Chapter 40 Natalia
NATALIA
“I want the fuck out of here. I’ve been in this damned hospital bed too long.”
Luca scowls at the ceiling as I wedge his pillow more carefully behind his back and then fuss with the angle again because he’s acting like a giant impossible toddler.
And also because if I don’t keep my hands busy, I might start thinking too hard about how much blood was on him the night we found him.
“It’s been three days,” I tell him. “That’s not too long. That’s barely any time at all.”
“It’s at least a year in hospital time.”
I smooth the blanket over his legs even though it doesn’t need smoothing. “The doctor said you’ll probably be released tomorrow.”
“Probably,” he repeats darkly, like the word has somehow wronged him.
I sit back down in the chair beside his bed, trying not to smile too much because Luca in a bad mood is still, somehow, unfairly attractive.
He has one shoulder strapped up in a sling, bruises blooming across half his body, and enough swelling left in his face to make him look dangerous even while he’s pouting.
Which, to be clear, he is.
When I first saw him in that warehouse, I was horrified. He was tied to a chair, bloodied and swollen, his face so badly beaten that for one awful second I barely recognized him. Even now, three days later, I’m not sure the panic of that moment has fully left me.
“Soooo,” I say, drawing the word out on purpose, “is there anything else His Royal Highness requires? More water? Another pillow adjustment? More of that lovely ointment for your eye?”
Luca turns his head and narrows his gaze at me. It’s a much more symmetrical movement now, which feels like progress.
“That ointment smells like shit.”
I laugh softly. “I’m glad that surviving near-death hasn’t dulled your poetic instincts.”
“It made them sharper.”
The curtain rustles before I can answer.
“Knock, knock,” Dario says, pushing it aside and stepping into the room.
He looks far too put together for someone who spent the last three days helping clean up a war.
That same controlled, dangerous energy that always seems to radiate off the Andretti men like heat off blacktop in summer.
But there’s something easier in his face when he looks at Luca now.
Relief, maybe. The kind none of them would ever say out loud.
“Hey, bro,” Luca says. “Please tell me you’re here to bust me out.”
“Tempting.” Dario comes farther into the room, then flicks a glance at me before looking back at Luca. “But that’s above my paygrade.”
Luca groans. “Unbelievable. Nobody in this family seems bothered that I’m being held against my will.”
Dario ignores that. “I came with an update.”
The easy mood in the room vanishes so fast it almost makes me dizzy as all my muscles clench.
Luca notices. Of course he does.
His good hand reaches for mine immediately, his fingers curling around my wrist and then sliding down until our palms fit together.
Dario’s eyes drop to that for half a second, but if he has any thoughts about it, he keeps them to himself.
“We got the shipment,” Dario says.
Luca’s eyebrows rise. “The Restrepo weapons?”
“Intercepted two nights ago.”
His expression sharpens. “And?”
“As far as Restrepo’s concerned, they sent the weapons and got burned for it.” Dario slides one hand into his pocket. “Anton’s dead. Nikolai’s dead. And the bride they were promised is gone.”
For a second, I just stare at him, the meaning arriving in pieces.
“So what happens now?” I ask, and my voice comes out thinner than I want it to.
Dario shrugs, one shoulder lifting. “They want blood. But there’s nobody left who can fix that deal or pay them back.” He pauses. “So they’re tearing through what’s left of the Bratva themselves. Soldiers, associates, runners, anybody still tied to your father’s operation. We’re letting them.”
I sit with that for a moment.
“By the time Restrepo is done,” Dario continues, “the Bratva won’t have a foothold left in this city.”
Luca lets out a low whistle. “That’s cold.”
“That’s efficient.” Dario’s mouth twitches. “Why waste our guys cleaning up when the Colombians want to do it for us?”
I look down at our joined hands.
My father’s men. Men I grew up around. Men whose voices filled hallways and doorways and long dinners where I learned, very early, how to keep my face smooth and my mouth shut. Men who called me sweetheart and princess while they built a life around me that felt more and more like a locked room.
I wait for the grief to come.
For guilt. Horror. Some ugly, heavy thing to rise up and remind me that this was still blood, still history, still the world that made me.
But there’s only this strange looseness in my chest.
Not emptiness. Not numbness.
Relief.
“There’s no one coming for me,” I say. It’s not quite a question.
Dario meets my eyes. “No. The deal died with your father. Restrepo isn’t looking for you. There’s no one left to deliver you, and no one coming to collect.”
The words sink into me like stones dropping into water.
No deal. No arrangement. No cage.
I wait for it to feel more complicated than this. For the grief to hit, or the anger, or some tangled mess of emotions that I’ll have to spend years unpacking.
It doesn’t come.
All I feel is light.
“You okay?” Luca’s voice pulls me back. He’s watching me with that look he gets sometimes, like he can see straight through to the parts of me I try to keep hidden.
“Yes.” I blink, surprised to find my eyes stinging. “I just... I didn’t really have a family. Not in any way that mattered.” I swallow hard. “So this doesn’t feel like losing something. It feels like...”
“Freedom,” Luca finishes.
“That, yes.” The words crack slightly. “It feels like freedom.”
Dario clears his throat, then looks at Luca. “I’m going to head out. Try not to start a fistfight with any nurses before tomorrow.”
“No promises.”
He nods to me before slipping out, pulling the curtain closed behind him. A moment later, I hear the glass door click shut too.
Quiet settles over the room. Just the monitors beeping and the distant sounds of the hospital beyond the walls.
Luca gives my hand a small tug. It’s all the invitation I need. Before I can think better of it, I climb carefully onto the bed beside him, mindful of his shoulder, his ribs, all the places still mending.
“Hey.” His arm curves around me, pulling me into his side. “Come here.”
I rest my head on his chest, right over his heartbeat. Steady. Strong. Alive.
“Are you really okay?” he asks, his voice low. His fingers card through my hair, gentle and unhurried.
I think about it. Really think.
My father murdered my mother and let me believe I killed her for twenty-three years. My brother hurt me whenever he felt like it. I was raised in a house where love didn’t exist and obedience was survival.
And now they’re all dead.
“I am,” I say. “I know that probably sounds messed up. They were my family. I should feel something.”
“Should is a bullshit word.”
A laugh escapes me, wet and shaky. “Yeah. It really is.”
“But really, though.” His voice is rough and matter-of-fact. “Why should you?”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Why should you be sad?” His hand stays in my hair, steady and warm. “Because they shared your blood? Because the men who terrorized you are dead and you think that’s supposed to break your heart?”
My throat burns.
“Your father sold pieces of you every chance he got and used Anna to keep you in line. Your brother put his hands on you.” His fingers curl against my scalp. “That’s not family.”
I can’t speak.
“If you’re sad,” he says, quieter now, “be sad for the girl who kept waiting for them to become something else. But don’t sit here and think you owe those bastards grief because you don’t.”
A hot pressure starts behind my eyes.
He’s right. He’s so completely right that it aches.
“How do you do that?” I whisper.
“Do what?”
“Know what to say when I don’t even know what I’m feeling yet?”
“Superpower.” I can hear the grin in his voice. “Also, I pay attention. You’re kind of my favorite subject.”
I lift my head to look at him. The bruises, the split lip that’s finally scabbing over, the way his left eye is still swollen half-shut. He looks like someone used his face for batting practice.
He’s never been more beautiful.
“I love you,” I tell him. “I know I said it in the warehouse, but you were bleeding pretty heavily. I want to make sure it stuck.”
“My memory’s a little fuzzy.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Might need to hear it a few more times.”
“I love you. You’re the first thing that’s ever really felt like mine to choose. And I want to spend every day choosing you for the rest of my life.”
His whole face softens. “Again.”
“Luca.”
“I just want to make sure I heard it right. My ears are still ringing from the gunshots.”
I lean over and kiss him. Soft and slow, careful of his split lip. He makes a sound against my mouth, something between a groan and a sigh, and his fingers tighten in my hair.
When I pull back, his eyes are closed.
“I love you,” I murmur against his lips. “I love you. I love you. Is that enough, or do you need me to write it down?”
“Might need it tattooed somewhere. For reference.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You love me.”
“I do.” I settle back against his side, careful not to jostle his shoulder. “God help me, I really do.”
The monitor beeps steadily. Outside the window, the Las Vegas sun is starting to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that feel almost obscenely beautiful after so much ugliness.
“Do you think your family will ever be okay with us? With me?” I trace a shape on his chest. “I’m still a Kozlov. That’s a lot of history to get past.”
“It might not be overnight. But you helped bring me home, and that counts.” He tugs at my hair, tilting my face up. “Besides, I’m keeping you. They’ll catch up.”
“You sure?”
“I am,” he grins. “And once you’re in with the Andrettis, you’re in for life.”
In for life.
It should probably scare me. Trading one crime family for another. But this doesn’t feel like a trade. It doesn’t feel like a cage.
It feels like a home.
I close my eyes and let myself sink into the warmth of him. The steady thump of his heartbeat. The rise and fall of his breathing beneath my cheek.
Luca brushes another kiss to my forehead. “To answer your earlier question, no. I don’t need anything else, Nat.”
I smile against his chest.
“I’ve got it all right here.”