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The second one busts his lips, and the third the teeth he tries to protect by keeping his mouth closed.
Harder and harder, I pummel him until his head slumps, and he can no longer see. “That was just the start for Isabella.” I feel her without seeing her. I turn, and the bright blue eyes from her battered face connect with mine.
“Isabella…”
My chest pounds hard, not from remorse for what I’ve done to De Rosa as his sons and family watch, not from any fear that they will retaliate, but that she’s seen me for what I truly am. We may be infamously loved by those we protect, those in need that our washed dollars support, but only our enemies know what monsters we can be, and now, so does she.
But Isabella is making her own rules.
My fearless beauty walks to me, then takes my hand as she closes the distance between herself and De Rosa. She takes a good long look at the man whose hands are still in bandages from the fingers he lost at the hands of Salvatore, at the battered face that he’s received from me. What she doesn’t see under that shirt and dress suit is the letter L carved into his chest. A sign to our enemies and everyone alike that he crossed a Larussio. A wound too fresh from the last encounter with our family to have healed.
I tear open his shirt for her and all to see. If Isabella is so intent on seeing how we deal with enemies who hurt our loved ones, then she should see it. Only then can she decide if she can accept the man that I truly am, or not, because love alone is not always enough.
She draws in a breath and doesn’t say a word. Isabella just stares at the letter L, probably envisioning the pain and anguish that it caused, and turns away. She looks up at me with tears in her eyes, and my chest tightens with fear that seeing this may have just been too much for her kindhearted soul to take.
Avenging her may have just cost me the only woman I’ve ever loved, and she hasn’t even seen the carnage or blood that will spill after we walk out this door and watch as our capos and soldiers torch the restaurant as a reminder to our enemies that you do not fuck with a Larussio.
Chapter32
Isabella
Lorenzo stands watching me,his hands bloody, his white shirt, face, and neck covered in the enemy’s blood. All done for me…
A consigliere does not get into the trenches with the capos and soldiers. He, along with the boss and underboss, are to watch and get updates from afar. A ritual that ensures they have complete and undeniable plausibility.
Yet, he gave the safety of that position up in front of all of these people. He showed them what I mean to him, what he will do to any man who touches what belongs to him. And I do belong to Lorenzo, of that there is no doubt.
Mind, body, and soul belong to this strong man who loves me and would do anything to keep me safe and protected and avenged when wronged. I walk into his arms, and he absorbs me with his strength, the power of his embrace locking tightly around me as he guides me from the room, still overcome and teary eyed from the love that he has for me.
The members of the De Rosa family sit stoically watching. The women stare at me with cold dark eyes, and the men’s hearts are no doubt filled with thoughts of their own revenge for the atrocities to their beloved leader.
Matteo gives me a nod, a small gesture, but one that speaks volumes about how he feels. I don’t know why acceptance by him is so important, but after what he said to me, it is. He stands in front of a woman with long dark hair and blazing eyes, who thrashes around, attempting to hold her still while the others are controlled at the mere sight of the guns pointed at their heads.
She glares at us with hatred as we pass, but Matteo seems to have everything well in control. Lorenzo grabs his jacket and guides me outside into the night with soldiers surrounding us until we are safely in the car. Lorenzo doesn’t relinquish me to a seat belt but holds me tight and protected in the strength of his arms instead. “Back to the Larussio,” he tells Darryl.
“Got it, boss.” He hands Lorenzo a box of wipes from the glove box before pulling away from the restaurant and heading back to the other side of town. Only when we reach The Larussio does Lorenzo shift me so that he can wipe the blood from himself and then he buttons his jacket before assisting me out of the vehicle.
He keeps me snuggled into his side, and I nuzzle into his protection, the mass of my hair keeping my injuries covered from anyone who may look too hard as we walk to the private elevators. Another guard stands right outside the doors when they open. “Any word on Bruno?” he asks Lorenzo.
Lorenzo glances at his phone. “A message just came through a few minutes ago. He’s in recovery, doing well, and will be taken to ICU afterward.”
The guard nods. “Good to hear. I’ll spread the word,” he says as Lorenzo walks with me into the penthouse that not that long ago was thought to be safe and impenetrable. The minute he shuts the door, he scoops me into his arms. “I’m going to get you into bed and have Doc come and take care of you,” he says, sitting me on the bed and slowly peeling my clothes.
He wraps the blanket around me and goes to the dresser and pulls a nightgown from its drawer. “You brought more of my clothes?” I ask.
He nods. “I’ve had all of your clothes moved here, Isabella.”
“Because it’s not safe.”
His eyes narrow, and he kisses me lightly on a sore lip. “Hold up your arms, love.”
I raise them up, and he places the nightgown over my head and pulls it down. “Slide in,” he says, pulling back the rest of the bedding and assisting me to get in because as much as I’ve tried to get through it, my shoulder still burns like fire. He covers me with the patterned quilt before standing.
Lorenzo undresses in front of me, shedding his jacket and blood-splattered shirt, changing into a t-shirt and jeans before there’s a knock on the door. “I’ll be right back,” he says, walking out the door and closing it behind him.
I hear them talking in the other room, but barely. Their words are a blur as the pain in my face and behind my eyes continues to throb. A few moments later a woman sporting a blonde ponytail and a Larussio uniform walks through the door. “I’m Adrianna. They call me Doc,” she says, smiling down at me.
“Is that because you’re a doctor?” I ask.
