Chapter 36
LENI
I wake up with a smile so huge it actually hurts my cheeks.
Even the ache that bites between my thighs as I roll over languidly on the bed isn’t nearly enough to dim my euphoria. I’m floating somewhere above the clouds, weightless and giddy.
It’s a gorgeous new day, the sun is out, the birds are singing their little hearts out.
But most importantly, I finally cracked Romero’s armor last night. Got him to open up, to let me see the man beneath all that careful control.
And he slept next to me last night.
My heart skips as I turn to look at his side of the bed, expecting to see the indent from his head on the pillow. Instead, there’s a note.
Good morning, bellezza.
I have a final court hearing today and had to leave home early.
You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you.
Have a great day.
Love, Romero.
Love, Romero.
I must read those two words fifty times, my thumb tracing over his handwriting like I can absorb the meaning through my skin. My heart is doing this crazy trip-and-tumble thing in my chest now.
Love.
We didn’t say anything about love last night, even though the word was sitting right there on the tip of my tongue the entire time. Was he thinking it too? Is he feeling the same way I’m feeling?
I press my hand over my heart as I flop onto my back, feeling it thump thump thump in an erratic rhythm that matches my scattered thoughts.
My legs do this happy little wiggle under the sheets.
Because honestly, this happiness is so intense I’m not sure how my body is supposed to contain this massive emotion.
I’m so happy it’s actually scary.
What if Romero isn’t feeling the same way? Worse, what if he pulls back again like he did after the honeymoon?
No.
I force myself to push those worries away as I slide off the bed. He wouldn’t have left such a sweet note if he were planning to retreat from me. He definitely wouldn’t have signed it with love.
He’s starting to care about me. I can feel it. Maybe… maybe I can even get him to fall as hard as I have. The thought sends a thrill down my spine, and I shiver pleasantly.
There’s a sharp scratch at the door, followed by the most pitiful meow I’ve ever heard. Another scratch. Another increasingly demanding meow.
“Ugh, fine. I’m coming, your majesty.” I open the door for Lady Heathcliff, who stalks into the bedroom with her tail pointed straight up, and to show her displeasure with me, she deliberately avoids brushing against my leg the way she usually does.
I chuckle as I lean down to scoop her up. “Are you pissed I locked you out of the bedroom last night?” I rub my cheek against her fur. “Sorry, baby. Your dad and I had some… very adult business you definitely didn’t need to witness.”
It’s honestly a miracle she didn’t walk in on us in the living room last night.
That would have been traumatic for all parties involved.
She meows again, but it sounds less accusatory now, and I pet her for a few more minutes before carrying her out of the bedroom, down the stairs to where her food and water bowls are.
After I set her down and fill her bowls, I watch her eat for a moment—when a sudden idea hits me.
Romero has a court appearance today. I can surprise him by showing up. He might like that, seeing me there supporting him. The idea makes me bounce on my toes, and I nod to myself decisively.
Once I’m sure Lady Heathcliff is preoccupied with her breakfast, I jog back upstairs and grab my phone from the nightstand.
But then I hesitate, my finger hovering over Romero’s contact. If I call him, it wouldn’t really be a surprise, would it?
So I scroll through my contacts until I find the number I’m looking for. Sandro—the man I met at our wedding. Romero introduced him as his right-hand man, which means he should know everything about Romero’s schedule.
He answers on the first ring. “Mrs. Lombardi.”
He already has my number. I suppose that makes this conversation easier. No need to introduce myself all over again.
“Hi, I’m calling to ask about my husband’s schedule. I want to be there for the court appearance he has today.” There’s a heavy pause on Sandro’s end, like I’ve surprised him.
He clears his throat. “The hearing started thirty minutes ago and it’s scheduled to last only an hour or so. If you want to catch any of it, you’ll need to hurry.”
Shit. My stomach drops to my toes, but I thank him before hanging up. Then it’s like I’m in some kind of speed-run video game—teeth brushed in sixty seconds, world’s fastest shower, throwing on clothes while texting Dean.
Ten minutes later, I’m flying down the front steps to where the Maybach is waiting. I’ve never gotten ready so quickly in my life. I should probably get some kind of award for that performance.
As soon as my door closes, Dean floors the accelerator, clearly understanding the urgency.
I pull the hair tie off my wrist and twist my hair up into a bun, smoothing my bangs into place to make them look somewhat presentable.
Thank goodness I straightened my hair yesterday so I don’t look like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket.
“Please tell me we can make it,” I mutter, bouncing my knee anxiously as we weave through traffic.
“I’m doing my best, Mrs. Lombardi,” Dean says, his gaze locked forward, unblinking.
Please let me at least make it for his closing statement.
But that hope gets crushed when we slow to a crawl on Atlantic Avenue. I bite my lip, nerves buzzing through my legs.
At this rate, Romero will be long gone before I even set foot in the courthouse.
We’re trapped in this automotive purgatory for twenty agonizing minutes before the cars ahead begin inching forward a little faster than a crawl.
Normally, this wouldn’t seem bad at all since I’ve been stuck in traffic worse than this before, but right now it feels like time is actively working against me.
“Hold on, ma’am. I’ll come get the door for you,” Dean says softly as he finally pulls into a parking spot in front of the courthouse.
I frown at him. “But I’m already so late.” It’s been forty minutes since the hearing started. There’s no way it’s still going on.
“It’s the protocol,” he says firmly, glancing around the parking lot like he’s expecting someone to jump out and try to attack us. I’m reminded then that he’s not just my driver—he doubles as my bodyguard, and he takes that responsibility seriously.
I sigh impatiently, my toes tapping the car floor as he turns off the ignition and gets out. He keeps looking around with sharp, alert movements as he walks around the hood and approaches my side of the car.
“It’s a courthouse,” I remind him as he opens my door. “Nothing’s going to happen.” Even if we weren’t at a courthouse, it seems a little silly to think something would happen to me in broad daylight.
Dean nods but doesn’t stop scanning our surroundings as he shuts the door behind me. “Better safe than sorry, ma’am.”
I tilt my face up, squinting at the courthouse as it looms in front of me, majestic and intimidating in equal measure. I’ve seen it in the news countless times, but I’ve never had any reason to come here before—thank God for that.
The building rises up in imposing gray stone with thick columns that make it look like something from ancient Rome. The breeze whips the flag at its peak around dramatically, giving the whole structure a severe, no-nonsense air.
I trail my eyes quickly over the intricate carvings, the brass-framed windows, and the broad granite steps as I start walking, hyper-aware of how late I am. But then the huge brass double doors swing open and Romero emerges with a young man beside him.
My breath catches as I take him in, my skin immediately prickling with heat. God, he looks incredible in that suit. Sharp and collected. Cold. Untouchable. But I touched him last night, had those hands on my skin, felt him lose that legendary control because of me… My core tightens at the memory.
I wave at him enthusiastically to grab his attention, but he’s turning to talk to his companion and doesn’t see me.
My lips tug up in a smile as I start jogging up to him, no longer caring that I missed the entire hearing.
At least I get to see him like this, in his element, looking every inch the powerful attorney he is.
I wave again, my smile growing wider, just as a rumble that sounds like thunder suddenly fills the air and a lightning bolt of pure agony tears through my arm. I scream, stumbling over my feet as I clutch at the searing pain, my vision blurring with tears.
Warm wetness seeps through my fingers, and I blink down, dazed, at the bright red blood gushing from my arm, soaking my shirt. What—
Another scream rings out. It’s Romero, yelling my name with a raw desperation I’ve never heard before. I barely lift my head before a body slams into me with brutal force, tackling me to the unforgiving concrete as another deafening crack of thunder splits the air overhead.
No, not thunder. Gunshots.
My heart kicks into overdrive as chaos erupts around the courthouse: shouts, screams, pounding footsteps, people scattering in every direction.
I’m still stunned, my ears ringing, my body now trapped under the weight of whoever threw themselves on top of me.
Heavy. Too heavy. With every passing second, they sink harder into me, and I become aware of a warm, sticky sensation slipping into my back. I can’t breathe.
“Get up! Get the fuck up!” Romero’s roar cuts through the haze. I blink up at him, my lips parting when he drops to his knees next to me with a sharp crack I know has to hurt, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. His green eyes are locked on me, wide with something alien in them—panic. Terror.
That terror makes my throat close up as he grabs my shoulders and yanks me out from under the heavy weight.
The throbbing in my arm spikes from his hard pull, and he growls, running frantic hands over me. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he murmurs, rocking me in his arms as if trying to convince himself as much as me.
I turn my head back, suddenly curious about what had been crushing me, and all the breath rushes out of my lungs in a sick whoosh. No. No, no, no.
Dean. Or what’s left of him. His dark eyes are wide open but blank. And his head… Jesus, his head. There’s a hole where the top of his skull should be and—oh God. Blood and brain matter are splattered across the sidewalk… and across my clothes.
The warmth on my back. That was his…
My stomach revolts violently, and I twist in Romero’s arms as I vomit all over the pavement.
“Fuck, love. Hold on.” Romero tightens his grip, plastering me to his chest as he hauls us up.
My injured arm screams in protest, throbbing and burning as he walks, but my throat seems to be locked. All I can see is Dean’s empty eyes, that horrible hole, the way he looked so gone—
Hot tears spill down my cheeks as I cling to my husband, my blood mixing with Dean’s on Romero’s pristine shirt. But he doesn’t seem to notice or care about the mess.
Sirens wail in the distance, getting closer, but Romero keeps walking with long, determined strides until we reach the back door of his car where Logan and the man from the courthouse are waiting with grim expressions.
“Is she okay?” Logan asks urgently as Romero slides into the back with me still clutched in his arms.
“Take us home,” is my husband’s curt response, and the car’s door slams shut.
Someone shot me.
The realization hits slowly as we pull out of the courthouse parking lot. Someone actually tried to kill me. Why? Why would anyone shoot at a nobody like me? It doesn’t make sense.
Even married to Romero, I’m not that important. Not like him. If they were trying to use me to get to him, wouldn’t it make more sense to kidnap me? Use me as leverage, hold me for ransom.
Dean. Oh God, Dean. The tears come even harder now, my throat burning with grief and guilt and terror all twisted together.
“Romero,” I croak. “Dean… Is he… is he really… dead?”
He doesn’t answer me with words. Just that muscle jumping in his jaw, his eyes staring straight ahead while his grip on me tightens protectively. The clarity spreads ice through my veins, chilling me to the bone.
Someone who was alive and healthy just minutes ago is dead just like that? Because of me. That shot would have hit me if Dean hadn’t covered my body with his own. If he hadn’t been so quick to react, it would’ve been me on that pavement, lifeless.
A sob tears from my throat as I bury my face in Romero’s chest and cry.