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His brows rose. “You want the security of having his heir with you.”
“Only if it’s safe,” I said. “But yes, it will help to have his sons here.”
It was archaic, but true. Marco was a teenager now and his presence mattered in Lucien’s absence. I was the queen mother and if I had to rule through Marco until my husband returned, I was willing and ready to do so.
My fists tightened.
Somehow, he’d prepared me for this.
Without either of us realizing it.
I straightened my spine. My chin lifted. My shoulders dropped.
“Go eliminate Mezzasalma’s soldiers,” I said. “And find my husband or I will burn everything to the ground until I find him myself.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
LUCIEN
A pale light burned on the other side of my eyelids. My body was stiff beneath cool sheets and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic. I shifted, rolling my head to the side. The stubble on my jaw scratched irritatingly against the pillowcase underneath.
I peeled open my eyes and blinked hard. My vision swam, blurred and sensitive to the light pouring in from somewhere to my right.
“He’s awake!”
The voice sounded like a boy. I flipped my head and forced my eyes to come into focus. There was a teenage boy about Marco’s age standing by the door, hopping from one foot to the other like he was on fire. He had a pair of the palest, ice blue eyes I’d ever seen and a shock of light brown hair fell over his forehead. There was something familiar about him.
“Who—where am I?” I rasped.
“Dad found you,” he burst out. “Everyone said you were dead, but dad went into the river. He knows about boats. He took one and went out and dove in and found you on a rock.”
I stared at him, my brain unable to process his words.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Porter,” he said. “Dad’s not here, he took the boat out.”
Pain streaked down my back and through my lower abdomen. The muscles by my hip bone throbbed. Wincing, gritting my teeth, I pulled myself up against the pillow.
“Do you have a mother?” I breathed.
He nodded. “Want me to go get her?”
“Please,” I managed.
He whirled and his footsteps pattered away. I let my head fall back and took in the room. It was plain with white walls and a marbled floor. The large window was open with a view of the river winding through the hills. So I was still in New York then, I knew that sight anywhere.
I glanced down at the sheet and knit blanket pooled in my lap. My torso was bare and there was faint bruising down my chest and upper stomach. I followed it with my eyes to where a bandage rose up to cover my hip bone and the flesh around it. The skin around it was traumatized, blue, purple, yellow, and puffy.
Fuck, I looked like raw meat. Pulverized and discolored.
Teeth gritted, I touched it lightly and pain shot up and splintered through my chest.
The memories flooded back.
Someone had shot me.
A low shudder spilled from my lungs. I remembered falling, twisting through air. Pain so white hot I barely felt it shock through my body. I’d hit the water spread out and my body had spattered against the surface like it was stone. I must have lost consciousness right then.
