Chapter Twelve #3
Still, a blooming warmth starts enveloping me from my chest, and I sink into it.
I cling to the thumps of my heart as I let myself recall his face.
His satisfied smirk, the cold anger in his eyes, his palms caressing me, his body holding mine, the twinge in my ass after meeting his national treasure.
Like a broken film reel, my memories come to me in fragments, and I hang on tightly to those brief images.
I keep myself under with no intention of resurfacing. I let them fill every cell of my body.
I don’t need the warmth of the sun anymore. I have my own.
Wedding days are supposed to be joyful. I just wish it were gone already.
Brenda, the wedding planner, reminds me again that I have thirty minutes before the ceremony starts.
I wave her off. With a sharp nod and a swish of her ponytail, she leaves.
She notices the two guards outside the room, but only gives me a small smile before she closes the door.
It’s the mix of self-preservation and not giving a damn that I usually see in people dealing with my family.
I look out of the window and see a few birds hanging on one of the trees in the back garden. I can’t seem to find a fuck to give. They can beak-stab me and eat my carcass for all I care.
My back is still healing, and even after two painkillers, I feel the sting every time I move.
I grit my teeth as I try to erase Mario’s satisfied face, looking down at me, all bloody on the office floor.
My hand curls around the table edge. I feel exhausted.
The cuts on my back are not the only reason for my lack of sleep.
I miss being held against the heat of Luca’s body.
Unbelievable, right? I hated it so much at first, and now the single bed I’ve been lying on the last two nights seems too big for me. Too cold.
My eyes fall on the fruit plate on the table.
Pineapple, melon, grape, strawberry, all sliced and placed in a circular shape.
I wish there were apples too. I haven’t been able to eat much since I left the condo.
I’m forcing myself just enough to keep my hypoglycemia at bay and not faint near the altar.
I grab a grape between my fingers and place it in my mouth.
Another wave of misery rises inside my chest.
He didn’t come.
One day and a half have passed, and nothing. Not even a…smoke signal. I want my kidnapper to take me again, ironic. Ridiculous. Pathetic.
I should be thinking about my plan. This wedding could be a great source of information with all the mobsters present and the booze to loosen their tongues. I also need to find a way to get rid of Mario. But the only thing taking space in my mind is that stupid wacko.
Idiota! He is the idiot. Because I miss him. Because I don’t want to live without him. Because my body is his if he just fucking claims it.
“Why does Arturo Enzino keep doing this to himself? Is self-emotional harm something he enjoys?”
Ugh. Fuck off!
In an hour I’ll be married to Aurora. I really need to focus on my next steps. I turn to the full-length mirror as I finish buttoning my white shirt up. My face looks drained, pale and sunken, eyes red after all the crying. The makeup covered the old and new bruises, but it couldn’t do miracles.
A thud outside the door, followed by another, makes me freeze. Then I jump at the sound of shooting from somewhere in the wedding venue. The sound of the door opening forces a gasp out of my mouth. Am I having a hallucination?
Luca. He came!
The uncontainable happiness bursting inside my chest is abruptly forced down by my next thought. Why? Why is he here, holding a gun? Why are his hands covered in blood? His eyes are sliding up and down my body, and the blank expression on his face doesn’t show any emotion.
My eyes fall on the two guards’ bodies, motionless on the floor behind him.
Then they dart to his red tie at half-mast as if he’s been tugging at it, or maybe someone pulled it before he killed them.
Is he here to kill me? No one has ever come for me.
No one has ever treated me like I was worth saving.
I take a couple of steps back, putting the table between us as he pushes the door closed and just stands there. All intimidating power and sexy masculinity, I’m drinking everything in. He’s staring so intensely at me that it feels like he’s making direct eye contact from inside my face.
I feel shaken, my body, my mind, my soul. Uncertainty, hope, and anger are dueling inside me. I want to run to him so badly, but the fact that I don’t know if I’m allowed to is killing me.
“Are you here to—”
“You cried…”
We talk at the same time, but in his tone, there’s something foreign. Worry? I must be wrong.
“Are you going to use that?” I point at the gun still in his hand. “On-on me?” My voice trembles.
His eyes suddenly harden as he sheaths the pistol. “No.”
Relief doesn’t submerge me completely, though.
“Can you elaborate?” I grab the back of the chair with both hands as he uses his pocket square to clean the blood off his fingers. “Is it a no-more-bullets situation or my death is not in your agenda…for today?”
I see him fisting his hands. “Never in my agenda.”
I draw a tremulous breath—it still feels hard to breathe—then purse my lips.
“Can I offer you something? Fruit? Champagne? A swift kick in the dick?”
He grunts. I’m still angry at him. Still don’t know why he is here. I hear more firing in the distance. It makes me shiver.
“What is going on out there?”
He croaks out a rough, “We need to go.”
“Go where?” I swallow hard.
“The fuck do you think?” he clips, making me take another step back.
In three log strides, he cuts the distance between us. “Wrong direction. You’re not running from me again.”
“Running from you?” I snap. “Are you nuts, you wacko? You kidnapped me! What else was I supposed to do? I even left a note.” I punch his hard chest.
He growls, and lands one of his big paws on my shoulder. It makes me wince and jerk back as his fingers touch the injured skin on my back. He frowns, his eyes turn into slits, before he starts pulling on the back collar of my shirt enough to see the bloody bandages.
“Stop. I said stop!” I try to grab his arm, but it’s too late. He has seen them. His body turns stiff all at once as an enraged roar leaves his lips.
“I’m going to rip his hands off and feed them to him before cutting his throat!” Luca hisses venomously.
Even though the picture he painted is gory and disturbing, a ray of warmth showers my heart.
I always believed his rage toward my family was justified.
But seeing that same fury unleashed on my behalf is invigorating and heartbreaking all at once.
It fills me with hope. It’s everything I’ve ever longed for—someone strong enough to stand by my side. Fiercely, unequivocally in my corner.
“I’m-I’m okay.” I try to placate him a little.
“No, you aren’t, sole mio,” he whispers, voice shaking with fury.
Sole mio…my sun? Did I hear him right?
“Did he do this because of me?” he asks, clenching his jaw.
Does he feel guilty? He wasn’t the one carving my skin with a knife. He never did, even though he actually could. He hated me with real vengeance, and still didn’t torture me.
I shake my head, wanting to explain to him, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity. “He is sick—”
“Why the fuck are you trying to find excuses for that piece of shit?” he cuts me off.
“That’s not what I am doing!” I stomp an irritated foot on the ground.
“I’m going to kill him. He can’t treat you like shit. That’s…my role,” he shamelessly states, making my mouth drop.
“Wha…do you think you hold the rights to my hellish life? Like some sort of demon?” I ask incredulously.
“If a demon is the only one who is going to fuck with you, yeah. I hold the shit out of those rights. They were signed with blood, mine and yours,” he hisses as if that makes any sense. But it actually does.
He gets even closer to me, all brimming with rage as his possessive fingers run through my hair and stop on my nape.
“The fucked-up part? I want, and will protect you from everyone else,” he whispers softly, but his words land heavily on my heart, pushing everything out like an unstoppable flood.