Chapter Thirteen #3
“Oh shit! Are you okay?” He slides down and opens a couple of buttons to check the injury.
I nod. “You're the one who did something very stupid and reckless when you left.” It made me hate-love him even more.
“My regret mode is on.” He grabs a towel from one of the chairs and then pushes it over my wound. I hiss.
“But I did it because—”
“Don’t say a word,” I interrupt him.
“How about two?” The cheeky brat counters.
I slap his ass and then squeeze. “I’m going to ram this hole so hard you’ll get so addicted you won’t be able to live one day without it—as soon as your back heals.”
“Stop, Luca. Do you want to give me a joy-related heart attack?”
No. But I want to find out how to make him listen to me.
Seb’s voice suddenly reaches my ears. “Should we give them some privacy?”
“I feel like a peeping Tom,” River, Fly’s brother, adds.
“Shhh. I can’t hear anything, bunny.” Akira, his husband, tsks.
I finally turn toward them just as Marco starts clapping.
“Enjoying the show?” Art winks at them.
“The corpses littering the place kind of ruin the atmosphere,” Akira has the gall to say, chewing loudly on his gum.
But he isn’t wrong, my mood is ruined. “Everything taken care of?”
“Yes. The Enzinos are all dead except…” Marco doesn’t finish the sentence, he doesn’t need to.
“I’ll get the real Scarface soon,” I growl.
“Coretti?” Art asks.
“Dead, but actually, your bride-not-to-be wants to talk to you.”
I tense, hearing Akira’s teasing words. Even more when a cloud of white lace and chiffon comes barreling toward us. She screams Art’s name and slides between us to hug him.
“Aurora, I’m totally fine!” he tells her. Since her arms are around his neck, not touching his injured back.
“I know!” she replies, not letting him go.
“Then why are you squeezing me like a stress ball?” Art gasps out.
“Because when your brother turned all stabby and killed my father, I thought you were going to be next.” She finally pulls back. “So, happy tears.”
That her father is dead? She turns and kicks Mario’s corpse three times before looking at Art again, turning her murdering expression into a bright grin.
“You fucking killed him. Kudos to you, my friend.”
“Luca did.” He points at me. “But I helped.”
“Oh, the kidnapper-slash-groom stealer.” She glances at me for a moment. “About the wedding,” she starts.
I drag Art against my chest, wrapping an arm around him, ready to clear the air, but Art beats me to it.
“Aurora, I can’t marry you because…I want his babies.” He pats my chest.
I snort—hearing a loud cheer and a few disgusted/confused grunts from the group still standing near the threshold.
“We are on the same page then. I have my baby father waiting for me, as well.” Aurora sighs. “What a mess.” She looks outside the room.
“Nothing you can’t help clean up, Donna Aurora.” Art smiles at her.
She seems to ponder it. “I like the sound of that.”
“Why don’t you let my men take you home, and we can meet tomorrow?” Seb asks her.
“Okay, let’s do the day after tomorrow, though.” She’s already showing her claws to Seb.
The lingering kiss she gives Art on the cheek makes me growl. “I’ll call you,” she whispers, winking at me before leaving.
He spins around to face me. “Your jealousy is hot.”
“You know what they say about close proximity to the fire and burns.” I cup his head. “You need to understand the notion that you are mine.”
He laughs happily, the little demon. “That word is profoundly foreign to me. I like hearing it from you.”
Fuck.
Before I can respond, Seb states, “It’s quite remarkable.” He’s the only one left near the door.
“What is?” I ask him.
“You have an innate candid nature that can’t be tainted no matter how much filth is thrown at you.” Pretty sure he’s talking to Art.
He clears his throat. “Oh, thank you.”
Seb tilts his head and then leaves, followed by his men.
“Does it mean he likes me?” Art whispers from the corner of his mouth.
I’m about to reply when I notice the chain around his neck. It looks just like… I hook my finger under it and gently pull out the familiar Saint Michael’s pendant. My pendant. I didn’t even realize it was gone, since I’ve been at Seb’s the last two nights.
“I would have given it back. I just wanted to fix it,” Art hastily explains, something moves behind his eyes. I’ve never seen him embarrassed before. Flushed cheeks and fumbling hands. He starts pulling it off, but I halt his fingers with mine.
“It looks good on you, just like my marks do.” I kiss the pendant, sending a prayer to my parents. One filled with love and peace.
“Your vengeance is mine now, along with everything else,” he whispers, touching the pendent with his lips before pushing himself on his tiptoes and kissing my chin.
His words hit deep, so deep they become part of me. His eyes are tight and crusty, his face splotchy, and his nose bright red. But he’s gazing up at me with sincere adoration, his fingers brushing over my chest.
“I hate-love all of you, to your bones and soul,” I rumble, tightening my grip on his nape.
“Can you say that one more time? I need to record it and use it as my ringtone. Where’s my phone?” He looks around ridiculously.
I seal our mouths together until after long minutes he pulls back and looks down at our fingers intertwined over my heart.
My forehead drops on his, and I breathe in his scent. My sunshine and apple, my sole mio.
“Are you okay?” I ask a few minutes later as we finally start leaving the dressing room.
My palm brushes across his. I wrap my fingers firmly around his. His skin is so soft against mine.
“I’ll be okay after a doctor checks you out.” He seems adamant about it. “But I’m famished.”
Of course he is. I produce a small pack of plain cookies out of my jacket; they’re a little crushed, but Art doesn’t seem to care. He tilts the open pack over his mouth, letting three small cookies fall in, and then starts chewing them like a fucking squirrel.
“How about going back home in a helicopter, sole mio?”
His eyes widen with brightness.
“In a bird crusher? Hell yes,” he exclaims.
We really fucking need to revisit this whole winged-rat revolution thing.