Chapter 12
Vincenzo
Everything hurts.
That’s the first thing I’m aware of when consciousness tries to drag me back. Pain, sharp and dull and throbbing all at once. My ribs. My face. My hands. Fuck, my hands.
I try to remember where I am. What happened. But my thoughts slip away like water through my damaged fingers.
Voices drift through the fog. Soft and worried.
“…should take him to a hospital…”
“…can’t…questions…”
“…fever’s getting worse…”
Adora? And is that Sofia?
I try to open my eyes, but the effort is too much. I sink back down into the dark.
Time passes. I don’t know how much. I’m hot. Too hot. The sheets stick to my skin, and I try to push them away, but my hands flare with pain and won’t work right. Something cool touches my forehead. A cloth, damp and soothing.
“It’s okay,” a voice whispers. “You’re safe.”
Adora.
That’s Adora’s voice.
I try to reach for her, but my body won’t cooperate. Everything’s so heavy. So hot.
The fever brings dreams. Or maybe they’re not dreams. Maybe they’re real, and I just can’t tell anymore. Dashamir’s pale eyes staring at me. That cold, emotionless face. But it’s not me in the chair anymore. It’s Adora.
She’s tied up, bleeding, and Dashamir has the pliers in his hand.
“Dashamir. No.” I try to move, to get to her, but I can’t. “Don’t touch her. Don’t—”
“Shh, you’re okay.” Gentle hands push me back down. “You’re dreaming. It’s just a fever dream.”
I fight against the hands. I have to save her. Have to get to her before—
“Vincenzo, stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”
That voice. Soft. Worried. Real.
“Adora?” My voice comes out as a croak.
“I’m here. I’m safe. So are you.”
Am I? I can’t remember. Everything’s so confused.
The darkness pulls me under again.
Voices again. Clearer this time.
“…staying with Lucy. Yes, I’m fine, Dad. I’ll explain later…”
Adora is on the phone lying to someone. Why is she lying? I try to ask, but the words won’t come. My tongue is too thick, my throat too dry.
Sleep drags me back down.
When I wake, the room is dim. It’s late evening or early morning, I can’t tell which. A single lamp casts soft light across familiar walls.
This is my bedroom. I’m in my bed. The pain is still there but duller now. My head feels clearer and the fever has broken.
Movement draws my attention. Adora sits in a chair pulled close to the bed, her hands carefully unwrapping bandages from my fingers. Her face is drawn with concentration and exhaustion. Her hair is in a messy updo. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.
“Doe,” I rasp.
Her head snaps up, eyes widening as they flare with hope. “Vincenzo. You’re awake. Really awake this time.”
I try to lift my hand to touch her face, but the movement sends pain shooting through my damaged fingers. She catches my wrist gently, stopping me.
“Don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.”
But I stubbornly bring my hand to her face because I have to touch her, and she smiles a little against my palm.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I went ten rounds with that big Dervishi bastard.” My voice is rough. Speaking makes my ribs ache. “How long have I been out?”
“Almost two days.” Her thumb brushes my wrist, just above where the bandages start. “You had a fever. We were worried about infection.”
Two days. Christ.
I study her face in the dim light. There are dark circles under her eyes. She’s hunched forward like she’s been sitting in that chair for hours.
“And you took care of me all this time, doe?” I manage a small smile despite the pain. “Have you slept at all?”
“It was Sofia as well. Mostly Sofia. She’s a much better nurse than me. She’s sleeping now.” She returns to unwrapping the bandages, her movements gentle but efficient. “She made me rest earlier. And eat.”
“Good.”
She’s too focused on my hands to respond. I watch her work, the careful way she peels back the gauze, the slight crease between her brows when she sees the raw flesh beneath.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“For what?”
“For this.” Her voice catches. “For all of it.”
“I chose to go to that fight and brazenly step into that ring. None of this is anyone’s fault but mine, and certainly not yours, Adora.”
“But it is my fault. You went to a bar because I hurt you, and that’s how Dashamir was able to get to you.” Her hands still on the bandages. “I pulled away when you told me you were falling for me, and—”
“Look at me.”
She does, reluctantly. Tears shine in her eyes.
“This isn’t your fault,” I say again, firmer this time. “Dashamir would have come after me no matter what.”
“But—”
“No buts. You saved me, remember? You walked into that ring. You walked into that compound, and you…” My head rises from the pillow in bewilderment. “You somehow got me out of there. How the hell did you manage that?”
She swipes the tears from her cheeks and takes a shaky breath. “I’ll tell you in a minute. First, there’s something you should know. Something I should have told you in the car, or even before that.”
Adora struggles to meet my eyes. Whatever this is, it’s been weighing on her. “Okay. Tell me.”
She sets down the bandages, pulls her chair closer, and takes my wrist in both her hands.
“My father gave me poison. Cyanide. He ordered me to kill you. That’s why he agreed to our arranged marriage, so I could get close to you and poison you, and he could take over Vici territory without a fight.”
I go very still.
“I accepted the poison,” she continues, her voice breaking. “I took the bottle, and I thought about using it. I should have thrown it away, but I just kept carrying this terrible secret and hoping I’d figure out what to do.”
Tears are streaming down her face now.
“That night at the restaurant, I had it in my purse. I was going to put it in your wine or your food. But then you were so kind to me, so gentle, and I couldn’t do it. Then I couldn’t even tell you about it because I was terrified you’d hate me.”
Her hands are shaking around my wrist.
“Then in the car, when you told me you were falling for me and your life was in my hands, all I could think about was that poison in my nightstand. How could I tell you I felt the same way when I’d been carrying death meant for you? How could I—”
“Adora.” I interrupt her spiral. “Look at me.”
She does, her face wet with tears, eyes wide with fear and guilt. This poison has made her terrified of me. She knows exactly what her father would do if she refused him, and she’s worried that I’d do the same thing.
“You were afraid I’d hurt you if I found out about the poison,” I say, my voice heavy with dismay.
“It did cross my mind.” She lets out a sob. “Are you angry with me?”
“Did you poison me?”
“No. Never. I couldn’t.”
She’s been carrying this weight for weeks. Terrified of her father and wary of me. Caught between two impossible choices and hating herself for not being brave enough to do what she believes is right.
“You didn’t do it.” I try to cup her cheek with my damaged hands.
“Your father put you in an impossible position. He’s been manipulating and abusing you your entire life.
But when it came down to it, you saved me.
Dashamir would have killed me eventually, and you risked your life and faced him. So how could I be angry with you?”
Tears spill over her lashes. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
“That’s not your call to make.” I brush my thumb across her cheekbone, ignoring the pain in my hand. “I forgive you, Adora. Completely.”
She makes a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. “Why? Why aren’t you furious with me?”
“Because I meant what I said in the car.” I hold her gaze, pouring everything I feel into the words. “I’m falling for you.”
My feelings for her crash through my aching body. I’m falling for this woman who’s brave in ways she doesn’t even recognize. She walked into enemy territory alone to save me when she could have run. She could have let me die and freed herself from this arrangement.
But she chose me over her father’s orders and over her own safety.
And fuck, the way she looks at me. She sees who I am beneath the violence and the grief I carry. She sees parts of me I thought died with my family.
She makes me feel like a man again.
“Vincenzo…” Her voice breaks.
“You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. You see worth in me that I don’t always see in myself.” I stroke her face with both hands despite the screaming protest from my damaged fingers. “You make me want things I thought I’d lost forever. A life beyond revenge.”
“I’m not brave,” she protests. “I’m terrified all the time.”
“That’s what makes it brave. You’re scared and you do it anyway.” I brush away her tears. “I thought you’d be like your father, cold, cruel, and calculating. Instead, you’re kind and soft, and you still have hope, even after everything he’s done to you.”
She’s crying harder now, but there’s something breaking open in her expression. Something like hope.
“Every time I think I know you, you surprise me,” I continue. “You make me want to be better than I am. You make me want to be worthy of you.”
“You are worthy,” she whispers. “I’m the one who has to work to be worthy of you.”
“No, it’s me who has to do that, and I will.” I hold her gaze, letting her see everything. The want, the need, the desperate hope. “I’ll spend my whole life working to be worthy of you, Adora Montoni.”
She holds my shoulders, caressing me with her thumbs. “You already are. You protected me when you could have hated me. You held me while I cried. You see me.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I should have told you about the poison in the car when you said you were falling for me.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. Because I’m falling for you too.” Her hands frame my face, careful of the bruises. “You make me believe I deserve good things.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “You make me believe I deserve love.”
“You do, doe. Christ, you do.”
I’m barely breathing. Every word she speaks lands like absolution I don’t deserve, but I take it anyway.
“Kiss me,” I demand, my voice rough with need.