16. Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
Emilio
I made many phone calls on the way home, some spoken in loud, angry Italian, some death threats, and I made a few requests. I was still yelling at an assistant as we approached the door to our apartment.
Our medico, Cesare, waited for us at my front door. He was an older gentleman who had worked for Ettore’s family for over forty years. Cesare held a medical bag in one hand and looked just as displeased about the situation as I was.
I opened my apartment door and waved him in without a word.
“For the love of all saints,” Cesare said. “Can’t you stay out of trouble for one day?”
If Luciana had not been here, I would have torn into the man. My wife was injured, and he had the audacity to lecture me for ending up in crossfire?
“Can you just help my wife?” I gritted through my teeth.
Cesare wasted no time, bustling over with a brusque efficiency that was not unkind. Luciana protested as she sat on the sofa, saying how she would bloody it, but I told her I’d just buy a new one.
With precise and delicate movements, the doctor deftly extracted the sharp shards of glass from her skin. I winced as I saw the deep gashes, raw and bleeding, being carefully stitched together by the skilled hands of the doctor. Cesare had stitched me back up many, many times, and I felt little to no pain. But watching him help my bleeding wife hurt more than any of that.
The soft rustling of gauze being unwrapped filled the room as he gently wrapped each injury, ensuring they were properly protected and on their way to healing.
I stopped watching to send a text to Leone Alto, because he was probably wondering where the hell his daughter was. His name popped up on my caller ID less than thirty seconds later.
“She’s alive?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I responded. “On my sofa right now.”
“Don’t respond. Valentina is dead. She was shot in the chest three times.”
I looked at Hilaria to make sure she hadn’t heard Leone’s voice through the phone. She hadn’t. Her expression was one of pure misery as she sat on the sofa, waiting for her wounds to be stitched up.
“Ok,” I said. “Pick her up when you’re ready.” I hung up my phone and put it in my pocket.
Fuck. I didn’t like the Alto’s, but I wouldn’t wish death on them.
“All done,” Cesare said. He moved his supplies to the other end of the sofa, where Hilaria waited for his help.
I rushed over to Luciana and lightly traced my fingers along her arms and legs, checking for any areas the doctor might have overlooked. It seemed like she had received perfect treatment.
“Let’s go get you changed,” I said.
I gently guided her towards the bedroom, my arm wrapped around her waist for support. Her steps were unsteady and hesitant, like a newborn colt learning how to walk.
Carefully, I placed her on the edge of the bed before hurrying into the master bathroom to grab a damp washcloth. I came back and cleaned what blood I could off of her. There was so much dried on her skin and hair that I was surprised her wounds weren’t worse.
“Are you okay?” I murmured.
“I'm fine,” she responded.
And although she said she was fine, her face said otherwise. Tears pooled in her eyes, and her lower lip had a bit of a wobble to it.
“I committed arson.” She let out a half sob, half laugh.
“That was you?” I paused, wiping the blood off her legs to look up at her, and smiled. “Impressive, Jaws. Not bad for your first time.”
She smiled at me, trying to keep the strong facade going. “Who said it was my first time?”
Luciana was always full of sass. She just almost got fucking killed and she was trying to make light of it.
She went on to explain, with fervent excitement and animated gestures, every step of the process, starting with grabbing the bar rag and bottle of jack.
“Maybe I should hire you,” I joked. “That was pretty impressive.”
“You should know my rates are very high.”
I carefully finished tending to the visible blood on her legs, wiping away the evidence of her injuries. But as I lifted the hem of her dress, I saw more smeared along her upper thighs.
“This is coming off,” I said, referencing the piece of clothing.
“What? No,” Luciana responded. “It’s fine; I can go clean it myself.”
“I’ve seen you in your underwear before.”
“Yeah, but,” she hesitated. “Fine.”
Taking a deep breath, I carefully unzipped the zipper on the back of her dress. I pushed the top down and gently pulled the garment down her legs, doing my best to not disturb the gauze protecting her wounds.
Fuck. Her body was still as perfect as the last time I saw her in her underwear. If she wasn’t covered in wounds right now, I would have trouble keeping my hands to themselves.
We sat in a comfortable silence as I finished cleaning. I walked over to our dresser and carefully selected a pair of soft, worn-in pajamas for her. With gentle hands, I helped her slip into them, making sure they were comfortable and not too snug against her skin.
“Sorry, Jaws,” I said. “I won’t let you get hurt again.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Nothing like this has ever happened at an event before.”
“Still. I’m your husband and I’m supposed to protect you.”
“Well…how about you buy me Starbucks to make up for it? For the rest of my life.”
I resisted the urge to smirk at her. I was already going to do that.