28. The Ugly Truth
CHAPTER 28
THE UGLY TRUTH
A ntonio
Circling the lake of my childhood home which now sits in a pile of ashes, the anger grows more powerful with each passing minute. Serena stands at the steering wheel, following the route I laid out, skimming the coast but remaining hidden from large ports. That house, Mariuccia, the memories, they were all that was left of my humanity. And some son-of-a-bitch stole that from me.
Worse, they nearly stole her .
My eyes flicker to Serena as I stretch across the banquette, useless with this damned bullet wound still spilling blood. She’d offered to patch me up before we hit the water, but my only concern was getting as far from the blazing villa as possible. Her gaze is fixed to the pitch sky, while I can’t stop watching her. Neither of us have spoken much the past few hours as we circle endlessly. Whoever is behind this won’t linger in Como forever. We simply must wait them out. Then once I’m certain it’s safe, I’ll make my next move.
Normally, there would be no question. My gut says this is Dante Valentino; the timing is too perfect for it to be anyone else. And yet, Serena is adamant her father would never do this. In my experience, family, blood and loyalty doesn’t mean merda . Papà turned on Raffaele, Raf turned on Papà. I’m not certain exactly how Giuseppe died but it could have been at the hands of my father. Either way, it all proves my point.
My thoughts spin, the anger churning. The arsonists could have just as easily been the Salernos or the Sartoris. Both had motives…
And how can Serena be so sure it isn’t the Kings behind this?
Dante is not il capo , no matter how hard he pretends to be. That title belongs to his brother, Luca, and if Dante didn’t make the call, then it must have been the younger Valentino. That attack was brutal, perfectly organized and left no trace of the culprit.
Once we were at a safe distance, I put the call in to my man at the Como police station. He’s kept me abreast of the situation, and as of now, they have nothing. I doubt they’ll ever find a single clue. Whoever did this was a professional.
I push myself up, forcing my body into a sitting position, and a groan hisses through my clenched teeth. Serena spins toward me, a look I was certain I would never see on the woman flashing across her face, illuminated by the sliver of moon overhead.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I grit out, forcing myself to remain upright.
“You are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.” Cutting the engine so the boat bobs on the faint current, she whirls on me. “You should have let me check your wound. You’re of no use to me if you bleed out.”
A rueful chuckle slips out, and I barely restrain from crying out as my ribs expand with the laugh, tearing at the wound just above my heart. “ Merda ,” I rasp out, pressing the cloth more firmly against my chest.
“That’s it. I’m not going anywhere until you let me look at that bullet wound. And if you tell me you’re fine one more time, I’m going to throw you overboard.”
Before I can respond, she crouches down and rifles through the cabinets beneath the stern. She pops up a moment later with a first-aid kit.
“Lie down,” she barks.
I stare up at her wide-eyed as she looms over me. I’m not a man that’s used to taking orders.
“Don’t make me ask again, Antonio. That crappy cloth that you’ve been using to staunch the blood is soaked through. The wound needs to be cleaned, stitched up and dressed.”
“And you know how to do that?”
“No, you definitely picked the wrong Valentino mafia princess if you needed a surgeon.” Her eyes twinkle with a hint of amusement, the first I’ve seen since we ran from the fire. “But I can at least clean and bandage it. Then we need to get off this boat and find a real doctor.” She drops the first-aid kit on the gleaming mahogany, opens it and pulls out alcohol, cotton swabs, and bandages. “What about that doctor that came to the house for my ankle?”
Elena had of course sprung to mind, but after Mariuccia and Fabi… “I don’t want to involve Dottoressa Bergamaschi,” I mutter.
“Then we’re going to have to go to the hospital. The bandage will only be a temporary fix.”
“No.” I shake my head. “That will be the first place they’ll look. Whoever is behind this, will have to return to the house to confirm I’m dead. When they don’t find my body, they’ll search all the medical facilities. Some bastardo shot me in the back; that’s not something you usually walk away from unscathed.”
“In the back?”
I nod, even the faint movement pulling at the torn skin on my chest.
“Coward,” she mutters. Then a steely resolve settles across her features, and she reaches for the first-aid kit once more. “Take your shirt off.” She pulls out a needle and a spool of thread from her purse, the kind for sewing not surgery.
“Absolutely not.” I eye her, my gut churning.
“We don’t have butterfly bandages or wound closure strips in here and a regular band-aid just isn’t going to cut it at this point. Just cleaning it isn’t going to be enough. And sure, there’s a risk of infection if you do this, but for now, it’s the best option.”
“You’re really serious about this?”
“Your choice, either you give my sewing skills a chance or we go to the ER right now.”
I grit out a curse as I eye the needle she has pinched between her fingertips. If we can buy ourselves twenty-four hours, I can see Elena once the pressure is off. “You can sew?”
“I’m an inspiring fashion designer, Antonio, of course I can sew.” She shrugs. “And as you know, Bella is a doctor. We used to practice our stitching together back in college. It’s not that different.”
I nearly choke on a laugh. Am I really going to allow this woman to stitch up my wound with a sewing needle and cotton thread? It’s better than dragging Elena into this with arsonists on the loose.
“Fine, just do it.” I untuck my shirt, the movement ripping at my torn skin, and a hiss escapes.
“Let me help.” She crouches in front of me, fitting herself between my thighs and begins to unfasten the buttons down my shirt. My hand jerks up, wrapping around her wrist. For an insane moment, I don’t want her to see the scars on my back. No one has. Though I’ve had them painstakingly covered with a beautiful canvas, if you look close enough, the ugly truth is hidden just below the inked surface.
“What?” Her eyes meet mine, and I’m scared shitless that she’s going to see the vulnerability that I've tried so hard to mask for all these years.
Though the physical scars are new, the mental ones have been there for a decade.
“Just be careful,” I murmur.
Her head dips. My pulse escalates at her proximity, at her hands brushing my skin as she works her way down. Her bottom lip is trapped beneath her teeth and fuck, if I wasn’t in so much pain, this would be divine torture.
Once she’s gotten the last button undone, she slips her hand beneath my shirt and slowly draws the sleeve down. It’s sticky, dirty and bloodied and the sight of those slender fingers coated in my blood, does something to me. There’s a slight tremble in her touch, or maybe I’m the one shaking. My heart pounds faster, in time with the pulsating of the festering wound, which is not a good sign.
The shirt falls to the floor, and I lift my wild gaze to meet hers. The bright blue of her eyes has darkened, pupils blown out with… desire? She can’t possibly be enjoying this as much as I am, can she?
“Now, lie down,” she whispers, a breathy edge to her tone that wasn’t there a moment ago.
I stretch out across the seat, the leather sticky with my blood. If she makes me turn around, she’ll see the landscape of destroyed skin across my back. “The wound at my back should be fine with the bandage,” I blurt quickly. “It’s the one at my chest that won’t stop bleeding.”
She nods, keeping her head down. I watch her intently as she pours alcohol on the cotton swab and gently dabs at the area around the wound, removing the encrusted blood.
“You should have let me do this an hour ago,” she murmurs.
“And miss seeing the worry in your eye?”
She snorts on a laugh, nearly swatting at my chest before catching herself. “I’m concerned you’ll die on me before getting us out of this mess.”
“You’re a clever girl, tesoro . I have no doubt you could make it back to Milano on your own.” And there it is. In the chaos of the fire, I didn’t have time to say it or even process her motivations. But the truth hits me harder than the bullet through my chest.
She stayed for me. Saved my life. Why?
Serena doesn’t respond to my unspoken question, only keeps her head down, gaze focused on the blood still coating my chest. I have no doubt she’s understood my insinuation, but she’s chosen to ignore me. Maybe it’s what’s best for both of us right now.
Once she’s satisfied that the wound is clean, she reaches for the needle. I tense for a second, imagining the feel of the sharp tip piercing my flesh.
“I’m not going to lie, it’s going to hurt like hell.”
“I certainly hope your cousin has a better bedside manner than you.”
The corners of her lips quirk, nearly a smile but not quite. “Bella is better than me in every way.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
She seems as shocked to hear it as I am that the words slipped out.
Still, I continue because apparently the blood loss must have done some serious damage to my brain. “I doubt she would have gone through such lengths to save the life of her captor.”
Serena closes her eyes and inhales a deep breath before she stabs the needle into my chest.