Chapter 36 Chiara
Chiara
Iwake from a fucked-up dream about monstrous devil dogs just as we enter the house. My head throbs, and now that the adrenaline has faded, I regret drinking so much wine and champagne.
Things are hazy, but the memory of Lorenzo hitting me across the face is front and center. Two strong arms cradle me as we head upstairs.
From the scent of bergamot, it’s Angelo. I should tell him to put me down, but I’m tired, still drunk, and dammit, he rescued me from his psychopath of a father.
“Your father is a psycho,” I slur, still half asleep.
“I know,” he agrees. Felix meows from his perch on a small table. I coo some nonsense as we pass him and he hops down to follow us. Coco is probably already in my bed.
Will Luka be there? I hope so. After tonight’s shenanigans, I need a cuddle.
Fuck, my cheek hurts.
“We need to save Fina,” I remind Angelo. Something nags at my brain about Fina, something Angelo isn’t aware of and I’m not allowed to tell him.
“Santini’s dead.”
Angelo’s words sink in, and I gasp. “What? How?!”
“I killed him.”
“I married a murderer,” I think. Only I say it out loud because I’m drunk and stupid.
Angelo stops outside my bedroom. “Is that a problem?”
Is it a problem that he killed the monster who would have made my friend’s life a misery? Hell, no.
“What about your father?” There’s a hopeful note in my question, which makes Angelo snort.
“Sorry, princess, he’s still breathing.”
“Damn. Can you kill your father next? Nobody likes him either.”
A soft laugh rumbles through me. “I’d love to, but that will take some planning.”
I sigh happily. Drunk-me is a bloodthirsty, vengeful bitch, apparently.
My bedroom door swings open to reveal Luka sprawled, face down, across my bed, deeply asleep judging by the snores. As predicted, Coco is also on the bed, her small body curled into Luka’s side. There’s no room for me, even though the bed is king-size.
Angelo curses.
“Fucking asshole,” he mutters, but instead of dropping me on the bed and waking Luka, he backs out and pushes the door to, leaving just enough room for Felix to slink in.
“Where are we going now?” I mumble as my eyes flutter shut.
“My room.”
If I weren’t still drunk, I’d probably protest, slam my fists into his chest, and call him a few choice names. Instead, I snuggle into his warm neck and relax. Have I forgiven him?
I don’t know, but hearing Lorenzo say Angelo wanted me long before the wedding stirred some long-hidden memories deep in my head.
I recall a dark-haired boy chasing me through trees when I was a kid, both of us laughing. Then, years later, that same boy had become a young man who watched with sadness in his eyes as faceless men lowered my father’s coffin into the ground.
Angelo has never been my enemy.
I see that now.
God knows I didn’t want this marriage, but I suspect he didn’t want it this way either. We both know if he hadn’t agreed to become my husband, it would have been a monster like Domenico Santini.
As much as I’ve fought against the constraints placed on me, Angelo has never hurt me. Not once, despite tremendous provocation. He’s saved my life several times, even when that came at a personal cost.
And tonight, he fought back against his father, despite knowing it would cause problems for him.
He carries me into his bedroom. It’s a large room with an attached bathroom and walk-in closet. The decor is plain: soft gray walls, a dark blue quilt with matching pillows. There’s a fireplace, a comfortable armchair, and dark wood furniture.
It has a masculine but comfortable vibe. I see some framed photos on a dresser and a few books on the nightstand, and on the walls, two small landscape paintings that remind me of my mother’s artwork.
I have no clue what Vivian did with all my mom’s old paintings after my father died. The attic remained locked, and she claimed to have lost the key. Knowing her, she burned them all.
Angelo takes me into the bathroom and sets me down on the edge of the vanity. He switches a light on over the sink and inspects the bruises on my face and neck.
The fury in his eyes makes me flinch. He notices and sighs.
“I’m not angry at you, princess.”
I scoff. “Really? You told me to behave and steer clear of your father, but I did the exact opposite.”
“You always do,” he grumbles. “But that doesn’t mean he has the right to hurt you.”
The shudder that wracks my body isn’t because I’m cold. No, it’s because now I’m sobering up, I realize how close I came to having the life throttled out of me at Lorenzo’s hands. Angelo’s fingers ghost over the bruises around my neck.
“I’m so sorry, princess. If I’d let you go, you’d be safe.”
He’s not wrong, but if he had let me go, would I be happy?
When I look back, I see I was merely surviving. Living from one day to the next while eking out a living working for Mack. My life here is very different. Yes, I hate the lack of freedom, but I have Luka, Coco, Felix, and Fina. I also have Kane.
And god help me, I have Angelo.
Yes, he’s the husband I never wanted, but he’s proven himself many times now.
His dark hair flops forward over his eyes, far messier than usual. The jacket he wore when we left the house earlier is missing, and his crisp white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a tempting portion of olive skin.
There’s blood on his shirt collar, which reinforces what he said about killing Santini. Such a visceral reminder of my husband’s vicious side should scare me, but it doesn’t.
I reach up and stroke his stubbly jaw. He hasn’t shaved since this morning; it’s prickly under my fingers. The thought of how deliciously raspy that will feel on my lady bits makes me squirm.
Angelo’s eyes darken, and drunk-me wonders if he can read my mind. Fuck, I hope not. That would be majorly embarrassing. There’s a lot of smutty stuff going on in there right now.
“Let me put something on these bruises.” He reaches into the cabinet to his left. I sit still while he squeezes some ointment onto his fingers, but can’t help wincing when he rubs it into my bruises.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. For hurting me? Or for his father? I’m not entirely sure. “This should help reduce the bruising.” When I tilt my head forward, he curses. “Fuck, did you hit your head on something?” I peek through my lashes to see him glaring at my reflection in the mirror behind me.
“Um, maybe?” Everything is slightly woozy, but if I focus hard, I can recall the moment Lorenzo hit me and I bashed my head on his desk. That reminds me…I picked up an envelope. I think?
“Dammit, Chiara. I should get you checked out. You could have a concussion.” Angelo’s jaw clenches as he stares at me, whatever naughty thoughts he had a few minutes ago long gone.
It’s disappointing, even though I should be grateful we’re back on track because it’s late and I need to sleep.
“I’m fine. It didn’t knock me out or anything. Pretty sure that means I don’t have a traumatic brain injury.” Angelo scowls at my flippant tone, but his shoulders relax.
“Maybe not, but I’ll have to keep a close eye on you. Just in case.” Does that mean he plans to lie next to me all night, watching for signs of a concussion? I gulp.
“Where’s Fina?” I ask, remembering she wasn’t with us in the car.
“She left the party before us.” He rubs more ointment onto my neck. It smells minty. Not unpleasant. “Matteo said she wasn’t feeling well, so they decided to stay in the city tonight.”
Now that I’m less drunk, I remember Fina’s secret.
Fuck. I hope the baby is okay. I bite my lip as I debate saying something to Angelo, but it’s not my place to reveal Fina’s secret.
If she’s not okay, Matteo will make sure she sees a doctor.
And now Santini is dead, RIP. At least that’s one weight off her shoulders.
Not that Lorenzo will be thrilled when he finds out, but we can worry about that tomorrow, or whenever.
“Kane?” I ask hopefully.
Angelo scowls again. “Not here.” He seems annoyed that I’m asking where Kane is. Oops. There’s that nasty jealous streak rearing its head again. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I don’t like sleeping alone.” I pout.
“Good job I’m here then, isn’t it,” he snaps before lifting me off the counter. He stalks back into the bedroom. A minute later, he returns with a clean tee shirt. “You can sleep in this tonight.”
When I don’t move, he raises an eyebrow. “Need some help getting undressed, princess?”
“Are you offering?” My voice comes out husky. It sounds more like an invitation than an innocent question.
“Would you let me help you?” He smirks.
Since the thought of Angelo stripping me naked threatens to obliterate my self-control, I do the only sensible thing I can think of: slam the door shut in his face.
When I finally summon the courage to leave the bathroom, the bedroom is empty. There’s a lamp on next to the bed but no sign of Angelo. I exhale a shaky sigh of relief and debate whether I should head back to my room now I’ve sobered up.
Luka will probably panic if he wakes and I’m not there.
But before I can escape, the bedroom door opens and Angelo walks back in with a tall glass of water and some pills.
“Drink this and take these,” he orders. “Otherwise, you’ll be dying in the morning.”
Great. He’s back to his bossy, controlling self. But because my head hurts and I ache all over, I do as I’m told.
“Now get into bed.”
“I should go back to my room,” I hedge, taking a step toward the door.
“No.”
My temper flares in indignation. “You’re not the boss of me!”
“No, but I am your husband, and you need monitoring after a head injury,” he snaps. “So for once in your fucking life, do as you’re fucking told!”
I bristle before huffing loudly. He has a point. Luka sleeps like the dead, so I could easily suffer a fatal seizure in the night and he’d have no clue.
“Ugh, fine!” Before he can harass me any further, I stomp over to the bed and crawl under the covers. The mattress is firm but not too hard, and the sheets smell of laundry detergent and Angelo’s spicy scent.
Once he sees I’m done fighting him, he ducks into the bathroom and a few seconds later, the shower turns on. It occurs to me this is my chance to do a runner, but my energy levels have hit zero, so I close my eyes and get comfortable.
Just as I’m nodding off, he emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam. Unfortunately for me, I make the mistake of opening my eyes, only to see him drop his towel before grabbing a clean pair of boxers from a tall chest of drawers.
Immediately, all thoughts of sleep go out of the window.