Chapter 9
BELLA
Iscream as the gunshot goes off.
Alex grunts, his tall firm body trembling. I press myself against the wall of the corridor, catching a glimpse of two men inside my room. One sitting on my bed, a gun in his hand. The other stood up … a gun in his hand too.
Both tall and wide and covered in tattoos.
Time seems to slow as I take in the scene. Blood seeps through Alex’s shirt from the hole in his arm.
As I watch the blood pouring down his arm—from the bullet he took for me—I know that I never needed this time. Didn’t need a day. Not an hour. Hell, not even a minute.
And, fuck, now it might be too late.
Alex ducks his head like a bull and rushes into the room. Another gunshot goes off, hits the plasterboard at my feet. I yell and duck to the floor, hands covering my ears, wood splinters and dust filling the air around me. I jump and collapse to the floor in one motion.
Do something, a voice screams. Be useful.
I crawl to the door, peek around the corner.
Alex has wrestled a gun away from one of the men. He spins, using the man as a shield as the other fires. The man ends up killing his accomplice with three shots to the back, then Alex drops him and raises his pistol, lets out a berserker-like roar as he fires two shots.
I snap my eyes closed before allowing them, through a tiny squint, to see the shots tear through the man’s head. I instinctively squeeze them shut again.
Then I hear him slump to the floor with a thump.
A second later, Alex’s hand is on my arm. I peel my eyes open. Stare up at him. His face is flecked with blood, his eyes tight with tension. He winces as he speaks.
“We need to leave. Now. Before the cops get here.”
He takes my arm and lifts me to my feet. I almost stumble, my legs turning to Jell-O. He grips me hard. Holds me steady despite the blood still pouring from his arm.
“What the hell just happened?” I gasp.
“Not here—not now,” he grunts. “Look at me, Bella. Really– look at me.”
I stare into his wild eyes.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
It’s not like he asked it before. When we were playing our Daddy games. This is different, more impactful. For real.
Behind him, in the corpse-filled room, I see an image of Grandma again. A smile on her face. Nodding because she knows the truth—she knows I’ve trusted this man as long as I’ve known him.
“Yes,” I whisper. “But Alex … your arm.”
“Keeping you safe,” he snarls. “That’s my only priority. We’re leaving. Now!”
I press down on his arm with a torn piece of shirt as we surge up the road in his Lamborghini. He grits his teeth, sweat sliding down his face, but he doesn’t complain. If anything, he looks grateful. Relieved that I’m alive.
Love and care radiate from every solid inch of his body.
He drives into his garage, ignoring the ogling from the tourists. Then leans back with a sigh.
“Do you have a first-aid kit?” I ask.
“Oh, Bella …” With his good hand, he touches my face. Looks intensely into my eyes. “I just need to look at you. To feel you. To know you’re safe. If anything had happened to you …” He shudders. “You’re everything to me. Everything. I know you need time—”
“I don’t,” I cut in, tears pricking my eyes. “It was a lie … or a way to try and stay sane. But I don’t want to be sane, Alex, not if it means leaving you. Or– you leaving me”
He leans in. Crushes his lips against me. I moan and smooth my hand to his shoulder. Then I move away, and gesture stubbornly at his arm.
“We need to patch you up, Alex.”
“I need to make some calls,” he grunts. “Gather my troops. End this so I can start the next chapter.” He looks at me with almost boyish hopefulness. “With you.”
I swallow. “One thing at a time.”
We climb out of the car. He takes my hand and guides me through his house. “First-aid kit is under the sink,” he says. “We’ll take it to my study.”
We walk through the villa together. I’ve got the first-aid kit in one hand and my other is curled around his, holding tightly. Desperately. Never wanting to let go.
There’s nothing like a near-death experience to hammer home what’s really important.
I tear off his bloody shirt. Open the first-aid kit. The bleeding has stopped and the bullet seems to have grazed him.
“A flesh wound,” he grunts, nodding. “No big deal.”
“I still need to bandage it.”
He smiles almost softly. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“My Grandma was a nurse,” I tell him. “And an artist. And a traveler.”
“A woman of many talents. I wish I could’ve met her.”
“Me too,” I whisper.
He picks up his phone. I begin cleaning his wound.
Alex barks down the phone, “Russians came for me here. Targeted my woman. Call in the troops. Clear the entire village and handle the local cops. This war ends within the goddamn week—then I’m out.
My involvement is over. I’ve found a new meaning to my life now.
Something more than blood and bullets and bribes. ”
He looks at me. Dark eyes glistening with meaning. With hunger. With love.
Once he’s bandaged and his calls are done, I fold my arms. “What are you, Alex?” I demand. Wondering if it will change anything. Knowing it won’t.
“A mob boss,” he grunts. “The East Coast Italian mafia. I’ve spent most of my adult life leading the mob.
Trying to make it better one percent at a time.
Trying to make it less vicious. Less evil.
And I’ve succeeded. That’s why I’m here.
I wanted out of the life. But I couldn’t get all the way out.
I was half in, still running things from overseas … until you, Bella.”
I swallow. Emotion grips me, making my throat tight.
“One afternoon watching you turn this vineyard into a work of art was enough. I know. In my heart. In my bones. In my goddamned soul—something I didn’t even know I had– until you. You’ve changed me.”
I gently take his face in my hands, feel the light silver stubble against my palm. Tears sting my eyes. A sob makes it difficult to speak.
“I know those men never would’ve targeted you if it wasn’t for me,” he says huskily.
“But I’ll never let anything happen to you.
Nobody is going to hurt you. To touch you.
Dare to disrespect you. Not now and not ever.
You’re mine, Bella. Your smile. Your talent.
Your optimism. Your curves. Your … everything. And I’m yours.”
He rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard.
“I’m yours,” he repeats. “My past, my present, my future. You belong to me and I belong to you.”
“And you’re leaving this life now?” I ask, my voice catching in my throat.
“Forever. Yes, I don’t need it anymore. I haven’t needed it since you came along. Stay with me, Bella. While I make my calls. While I cut my cords, untie my connections. While I build myself a raft big enough for the both of us. Just—just stay with me.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, Alex. I’ll stay.”
He groans and pulls me against him.
Our lips crash together in a collision of hunger and warmth and belonging.