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“I’m alright,” Luca says abruptly. “Some scratches and bruises, but mostly fine.”
“She said you had a pretty bad injury to your side. I saw it when—when you were on top of me.” I swallow hard, knowing exactly what that last sentence sounded like. It brings back the memory of theothertime he was on top of me, when I learned what it felt like to have him inside of me.
“I’ve had worse,” Luca says grimly. “You don’t make it to your thirties in the mob without getting shot at least once.”
I stare at him. “You’ve beenshot?”
“A couple times.” Luca shrugs. “It happens.”
And just like that, any illusion that we could ever be normal is shattered all over again. Not that I legitimately thought that was possible. But the moment had almost been nice.
Thinking about Luca being shot doesn’t quite elicit the same response I’d had when I thought he was dead. The other night, I’d kind of wanted to shoot him myself. Just not fatally.
“I am glad you’re alive,” Luca says quietly, leaning forward in his seat. “And uninjured. I’m grateful for that. The nurse says you’ll be able to go home now that you’re awake.”
Home. I don’t have a home anymore. But I know what he means—the penthouse, even if it will always be his home and not mine. Soon, hopefully, I’ll be able to at least have my own apartment, even if I’m not sure that will feel like home either.
“You saved me.” I blurt out the words that have been on the tip of my tongue since I woke up and saw him sitting there. “You threw yourself on top of me when the explosion happened. Why did you do that? You could have died.”
His features go carefully blank; I see it happen. “You’re my wife,” he says coolly.
“And you could have solved two problems in one go by letting me die,” I point out. “You’re free, without the guilt of letting Rossi kill me. I’m sure your widower’s grief could have gone a long way towards warming your bed, too.”
“I don’t need help warming my bed,” Luca says tightly. “If I want another woman, I’ll get one. If I want you, I’ll have you. As far as what I did, I went this far to protect you. Why stop there? Might as well see it through to the bitter end.”
The words ring hollow even as he says them. I know as well as I’m sure he does that it’s just a cover for the actual truth—that he doesn’t understand why he instinctively protected me. His answer just confirms that for me.
But I’m not letting the rest of what he said go so easily.
“You can’t have me whenever you want me,” I say quietly. “Just because of what happened on our wedding night—that’s not going to happen again, Luca. There’s no reason for it now. You proved to Rossi that youfuckedme—” I grind the word out bitterly, “but I’m not going to be some toy for your pleasure. That one time was it.”
“Sure.” Luca shrugs. “It wasn’t exactly the best fuck of my life, Sofia.”
I flinch. The words shouldn’t sting—I shouldn’t even care—but they do. It’s just another confusing reaction to him in a long line of them, ever since I woke up in his bed after he rescued me. I should be glad if he didn’t enjoy himself, happy that he’ll be inclined not to try again—not to push me up against doors and kiss me wildly or bend me over couches and bring me so close to orgasm that I feel like I might die if—
Jesus, Sofia, get a grip.I swallow hard, and I can feel my face flushing. My skin feels hot just at the memory, and I try as hard as I can to push it out of my head, to forget about the mingled pleasure and denial and embarrassment of that night.
“Don’t take it so personally,” Luca says easily. “You were a virgin, and you didn’t even want it. I expected you to be a cold fish.”
His words feel like daggers, sharp and cutting, even if they’re not meant to be insulting. He says it so casually, and I’ve never felt less like a wife, let alone a cherished one. I feel like something he’s finished with and ready to discard now that he’s done his duty.
Which is exactly what I should want,I remind myself. The sooner I have my own place and can put some distance between him and me, the sooner I’ll stop feeling all these awful, conflicting, confusing things.
“The nurse told me about the others,” I say quickly, changing the subject. The moment I think about that—about Mrs. Rossi’s death, Caterina’s grief, I feel guilty for even caring about Luca’s insulting comments. Caterina has just lost her mother, and I’m in my feelings because my new husband insulted my—admittedly nonexistent—skills in the bedroom. “About Don Rossi, I mean, and Giulia. What does that mean for you—for us?”
Luca’s face goes very still. “Don Rossi is in very critical condition,” he says quietly. “The last I spoke with the doctor just before coming in here, he’s awake, but they’re keeping him for an indeterminate amount of time. There was—severe damage to his legs and possibly his spine, as well as head trauma. He’ll have to have extensive surgery if he’s going to walk again, and there was internal bleeding and damage. He’s far from out of the woods.”
It’s so unfair.There’s something slightly poetic about Don Rossi suffering in a hospital bed after all he put me through. Still, I can’t help but feel that it’s an awful injustice that he’s alive at all when his wife is dead. I try to imagine him grieving for her, and I can’t. I can’t imagine any real emotion from him at all.
“He’s not in any shape to continue at the head of the family as don,” Luca continues. “We’ll be going in to see him before I take you back home, and Caterina and Franco will be there as well. Franco will be stepping into his new role as underboss—the role I inhabited up until now.” He takes a deep breath, his green eyes meeting mine.
“And I’ll be the new don.”
