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The Marchetti brothers seem to stand down in unison, their fighting stances relaxing in surprise.
“You’re father’s a different story,” I growl, looking down at Silvia to cup the cheek he’d struck. “I wanted to rip his heart out that night,” I murmur just for her.
Her eyes soften, a hint of sadness pooling in their depths.
“But I knew you wouldn’t want that,” I add.
Silvia’s hand covers mine, holding it firmly against her soft skin. “Thisis what I want. A life with you and our baby.”
Warmth radiates from me, and I lower my hand to cover her stomach. It’s still flat and firm. I don’t know when she’s supposed to start showing, but sudden excitement bursts to life in my chest. I can’t wait to find out.
“It seems like your mother is about as fucked as our father,” Cassio observes dryly.
I turn to meet his eye, and the scar on his cheek catches the light, reminding me that it was my mother’s doing. Cassio, out of all the Marchettis, should understand just how ruthless she can get.
“I’ll be taking over the Veles Bratva once I graduate from Rosehill,” I state openly.
Nicolo nods. “I think we can manage peace until then. And maybe after that, we could even find a true alliance.”
“I’d like that.”
“Now that you boys have determined no one needs to die today, I would like to get you taken care of,” Silvia states.
“I think that sounds like a good plan,” I agree. Then I shift my gaze back to Nicolo. “Are we good?”
“Yeah, man. As long as you treat my sister right, we’ll be fine.”
“I get it,” I state. “I’d probably do the same thing you did to anyone who thought they could put their hands on my sister.”
“Pyotr might get it, butIwon’t be letting you off the hook so easily,” Silvia says, glaring at her brothers individually. “I’ll deal with you later.”
Amusement curls her brothers’ lips ever so slightly, but they seem to know better than to say anything. Then Cassio and Lucca step toward me, each taking an arm to help me out to the car.
37
SILVIA
Lonnie takes me and Pyotr back to Pyotr’s penthouse, which is just a few blocks down from Nicolo’s penthouse condo. I help my wounded Russian fiancé into the elevator.
“You’re a wreck,” I observe as I keep my arm wrapped securely around his waist. I pluck at the shredded T-shirt hanging from his body to prove my point.
“I just hate that I’m bleeding all over you.” He cringes as his eyes shift to my cream-colored sweater that’s starting to look more like a Rorschach test.
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I would sacrifice any number of sweaters to ensure your safety,” I add as the elevator doors ping open. “I wish you would have let me take you to the hospital.”
“I don’t need a doctor. You can patch me up just fine,” he states as I help him hobble into his spacious entry. “Besides, we have things to discuss.”
My heart stutters. I’m sure he’s referring to my pregnancy. But I don’t delve right in. Instead, I keep the mood light. “You do know I’m not a nurse, right?” I fuss.
Pyotr chuckles. “Well then, maybe you can just paint me all better.”
I giggle. “If only it were that easy.”
We take our time getting through his bedroom and into his bathroom.
“Shower?” I suggest, looking at the insurmountable amount of blood caked in his hair and on his skin.
“Definitely,” he agrees.
