact details as you’re not a member of his family, but we’re not sure—”
My heart is beating so hard that I can hear it. “Not sure?”
“His condition is very critical,” the nurse says again. “It’s really all I can say.”
“And his wife? Giulia?”
The nurse’s silence tells me the answer before she ever speaks. “Mrs. Rossi did not survive the explosion,” she says quietly. “I’m very sorry. I’m guessing they were friends of yours?”
“Of my husband’s.” I feel numb. I didn’t know Mrs. Rossi well, but nothing about her ever came across as particularly malicious or unpleasant to me. She was cool and formal around me, and I got the impression that she was happy to live the life she’d married into and enjoy the perks, turning a blind eye to her husband’s crimes and dalliances. She hadn’t looked overly pleased when they’d come in to see the bed the morning after the wedding, though, and I’d gotten a distinct impression that she’d thought it was an outdated and ridiculous ceremony. She’d been polite to me and loving towards her daughter.
She hadn’t deserved to die. Especially not with someone like her husband in the same room, a man whoistruly evil, who would have me killed just for his own peace of mind, who threatened Luca, the man he’s supposed to trust more than anything, if he’d refused to rape his bride on her wedding night. I’d consented in the end—but still, I know Rossi hadn’t cared. He wouldn’t have cared if Luca had bound and gagged me, as long as it was done.
Heshould be dead, not Giulia. I can feel my throat tightening, my eyes burning with tears as the nurse helps me back to my room.Caterina. I wish more than anything that I could go to her, help her through this in any way that I can right now.And I will, as soon as we’re all released from the hospital, I promise myself. I know exactly how much it hurts to lose a parent. And Caterina has only ever tried to be kind to me since we’ve met.
“You need to rest,” the nurse says sternly. “You might not have been badly hurt, but you’ve been through a lot, Mrs. Romano. It’ll take some time for you to process the shock.”
“I—”
“I’m going to give you a sedative,” she says. Before I can argue, she’s already injecting something into my IV line. “Get some rest, Mrs. Romano.”
I don’t feel like I can rest. My stomach is in knots, my throat and eyes burning with unshed tears, and I feel like everything has gotten so much worse. I can feel some of that shock setting in, the realization that if we were attacked—and we must have been, it can’t be a coincidence that there was a random explosion at the hotel where we happened to be staying after the wedding—it could happen again. It could happenhere. At Luca’s penthouse. How will I ever really feel safe?
The wedding was supposed to push the Bratva back as well as satisfy Rossi. It seems to have done the latter, but not the former. And if I’m honest, I don’t know who terrifies me more.
* * *
When I wake up again,I feel groggy, probably from the aftereffects of the sedative. My mouth feels dry and cottony, and I desperately want a drink of water. I blink rapidly as I try to sit up a little, wincing at the stickiness of my eyes.
“Glad to see you’re awake.”
The sound of Luca’s deep voice jolts me fully into consciousness. I look over to see him sitting at my bedside, fully dressed in a pair of charcoal slacks and a burgundy shirt undone at the collar. Even like that, though, it’s the least polished I’ve ever seen him. The shirt is a bit wrinkled, and his hair is messy, once again making him look younger and more approachable.
The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and I can see a few bandaged patches on his arms, as well as the one on his neck. He half-smiles at me, and for once, it doesn’t seem calculated or guarded. He seems genuinely happy to see that I’m awake and alive.
“Can you get me some water?” I ask tentatively, nodding towards the side table that’s just out of reach, where a plastic pitcher and cups are sitting.
Luca nods, getting up without a word and pouring some water into a cup. Just the splashing sound makes my mouth ache and my throat contract—the IV might have been pumping fluids into me, but I still feel as parched as the Sahara—and I take the cup gratefully when he hands it to me, gulping it down.
“Easy,” Luca says, sitting back down. “Don’t choke.”
He says it casually, but there’s a hint of actual worry in his eyes. For just a second, I catch another glimpse of what it would be like if we were a normal couple—if Luca were just an ordinary husband getting some water for his ordinary wife, both of us recovering from the trauma that we’d just shared.
“How are you feeling?” I manage once I’ve finished with the water. “The nurse said—”
