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She chuckles and brushes a dark lock of hair from her cheek. “I suppose you’re right. Still, thank you.”
I nod in acknowledgment. We both fall silent until my curiosity gets the better of me. “Why did you do it? If you don’t remember me, why did you jump in front of a fucking bullet for me?” I ask through clenched teeth.
Not the least bit intimated by my ire, she puffs out her cheeks adorably and lets out a heavy sigh. “I don’t really know. Maybe … instinct? No, not instinct,” she corrects. “More like protectiveness. Like something deep inside me drove me to protect you. Like … we were connected,” she whispers the last part more to herself, but I hear her loud and clear, and I can no longer keep mydistance.
I walk up to the edge of the bed and gather her hands in mine. “We are connected, Greta. We were…” I pause with the wordsin lovehovering on my lips. I’m desperate to remind her how we had fallen for each other but remembering all the shit I have to tell her first, I alter the truth slightly, “together. Our beginning was not conventional or ideal––It was fucked up,actually.”
Her eyes galvanize into a metallic blue, and her beautiful face turns stern. “Tell me everything.”
So again, I do something I’ve never done before meetingmia perla. I obey. I go all the way back to the beginning. I tell her about her great-grandmother and grandmother, how they “owed” the Calvanos, and how I collected on that debt. I nearly crush the bed railing in my hand when I tell her about the punishments and the assault my father permitted against my orders. As I recall the events of our life together, I want to tear my father limb from limb while shredding the flesh from my bones for not protecting her. For giving into my family’s need for revenge––no matter how much I stand to inherit upon mine and Greta’smarriage.
Greta’s expression volleys from stoic to rage, to disgust, and everything in between as I continue to tell her our story. My voice is steady and unfeeling. Only when I tell her the reason behind her running from me do I let myself show any emotion.
Sorrow, helplessness. Rage.
“You left and put yourself at risk because you didn’t have the fucking patience to wait for me to come home and explain!” I seethe and lean into her personal space. “Because you didn’t fuckingtrustme.”
Her hands launch forward, and she shoves me harder than I would expect for someone with a bullet wound in her shoulder and without so much as a wince. “What the hell did you expect?!” she barks. “After what you just told me, you’re lucky I didn’t cut your balls off and feed them toRooster.”
With a growl, I stand, grip the roots of my overgrown hair, and drop my head back, praying for patience. Because fuck if she wasn’t right, but it didn’t stop the anger at her betrayal from burning molten hot inmy chest.
I drop my head and place my hands on my hips to hide the shaking. “You’re right. I told you that our beginning was fucked up––”
“Pfft, you think?” she interrupts, and I’m back in her face, but this time I catch her hands when she moves to shove me again. Gripping both wrists in one of mine, I bring the other to her cheek, where I stroke her soft skin in an attempt to soothe the savage beast inside her.
“Despite it all, and no matter how much we fought against it, we felt something for each other. I never pretended to be a good man, Greta. I’m not a knight in shining armor. I’m a man with immense power that I yield with a fair hand but an iron fist. I’m the assassin with a mark. I’m the monster in the shadows.” I bring her hands to my lips to lay feather-soft kisses on her fingertips. “But I’myourmonster,mia perla. I’m the man who will steal, kill, torture, and die for you, and a part of you knows that. That’s why you were pulled to protect me. You knew I would do the same for you. You knew we were meant to betogether.”
Her face remains stern, but her eyes glisten with knowing. Only her pride won’t let heracquiesce.
“How do I know everything you told me is true? How do I know we … cared for one another?” She lifts her chin inchallenge.
I drop my hand from her cheek to place it over her heart. “Because you feel it too, but you don’t want to give in to it because it will mean you want something that others would run screaming from. But that’s the thing,mia perla: with me, you don’t have to run from who you are and what you desire. I’ve seen all of you,” I bring my lips a hairsbreadth from hers, “and I’ve never wanted anything more in my life,” I finish, then slam my lips to hers, hard and hungry. She’s stiff and unyielding for seconds before her lips go soft, and she devours my mouth with a ferocity that tells me I’m not off the hook. A point punctuated by the sting of her bite and the taste of blood on my lips. I smile around her savagery and speak against her lips. “Duly noted,mia perla.”
16
Greta
I’m insane!
I have to be for agreeing to stay in Italy. Right? Especially after everything Emiliano unloaded on me at the hospital. Yet I believed every word he spoke, much to my chagrin. With every word he spoke, my mind flashed with images moving too fast for me to see fully, but the emotions that came with them were all too real. I felt the anger, fear, anxiety, and deep affection he spoke about.
So being the curious idiot I am, I agreed to stay not just in Italy, but inhishomein Olbia. My sisters were naturally wary of my decision, but again Addie made the point that it was my decision. After Emiliano handed me my phone and swore that I would always have access to it, Miriam eventually gave in and retractedher claws.
Unfortunately, neither one could spare any more time away. My nephew had doctor’s appointments back home, and my sisters had to return to work. My heart sank at their impending departure, then warmed at Emiliano’s offer to pay for their lost wages and have Dean seen by one of the best pediatricians on the island. Both sisters, even Miriam––although begrudgingly––thanked him but declined his offer.
Xander promised to get them safely back to Texas, but not without making triple sure I was good with staying, and only after his brief but heated conversation withEmiliano.
Soon after, I was fitted with a sling and discharged. The quick plane ride over the Tyrrhenian Sea was breathtaking, but as we drive down the village streets of Olbia, the welcoming waves and shouts of “welcome home” were what had me in awe. By his own admission, Emiliano was a criminal––a murderer––yet the people seem to love him. Of course, to this day, Pablo Escobar is still revered as a modern-day Robin Hood, even after bringing his own city to destruction. And I suspect Emiliano uses the same tactic Escobar did.
“You take care of them,” I mumble, focusing on the people shouting and waving as we pass.
“I ensure they live in relative peace and security by providing funds to the city to maintain the buildings and homes and economic support for those struggling to put food on their table,” he answers robotically.
I roll my eyes. “In other words, you take care of them, so they keep your dirty little secrets.” I’m not sure why I’m being snarky with him, and when he doesn’t snap back, I feel like a bitch. “Sorry. It’s just a lot––”
“Don’t apologize. You’re partly right. However, I do care for the people under my protection,” he says earnestly, and I’m inclined to believe him.
Suddenly, Rooster stirs next to me and starts whining and staring out the window. “What’s wrong, baby?”
