Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Rayna
Two Weeks Later
I’m alone in the apartment for the first time since Yordan was shot, and I’m not handling it well. For fifteen days, I’ve been taking care of my little brother day and night. The doctors said he needed copious amounts of rest, especially in the first few days of leaving hospital care.
I may have gone a little overboard, catering to him like he was incapable of getting out of bed or off the couch, but I couldn’t help it.
He was so weak and sore for so many days, I had to do something to make myself feel useful to him.
To feel better about how helpless I was in truly helping him.
His body needed time to recover, and nothing I could do would change that.
Today, though, he’d had enough rest. He was officially cleared to start light physical activity, and no amount of worrying from me would change his mind.
He was with Javi and Apollo who claimed they would assess Yordan’s range of motion and tolerance levels before working with him.
They claimed it would be more like physical therapy than a work out session, but I still couldn’t help the unease that filled me.
Unlike every other time he’s left the house, Yordan didn’t invite me along this time.
I didn’t blame him. He knew I would hear him make one little sound of slight pain or discomfort and try to take him back home.
Sometimes knowing each other so well becomes more of a curse than a blessing.
After all, within the first twenty minutes of him being gone, all I could do was pace around the living room while trying to talk myself out of running right after them.
Distracting myself became a necessity, and so I’ve taken to violently preparing some croissants.
The laminated yeast dough requires many steps and plenty of movement.
Plus, I already baked the tarts I prepped yesterday but just putting something in the oven wasn’t enough of a task.
Croissants were a solid choice, being able to take out my frustration on cold butter and dough with a wooden rolling pin has been almost therapeutic.
“Music might make this better,” I mutter to myself but shake my head, immediately deciding against it. All of the banging and kitchen noises would cut into whatever music was playing and drive me crazy.
Grunting, I start whacking the parchment-covered butter to flatten it into a long sheet.
It feels more like a work out than a baking task, so much so that the back of my neck is a little sweaty.
Flyaway hairs from my bun stick to it, and I’m too invested in my preparation to care.
I huff, rolling my shoulders back, continuing to hit ingredients harder and harder.
The sound of a great bang that I haven’t created sends a shock to my system. My flour covered hands react blindly, reaching for the secret drawer to my side. I pull out the weapon with a racing heart, realizing what I’ve just heard. Someone kicked the door in.
My stomach drops and I cock the pistol, hands trembling as heavy footsteps hit the floor, coming closer and closer. I don’t think, I just extend my arms and wait for a shape to come around the corner. My finger reacts before my eyes do, squeezing the trigger once.
My hands vibrate, the small recoil sending a cold thrum all the way up my arms. Contact is made, and my ears ring from the sound of the shot, but clarity snaps through me with a cold rush.
The fear and adrenaline from moments ago transforms into shock, and then utter terror when I see the face of who I just hit.
No, no, no, no.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, dropping my gun and rushing around the counter. “I’m so sorry, oh my God. I thought you were an intruder breaking in! What are you—how are you—oh please don’t punish Yordan for this.”
Blood is slowly dripping from his thick bicep, smearing his white button down in bright, crimson stains. If he hadn’t reacted to the sight of me with a gun, I could have hit him anywhere.
The only reason he isn’t bleeding out on the ground right now is because he has significantly faster reflexes than I do. And I’ve never been happier to say that Apollo Moretti is better than me at something.
“Take a breath,” he instructs far too calmly. “It’s just a flesh wound.” Like the bullet graze in his arm is nothing more than a scratch, he begins to unbutton his top, slowly slipping the ruined material off.
Finding myself with my mouth hanging open, and lost for words, I watch as he rips a sleeve clean off the shirt. He wraps the scrap of cloth around his arm, tightly covering his wound to stop the bleeding.
These past two weeks I’ve been avoiding thinking about Apollo and the kiss we shared in the hospital.
He hasn’t brought it up, and neither have I.
I wouldn’t have, even if I wanted to. My focus was fully on Yordan and getting him better again.
But I won’t deny that our kiss has been haunting me at night, reminding me how undeniably good it was.
And now I’ll never have it again. Not even if I admitted that I wanted it. Because I ruined it. I’ve ruined everything in the blink of an eye. I’ll be lucky if I’m allowed to continue breathing after what I’ve just done.
My life is quite literally flashing before my eyes. Memories of growing up, raising Yordan, and these past few weeks of peace especially. I just raised a gun to the future Capo of The Outfit. I just shot the man who holds my family’s life in his hands.
“I understand that you need to punish me for this,” I croak, chin wobbling as I resist the urge to cry. “But don’t blame Yordan. Please don’t hurt him because I—”
“Marry me.”
Record scratch.
“I—excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
No, I couldn’t have possibly heard him correctly. The gunshot must have fucked with my ears more than I thought.
“What is happening right now?” My hands shakily lift to my head, resting on either side of my temples to check that it’s still attached. “I just shot you! Why aren’t you demanding my execution? What the fuck, Apollo?”
He blinks, like he’s the confused one. “Execution? I broke into your home, of course you shot me.”
“Why did you break in?” I dare ask, hoping to make sense of this God forsaken incident.
“I heard banging and grunts from the hall,” he replies evenly. “I thought you were in danger.”
Oh great. He was trying to come to my rescue and I fucking shot him like a lunatic.
“Now I see that the only thing in danger was your…pastry dough? Do you always bake so violently?”
“No, I don’t. Not every time. Why are you being so calm? Your arm is bleeding!” I feel like I’m having some kind of drug-induced delusion. Is there any other explanation for this insanity?
“It doesn’t even hurt. Doc will patch me up when I leave.”
“And why aren’t you rushing to leave? Shouldn’t you want to get it looked at immediately?”
“I kicked your door in, Rayna. I’m not leaving you here until it’s fixed.” He gives me a look like I should have known, like his explanation is entirely reasonable. “Elio should be on his way, he’ll take care of it.”
If Elio is coming, does that mean Yordan is too? He’s going to be so upset and worried when he finds out.
Wait.
“Did you ask me to marry you?”
Apollo tilts his head. “Technically, I didn’t ask.”
“I need to sit down,” I say, swallowing hard. Clutching my stomach, I drop into one of the tall counter chairs, blowing out an unsteady breath.
Concern etches his brow as he takes the seat next to mine. “Are you all right?”
Disbelief bubbles out of me in a laugh. “I shoot you, and you ask me if I’m all right? God, Elio was right, your family really is insane.”
“Your family too, if you accept my offer.”
I still don’t believe whatever this marriage farce he’s trying to sell me. There’s absolutely no way Apollo is requesting to be my husband. This is some kind of joke or test or something—anything else makes more sense.
The fake engagement thing was a ridiculous rouse to get his father off his back, and nothing else. He’s never made it seem like anything more. It was a means to an end. And now he’s trying to make it real?
“I thought you weren’t asking?” I swallow hard. “Why on earth would you want to marry me? I don’t understand what’s happening right now.”
“I’ve been considering it for weeks—”
“Have you gone mad?” I interrupt him with round eyes.
Apollo arches an eyebrow at my outburst. “Are you going to let me speak?”
No. “Yes.”
“You possess certain qualities that I would require in a wife. Namely, your protective nature. The way you would do anything for your brother, the way even just now, you worried about him above facing your own fate. The mother of my children will need to do the same.”
“Now we’re discussing children?”
“I need an heir, Rayna,” he says patiently. “You know that.”
“And you need me for that? Can’t you just pluck any mafia princess out of the blue for this? You’re not making any sense at all.”
“I’ve had over ten years to pluck any mafia princess. I’ve had them paraded in front of me an endless amount of times. I’ve never even considered making one of them my wife.”
I shouldn’t find that surprising. That sounds just like him. Too good for anyone, too stubborn to settle down.
“I feel like you’re expecting me to be flattered but honestly I can’t process any of this information, Apollo. I shot you. With a gun. And now you’re bleeding while telling me to be your wife so I can have your baby.”
He fucking smirks at me. Smirks. “Seems like you’re processing just fine, that’s exactly what’s happening.”
“But why?”
He breathes out, considering his words. “The way you would do anything for Yordan. They way you’d kill, die, and live for him. You’d do that for your child as well, wouldn’t you?”
“Wouldn’t anyone?”
“No, Rayna.” His head shakes. “My mother wouldn’t. Plenty of other mothers wouldn’t either. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize my wife wouldn’t do absolutely anything for our child. I want her to have the same endless dedication to our son or daughter’s life that I have.”
“I…That’s very noble, but,” I trail off, swallowing hard. “We don’t even get along. Don’t you want to love your wife? You get to choose. Do you know how many heirs aren’t afforded that luxury? Why would you waste that choice?”
“Waste?” His face screws up. “Do you think so little of yourself?”
“I think you think that little of me,” I counter bitterly. “Apollo, you can’t stand me. I drive you nuts, constantly. You tolerate me so that you can spend time with Yordan, so that you can mentor him.”
“If I couldn’t stand you, I wouldn’t consider you to be a perfect candidate for the mother of my children, now would I?
” His gaze bores into mine, an unfamiliar intensity sparking between us.
“I wouldn’t have pinned you to a wall and kissed the life out of you weeks ago, if I didn’t feel something for you. ”
I drop my eyes, heart pounding harder. “You haven’t brought it up—”
“I told you, that one was free,” he cuts in, voice soft but burning with tension. “Have you decided to stop pretending?”
“Pretending what?” I rasp.
“Pretending that that kiss wasn’t a long time coming, micina.”
I breathe out slowly, blinking up at him. Denial dances on my tongue, itching to come out, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to lie to him, not now.
“Whoa, what the hell happened here?” Elio’s familiar voice calls out, interrupting the moment.
“Misunderstanding,” Apollo grunts, standing up from his chair. “I need to go get patched up, get her door fixed and don’t leave until it’s secure.”
Slapping him on the chest once, he bypasses Elio without another word. Noting the blood on the ground and the apparent wound his brother is sporting, he arches a brow at me.
“Care to offer some insight, birichina?”
The joking nickname for me he came up with this past month and a half has never felt more apt. I’ve been more than a handful today, I almost became a murderer.
“I shot your brother and he told me to marry him.”
He freezes, digests the information, tips his head back, and fucking laughs. It’s a hearty and shocked laugh, bubbling out of him uncontrollably.
“Gesù Cristo, Rayna. I never have a dull day when you’re around.” Peeking around my shoulders his eyes light up. “Are those chocolate tarts?”
I nod numbly, still reeling. “With black cherry filling. I was working on croissant dough when Apollo busted down the door.”
“Fuck yes,” he cheers, rounding the counter.
He’s become much more himself since the Sienna rescue.
He needed time to cool down, and I understood entirely.
“I’m stealing two of these, and calling some people to get you a new door.
You finish your croissants, or wrap them up to finish them later.
You should have some chocolate too, you look a little pecky. ”
Some sugar might actually help snap me out of this stupified state.
“Wait, if you’re here and Apollo just left, where’s Yordan?”
Elio lifts a pastry to his lips, pausing to answer my question. “No need to worry, he’s with Javi, Ana, and Cassio. There’s a foster family lunch at the orphanage tomorrow and he wanted to volunteer by setting up with them.”
My stomach twists in knots. “You don’t have any tequila with you, do you? I don’t think chocolate is going to fix me.”
His face softens with sympathy and understanding. “It’s an indoor set up, and no outsiders are there. He’s making goody bags, not straining himself. They’ve got plenty of guards and I believe Leon is there too. He’s safe. Trust me, if it was a public event, Apollo would be there.”
“How did this become my life?” I groan, feeling a little relief to the anxiety bubbling in my gut.
“You crossed paths with Apollo Moretti,” Elio says with a chuckle.
Don’t I know it?