Chapter Fifty-four
Ciro
W e lay in bed after a long bath, the warmth of her body pressed against mine, with her hand resting on my chest while her fingers unconsciously trace lines that make my heart race, even when it calms my soul.
I’d missed her so much. Being right here in her arms is the only home I’ve grown to know.
“You know,” she says in a sleepy and drowsy tone. “I’ve always wanted a small wedding. Something simple. Outdoors, maybe by the water. Just me, a few people I love, nothing extra.”
Guilt. Something about her words brings an enormous amount of guilt flooding to the surface that tugs in my chest. I should’ve given her that. The simple, quiet life she wanted. Instead, I dragged her into this mess. Into my world. And even though I don’t regret it for a second, I hate the thought that itches and screams, that maybe, just maybe, she still misses that life and the things she always wanted.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, feeling the pull of the apology in my bones. It is one I might have to give her every day of my life.
She shifts slightly as her face lifts to look at me.
“Sorry? For what?” she asks, confused and sleepy.
“For not giving you the wedding you wanted. I couldn’t make that happen for you.” I swallow hard, playing with some strands of brown curly hair that spreads all around us.
She laughs lightly, almost seeming unbothered by my apology. Her hand slowly slides up to my jaw, before gently rubbing her thumb against my bottom lip.
“The kind of wedding I wanted then isn’t the kind I want now.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, after a few seconds.
I watch as she curls her lips into a weak smile, her eyes staring into mine as she lets the moment linger.
“Now, I want something bigger. A grand wedding. One where everyone will know that I belong to you and you belong to me. I’ll stand there, and when I say my vows, everyone will know who owns me. And who I own.” She giggles, like the thought of it excites her. “It’ll be from a place of pride. A pride I didn’t know I could feel until I became yours.”
This woman can make me kill one minute and then make me want to cry the next. She’ll make me burn everything and turn around and make me want to kneel at her feet and beg her to never stop loving me.
I kiss her forehead, almost unsure of what to do or say next. Before I can speak, my phone rings, the annoying tone ruining the moment for us both.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath, seeing Franchesco’s name flash across the screen.
He better be calling with positive news about the assignment I have him and Cito on.
“Yes?” I say into the phone.
“Yes, I missed you too,” he replies and I can practically hear his smile through the phone because he knows how much not getting to the point pisses me off.
“I swear I’ll . . .”
“Kill me? I know! You don’t have lots of friends, Ciro, that’s why you never go ahead with that old threat,” he laughs.
“Why are you calling, dipshit?” I roll my eyes, feeling Vida giggle against my chest.
“We’re outside, we found him.” His words strike a nerve, making me sit up instantly.
The last assassin . . . perfect.
“We’ll be right out,” I say before hanging up and getting out of bed.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, looking at me.
“Get dressed, baby,” I say, my tone calm, but firm. “We have visitors.”
To my surprise, she doesn’t ask why or try to question me. She just nods, her sleepy face instantly turning serious, and it makes me smile as I help her grab her coat.
As I open the front door, I find Franchesco and Cito standing there, arms crossed across their chests.
“Is she with you?” Franchesco asks.
“I’m here,” Vida says, stepping forward. “What is this about?”
“I missed you, too, sister-in-law,” Franchesco teases, opening his arm to hug her.
I blame myself, I let them become friends at our wedding because I was too foolish being busy instead of noticing her feet were hurting! Yup! This friendship is my fault and I can’t do anything about it.
“I know you didn’t miss me that much to come visit this late,” she jokes, making him laugh and Cito chuckle.
“Did you find him?” I turn to Cito, who just nods his head at me.
“Find who?” Vida asks as she looks up at me.
“We got him with a little wedding gift for Vida,” Franchesco says, winking at her.
I can see Vida’s confusion, and feel it too. What is he talking about now?
“Wedding gift?” she asks as she looks between the men and me.
“It wasn’t Carmela that told me about the assassins,” I tell her, getting her full attention, “It was Vladimir. Six men, one Vladimir’s informant, four dead with their ears and eyes in our kitchen and the last one . . .”
I turn to Cito, who completes my sentence. “Unconscious in your shed.”
“Exactly,” I agree.
Vida inhales sharply, the realization hitting her instantly. She doesn’t flinch, though. Instead, she squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath and mutters, “okay.”
As I usher Vida into the shed, I feel the tension that rolls off of her. Her breath catches and her pulse pounds beneath the skin of her neck. I watch her closely, noticing the way her chest rises and falls.
She stares at the man tied to the chair. But that isn’t what stops her dead in her tracks. It’s the man next to him, the last person either of us expected to see, his body slumped and barely conscious. My heart skips a beat.
“How the fuck did you find him?” I bark, my eyes shifting to Franchesco and Cito, but before either of them can speak, Vida interrupts.
“He let his emotions cloud his judgment,” she says calmly, a little too calm for the situation. She’s standing here like she isn’t looking at a man who’s tried to end her life more than once.
I glance at her, confused. She’s as calm as ever, when all she’s done when his name has been mentioned before is get scared and panic.
Without wasting another second, Vida walks closer to the two men, her eyes scanning the wounds on their bodies. I want to stop her, keep her away from either of them, but there is something about how she’s taking charge, unafraid or concerned, that makes her such a fucking sight to behold. I can’t stop that.
“An observant lady, aren’t you?” Franchesco comments, letting out a low chuckle.
I shake my head, watching as Vida points at Donato’s neck and chest, her finger hovering over the marks there.
“I’ve seen enough wounds on your body, baby, and these aren’t injury wounds,” she says. “They’re hickeys.”
I stare at her in disbelief. She’s right, of course. But hearing her say it so casually, like she’s identifying something so simple, makes my blood boil and not in a bad or angry way. It’s the same way she feels when she sees the unpleasant and dark sides of me.
“And there,” she points at the other man. “Those are fresh finger scratches on his thighs.”
She turns to me with glitter in her eyes, like she’s excited to be telling me what she found.
“The fucker was fucking the man he sent to kill my wife?” I rage, shaking my head as I turn to Franchesco and Cito who just shrug at me, confirming my answer.
Donato groans, his eyes slowly opening. The moment his eyes land on Vida, a sick grin spreads across his face.
“Ahh. I see we’ve finally met again,” he says laughing sickly.
I take a step towards her, wanting to pull her away from his reach, but instead, she moves closer, her eyes never leaving him. Before I can even begin to wonder what she’s doing, she strikes. She punches Donato in the face, hard. The loud bang of flesh against bone rings out, echoing in the small shed. It’s swift, brutal, and full of rage.
I fucking love it!
Cito and Franchesco freeze, stunned into silence, but I can’t help but laugh. Watching her like this, seeing her unleash everything she’s been holding in . . . shit, does it do something to me.
“Trust me,” I say proudly. “She throws one hell of a punch. Tore my lip open when I got mine.”
The memory alone almost turns me on.
Before anyone can react again, she swings again, her fist landing with brutal force, this time accompanied by a loud yell from her. Donato’s tooth flies from his mouth as blood splashes everywhere, and his eyes widen in shock. He didn’t see that one coming.
Well, neither did I when she came to my meeting bleeding, just to make a point and punch the shit out of me.
For a moment, everything stops. The room is filled with nothing but Vida’s fury, and I stand here watching her, wondering how the hell she held onto all these emotions for so long. I have no idea where this side of her has been hiding, but I sure as hell am not complaining.
“Let her finish,” I say to Franchesco and Cito when they both look ready to step in.
They both nod, leaving me alone with Vida for a moment, both still reeling from what just happened. I’m not watching them anymore, though. My eyes are locked on Vida, the woman who has just changed everything with a single punch. And damn, I love watching every second of it, but I know she needs to face this demon alone and I trust her enough to let her unleash her fury if she needs to.
I walk over to her, standing close enough to feel her energy radiate off of her. I grab her wrist and turn her to face me, before gently placing a kiss on her forehead, letting my lips linger on her skin for a second.
“He’s all yours, little chaos,” I murmur with a smile. “Let hell loose, my darling wife.”
She doesn’t look at me, but I can feel her resolve. She simply nods, before turning back to face Donato.
I turn and walk toward the door, a strange sense of pride swelling in my chest. There is something about her that I can’t quite put my finger on, something that makes me feel like I’ve unleashed something far beyond my control, and I fucking love it.
I go find Cito and Franchesco, who are talking and laughing about something that doesn’t matter to me. I join in on the conversation as we debate whether we’ll be attending the carnival that is set to happen in a few months. We’re oblivious to everything else as we talk, when suddenly, a scream tears through the air.
Vida.
As it rings louder, filled with more rage than I’ve ever heard from her, Franchesco chuckles and shakes his head.
“She must really hate the guy,” he says in amusement.
I chuckle, too, but there is no humor in it.
“She does. Be right back,” I say as I turn and head back toward the door.
The closer I get, the more intense her screams become, each one a gut wrenching sound that fills the whole shed. I can’t deny it, my body responds to it in ways I’m not prepared for.
When I push the door open, the scene in front of me stops my legs in their tracks, and I can’t think for a second. My wife, my beautiful, wild, untamable wife, stands there with blood splattered across her face, her hands gripping the chair as Donato groans at her feet.
She isn’t just taking control of the moment anymore, she’s fucking owning it. The way she stands there, towering over him with command as her rage, makes her more beautiful and intimidating.
It leaves me breathless, and I know now how she felt the first time she saw me beat a man to death in the shed. The look in her eyes as she peaks back and sees me, I swear I had the same look as I watched her.
I stare at her, the woman I’ve called “little chaos” all this time, and it hits me all at once. I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I’d called her “little chaos” because in my naivety, I thought her storm could be contained. Fuck, was I wrong! Now, standing here watching her, there is nothing small about the chaos she carries. There is nothing little at all.
This woman is a fucking force to be reckoned with, and fuck, does it turn me on. The way she’s broken me open and twisted my world until I don’t recognize it anymore, and how, somehow, I still fucking crave it. She is the storm, the wreckage, and I am watching her rise from the ruins with the blood of her enemy dancing on her skin!
Talk about poetry.
I lean against the doorframe, my body heavy with the heat of what I’m witnessing. I can’t take my eyes off of her, my breath catching in my chest as I realize how deep this goes.
I’m hard as fuck, the sight of her still punching Donato’s almost lifeless body makes me care about nothing else. All I want more than I ever have before is her.
My little chaos.
But now, nothing about her is little. Nothing at all.
She is my chaos.
Standing here watching her, I can’t help but think about the look on Cito and Franchesco’s faces when I told them to leave a few minutes ago. It was hard to miss the look in their eyes that showed how they were both impressed and almost scared of Vida. That was only after a couple punches. I’d almost pay to see the looks on their faces now if they were in here and saw her like this.
My chaos stands before me, stained in blood. Her knuckles are bruised and smeared crimson, the black shorts and singlet she’s wearing are streaked with splashes of red that look like strokes of a painter’s brush. There is also blood on her face too, light splashes across her cheeks.
She really did have so much pent up feelings for this man.
She doesn’t even look up at me as I walk around the room. Her chest rises and falls as she gasps for air, her eyes staying on the bastard at her feet. Her time in here has turned her into a different person, and the only time I’ve ever seen this side of her was when she fought the man who tried to take advantage of her when she was kidnapped.
I walk over to her, the sound of my boots the only thing that fills the air. She doesn’t even flinch when I reach for her hand, holding it gently as I turn her towards me. I wait for her, letting her brown rage-filled eyes meet mine when she’s ready, and I can’t help but smile at how beautiful she looks.
Being mad and angry looks good on her. I could kneel and worship her all day if she let me.
As my blue eyes pierce her brown eyes, I can’t move. I just stand here, staring at her beautiful freckles that are now stained with blood. My eyes trail down to her hands and then her clothes before finally traveling back up to her lips.
The sight of her is intoxicating.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” I whisper. “And when I think I can’t breathe, I’ll stop and put a bullet in his head.”
Her lips curve slightly as I smile at her, before being accompanied by a slight nod. All the permission I need.
I crush my mouth to hers and she lets me in. A light moan escapes her mouth as she surrenders to my dominance. I kiss her long and deep with a slow devouring movement. As her body submits and her muscles relax, her hands find my chest. Her nails dig into me like she wants to pull me closer, and I pull back, trying to give her space to take in air.
And as if she’d been waiting for me to pull away, she gives me no time to think fast, her hand going straight to my waist and pulling the knife out that I had tucked away there.
“Chaos,” I try to call, but she moves faster than I’ve ever seen her move.
She turns in one swift motion, pulling the knife and plunging it into Donato’s throat with a force that makes the man’s head snap back. Blood splashes from the wound, splattering across her already stained skin.
With a deep sigh, she lets go of the knife as it hangs in the dead man’s neck, before turning back to me with a calm and relaxed expression.
“Now you can put a bullet in their heads,” she says simply, flashing me a smile, like she didn’t just kill a man.
Before I can respond or even process what happened, she closes the gap between us, pressing her lips to mine in a brief but hard kiss. Then she steps away, walking towards the door without looking back.
I stand here for a moment, watching her go, her figure silhouetted against the light that comes from outside, and a chuckle escapes my throat. I shake my head and turn back to the mess she’s left behind.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter to myself, pulling out my gun.
God is a woman and it’s my fucking wife.
I aim first at Donato, whose lifeless eyes stare at nothing, before firing a single shot into his head. Then, without hesitation, I turn the gun on the assassin tied next to him, ending him with an identical shot.
I put my weapon away and walk out of the shed, following my wife.
Fuck! I would follow this woman anywhere.