Chapter 25
Either I’m dreaming of puking or someone is puking, is my first thought as I open my eyes.
I sit up, groggy, and peer over to find the sheets behind me messy, but no Emilio.
The sound of retching comes again as I stretch.
Definitely not dreaming.
I slide out of bed, head toward the bathroom, but stop when I notice Emilio’s gun on the nightstand.
It’s right there.
My golden ticket out of this marriage.
All it’d take is me squeezing the trigger and let freedom ring.
No way would he leave his gun out in the open like that.
Is this a test?
Probably.
Shaking my head, I chicken out and walk to the bathroom. The door is shut, and I ease it open to find Emilio bare-chested and crouched over the toilet. His skin is pale and shiny with sweat, and his hair is stuck to his forehead.
He stares at me with glossy eyes before slumping against the wall.
Is he hungover?
Sick?
Now would be the perfect time to kill him.
I’ll never find him in a moment of weakness like this again.
But can I?
I rush over, and when I kneel beside him, he looks away.
Scooting closer, I rest the back of my hand against his forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“I came from hell,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I’m always hot.”
“Ha-ha. Funny, Satan.”
He goes quiet, like his last reply took all his energy.
“Do you think you’re done getting sick?”
He tiredly nods.
I hook my arm under his and start to stand. “Let’s get you back to bed then.”
“Can’t.” He shakes his head, mumbling, “I have shit to do.”
“Emilio,” I say as gently as I can, “you’re going back to bed. End of discussion.”
I tug on his arm, but he doesn’t move.
Groaning, I use all my weight to try to drag him away from the toilet, as if playing tug-of-war.
He doesn’t move an inch. After a few more failed tries, he gives me a break and slowly stands.
I’m at his side as he stumbles out of the bathroom toward the bed.
I pull the blankets back, and he drops onto the mattress like a dead body, not even bothering to adjust his pillow.
As he settles, his gaze drifts from me to the gun on the nightstand, then back to me. Without saying a word, he pulls himself up, grabs the gun, and tucks it into the drawer.
He doesn’t lock it.
If he falls asleep, it’s mine.
I’m sure though, even half dead, Emilio would still stop me from getting it.
I pat his head. “Stay.” My turn to boss him around.
His heavy eyes close, and he relaxes. I count to twenty, making sure he doesn’t get up, before going to the bathroom to change clothes. When I’m finished, I check on him again, then walk downstairs.
It’s already ten, and Maggie usually shows up around nine.
“Good morning,” I greet her as I step into the kitchen.
“Morning,” she sings back in her dainty voice before glancing past me to the doorway. “Is Emilio still home?”
“He left a few hours ago. One of his Mafia friends picked him up.” I grab a banana from the fruit bowl and peel it. “Said I could use the Range Rover for the day.”
“Nice try,” she says around a soft laugh. “Emilio texts me with any daily changes.”
“Like a true babysitter.” I frown, biting into the banana.
“Being called a babysitter is an upgrade from prison guard. I’ll accept that promotion.”
“He’s upstairs.” I use the banana to point at the ceiling. “He was puking his brains out. I made him get back in bed.”
Her eyes widen. “You made him?”
“Yep. I wear the pants in the relationship now.” I take the final bite and toss the peel in the trash.
She shakes her head in amusement.
“Do you know if there’s a thermometer somewhere around here?”
She pauses, thinking. “I had one in my old bathroom. If no one cleared it out, it should still be there.”
She exits the kitchen, and without asking for permission, I follow her.
After Emilio kicked me out of the library, I stopped exploring my new home, scared of what I’d find or Emilio finding me somewhere I shouldn’t be.
I also told myself this wouldn’t be my home for long, so I didn’t need to grow attached to it.
But as I trail Maggie, I admire all the beauty of the parts I haven’t seen. The intricate details and family portraits still hung along the walls. The benches with books and coats. It was once lived in, not abandoned.
This is my home until I get the nerve to kill Emilio.
Maybe I should start making it feel more like it—brighten it up, bring its life back. It’d give me a distraction, something to do.
We turn a corner and walk down a dim corridor to a tucked-away wing that resembles a small apartment with a living room, kitchenette, and bedroom. Like the rest of the home—minus the kitchen and bedroom, since I helped Maggie clean those—it’s coated in dust.
“Is this where you stayed when you lived here?” I ask as she moves into the bedroom.
She flips on the light, and it flickers a few times before illuminating the room.
Her shoulders drop with a sigh as she slowly nods, taking in the room. “Nothing has changed,” she says, her voice tinged with sadness.
I linger in the doorway, unsure if I should step inside or let her have her space.
“It doesn’t surprise me,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Emilio moved out the same day I did, and Nuncio never set foot in this room before. I doubt he did after. He didn’t love this home the way Evalina did.”
My chest aches at the pain in her voice.
I want to wrap her in my arms, hug her tight, and never let her go.
She sniffles, turning toward me. “I’ve lost so much. This is the one place I could’ve kept. Nuncio would’ve let me stay. But I couldn’t. I left and chose to be a lonely old woman instead.”
I step inside. “Do you have children, Maggie?”
She brushes her hand along the bed before sitting on the edge. “My son died when he was seven.”
My chest tightens more, and I cross the room to sit beside her. “Maggie, I’m so sorry.” I gently rest my hand over hers.
“He and my husband were in a car accident,” she says, voice shaking.
She squeezes her eyes shut as a tear slips free.
“Both families I loved were taken from me in the same way.” Her hand trembles beneath mine, and I squeeze it tight.
“Evalina had taken me in when I had no one. She even paid for my family’s funerals. ”
I slide my arm around her, pulling her into a hug.
We sit there, silent.
Tears fall down her cheeks as she looks around the room, memories spilling in from her past between these four walls.
“All right,” she says, patting the bed. “Let me go find that thermometer.”
Without meeting my eyes, she stands and quietly disappears into the bathroom.
This time, I don’t follow. I stay where I am.
A few minutes later, she returns, holding an old digital thermometer. “Still in the same drawer.”
I stand, hug her again, just because, and take the thermometer from her. We haven’t known each other long, but in the short time, she’s shown me more love than my mother ever has. Sadness rushes through me. She’s another person I’ll lose after I escape Emilio.
As we walk back to the kitchen, I make a decision—I’m going to restore this home.
Bring light back into it for Maggie.
She deserves that.
She grabs her purse from the island. “I’ll run to the store and get some things for Emilio. Text me if you need anything.” She pauses mid-zip. “I can’t believe he listened to you and didn’t leave.”
I grin and flex my arm. “Told you, I’m the boss now.”
“Keep it up.” She cracks a smile. “Take care of him while I’m gone, okay?”
I salute her.
“No one ever has, you know,” she adds after a pause.
“What do you mean?”
She swings her bag onto her shoulder. “I mean exactly that. Emilio’s spent his whole life taking care of others.
Putting himself last. It’s … nice to see someone finally care about him.
” She sighs. “Evalina tried, but Nuncio said she was babying him. He wouldn’t even let Emilio rest when he was sick. Nuncio called it being a man.”
Her lip curls in disgust.
She wants to punch Nuncio in the face as much as I do.
No, probably more than I do.
My shoulders fall, my heart sinking. “That’s horrible.”
She nods. “It is, but it also made Emilio who he is. He’s guarded, cold, and far from perfect, but once he loves someone, he’ll protect them until his last breath. You may think otherwise at the moment, but I promise you, Liliya, you’re always safe with him.”
I hold in my breath to stop myself from saying I’m not sure I believe her.
“Do you know our marriage is … contractual?” I ask in almost a whisper.
“I do,” she says softly. “He told me. That’s why I’m here. He wants you to be happy here, Liliya. He just doesn’t know how to make that happen. It’s hard to create something you’ve never had before.” She wipes at her eyes, pulling in quick breaths.
“I’ll be back soon,” she adds, starting to go but stopping. “And, Liliya, please don’t run while I’m gone. This house, Emilio, I … we like having you here.” She turns to kiss my cheek before leaving.
I hear the front door close, walk upstairs, and tiptoe into the bedroom.
Emilio is sleeping. I grin at the slight snore coming from him.
Out of instinct, my attention goes to the nightstand.
The gun.
With my eyes on it, I walk to Emilio’s bedside.
“Hey,” I say, nudging his shoulder to wake him. “Let’s check your temp.”
His eyes crack open, and he blinks, as if trying to remember where he is.
I hold up the thermometer, and he reaches for it.
Shaking my head, I pull it back. “I’m a nurse, remember? Say ahhhh.”
He scowls. “I need my phone.”
“Later. Now, open up.”
His scowl deepens as he pushes himself up and leans against the headboard, and I stick the thermometer in his mouth.
I read the screen when it beeps. “Your temp is 101. You’re officially benched for the day. Mafia work can wait.” The memory of what Maggie told me—about him not taking sick days—will make me hold my ground even more now.
He pushes the blanket off. “I don’t take sick days.”
“You do today.” I stop him from getting up. “Maggie went to the store to pick up some things for you and will be back soon.”
“Maggie knows?” he groans as if that’s his worst nightmare.
“She knows, and we made a pact. You’re not leaving this bed until your fever breaks.”
A long sigh leaves him as he sinks his head back down on the pillow.
He’s back asleep in seconds.
I curl up in the corner chair with my book. I’m only a few pages in when his phone rings. I glance around, not seeing it on the nightstand, and decide to ignore it.
It rings again. Cursing, I set my book down and hunt for his phone, finding it in his pants on the floor. Antonio’s name flashes on the screen.
Not now, Mafia boss.
I hurriedly silence the call.
It rings again.
Another ignore.
The next call comes from Damien.
I stomp toward the door and toss the phone into the hallway.
Emilio needs to rest, and doing Mafia things is not good for men with fevers. He can go back to killing and committing crimes when he’s feeling better.
I grab my MacBook on the way back to the chair and decide to research restoring old homes while also keeping an eye on him.
I’ve never felt so torn in my life.
Do I nurse my husband back to health … or smother him with his pillow?
“Shit,” I whisper, my heart skipping a beat as I hear banging on the front door.
It can’t be Maggie. She has a key.
They’re going to wake Emilio if they don’t stop.
I spring off the chair and run downstairs, taking two steps at a time. My feet skid to a stop at the front door, and I stare through the peephole.
My stomach flips.
I reach for the doorknob but suddenly stop, rethinking my decision.
“Open the fucking door,” the voice on the other side barks. “Or I’ll break it off the fucking hinges.”