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Bloodshed and backstabbing I could do. House politics? That was the taxing variety of bullshit I avoided at all costs.
Working on the accounts only built my need to tear the world apart. And an old enemy decided to make an appearance, though at least this time the Irish weren’t shooting up my home. Ignoring the lesser Hennie brother who insisted on visiting my doorstep no less than three times only to be turned away, left my heart churning with the need to avenge fucking something.
I need to shoot someone.
No, that isn’t enough.
I need to maim.
The knife Willow and I made bloodied art with sits beneath her plate on the tray Luca left me, the blade freshly honed. Beside it is a small tube of arnica, perfect for the trail of bruises I left on her perfect body.
That man always knows.
Luca has a history of his own. I never delved into his past any more than what Dom agreed I should know. I wonder if the time hasn’t come to have a more in-depth conversation with the man who gave my woman the confidence to learn a new form of art alongside me.
Pushing open the door to my bedroom all the way and closing it softly with my foot, I stare at the figure of my wife, still in the dress she traveled in, sleeping with her back to me. Swearing in my head so I don’t wake her, remorse hits me in a day’s worth of dosage hours too late.
I place the tray carefully on my bedside table, shedding my shoes and my shirt, leaving me in my charcoal slacks. The bed dips under my weight but Willow doesn’t stir, even as I turn her gently and place my hand to the pulse at her throat.
For a heart-stopping moment, I can’t find the fucking thing. Then her regular rhythm meets my fingertips and I gather her into my arms, my fear of losing her overwhelming my need not to wake her. Her body is so light, and I know she’s lost weight. Between my obsession to fulfill her fantasies, my father’s funeral, and the trips, I have neglected to ensure she eats.
Another failing to mark against my name for those I protect.
I can’t help but wonder who the next casualty will be.
“Rafe,” she whispers, nuzzling my chest in her dozy way as she wakes. She grasps for my shirt, but my skin is hot under her palms still warm from her slumber. Her tongue flickers out, licking at my throat as I bury my face in her hair.
“Are you all right?” Her soft question tears at my heart.
“I failed you.”
I kiss the top of her head, working my way along her throat. I could fuck us both into oblivion, but it’s time to face what I’ve avoided these long days since my father breathed his last.
“It’s okay,” she breathes, though we both recognize the lie, even if neither of us acknowledges it.
It’s time to heal, and I know it’s going to fucking well hurt.
Despite everything, Willow winds her arms around me acceptingly. Her hands stroke along my back in long, soothing motions.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper hoarsely.
“Maybe we deserve each other,” she whispers back. “Two broken fucked-up souls intertwining and tearing each other apart.”
My arms close fiercely around her too-slim frame. Luca is right, she needs to eat. Hell, I spanked her, and I probably bruised her with my wrath. My sister lied to me, and Willow protected her. Didn’t I need that on some front? That my wife has my back, makes the best decisions for us when I’m not there to forge my own path? I trust her, despite everything, I do, to have my back. To do what is right for us, for our family.
For the Gallos. But I need to remember that she is more than just a Gallo, she is and will always be a Hernandez as well. I need to meet those needs as well.
And somewhere along the line, I lost my father, avoided feeling anything for the man who raised me. The man, the father figure I hated and fought against for over half my life, who taught me the life we live now. How to rule, be a brother, be a king.
A husband.
Armand would be horrified with the way I treat Willow. He loved her, worshipped the ground she walked on. I have done nothing but strip her of who she is, forcing her into a mold of my own making she’s rebelled against at every chance.
I’m sorry.
You’re right.
I love you.
