Chapter 36
Evelyn
Idrift in a cottony haze, vacillating between dull pain and weightless bliss.
Every time the pain begins to crest, warmth suffuses my system, cocooning me in peace.
Silver eyes fill my dreams, watching over me.
Massimo’s deep voice rumbles through my disjointed thoughts, soothing me in low, steady streams of Italian.
During short periods of lucidity, his comforting scent enfolds me.
“You need to eat, farfallina.”
His arm wraps around me, and my back is propped against his hard chest. I feel his steady heartbeat, and mine matches it, beating in tandem.
His other hand lifts a chunk of melon to my lips, and I part them to accept the sweet fruit.
My eyelids are so heavy, so I allow them to drift closed as I release a low hum of contentment. Dull pain throbs near my right hip, but I’m in Massimo’s careful embrace.
I love when he holds me like this: like I’m precious and delicate. A treasure to be cherished.
“Good girl,” he murmurs as I eat from his hand. “You’re doing so well, dolcezza.”
His praise warms my chest, and I sink into him with a sigh. Nothing bad can touch me now. Even the pain ebbs, receding to a soft twinge.
I finish the meal with his low, coaxing words rumbling over me, and then I drift down into sleep again.
His arms are around me, lifting me. I hiss a pained breath as the movement jars my hip, and he shushes me gently. He cradles me against his chest and carries me, his steps steady and sure, careful not to jostle me.
The cool tub replaces the heat of his body, but his hands don’t stray from my skin.
He maintains tender contact, stroking and reassuring.
Warm water cascades over my hair, the weight like a gentle massage that eases all tension from my muscles.
I relax against the tub and tip my head back, allowing the weight of it to fall into his hands as he lathers my hair with shampoo.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Let me take care of you.”
I obey, sinking into warm bliss as he rubs my scalp in soothing circular motions. I trust him completely, and I know he’ll always care for me. I don’t have to worry about anything as long as I’m with him.
I stir, stretching stiff muscles. Pain flares at my hip, a sharp twinge.
But Massimo is holding me, his arm draped around my shoulders and his hand skimming up and down my arm. I release a long breath, and the pain fades.
I blink up at him, my mind clearer than it has been in…longer than I know.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness.
The last thing I remember before the hazy days is the violence that exploded through Stefano’s club. Massimo had raced toward me, his beautiful face a mask of fear.
But we aren’t in the club. I’m safely cuddled against him. The bedroom is still and quiet, with no sounds of gunfire or shouts of panic.
“What happened?” My voice comes out slow and slightly slurred, my mind still a bit fuzzy.
Massimo’s jaw ticks, but his touch remains gentle. “You don’t need to worry about anything. Just rest.”
“But the fight at the club…”
Fear punches me, and I jolt in his arms.
Ignoring the answering flare of pain, I ask, “Is Carmen okay?”
She was right beside me when the violence unfolded around us.
“Carmen is fine.” He reassures me, but his jaw is hard as granite. “You need to stay calm. Don’t move.”
I relax against him, obeying without thought.
“But what happened?” I ask again. “Was anyone hurt?”
My eyes search his, looking for signs of pain. If my dark savior is injured…
“You were hurt,” he almost growls. “You were shot, Evelyn.”
Lines of strain appear around his flashing eyes, but the pain I see in their depths is for what happened to me. He wasn’t hurt in the fight.
I breathe a small sigh of relief and trail my fingers along his jaw to ease the tension away. His rough stubble has grown longer, almost a short beard. He’s uncharacteristically disheveled, his glossy black curls untidy, as though he’s run his hand through his hair many times.
“How long ago?” I ask quietly.
“Ten days,” he replies in clipped tones. “I’ve been managing your pain, but I need you to stay still and focus on recovering. You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you. Get some more sleep. I’ll be right here.”
I blink. I’ve been mostly unconscious for over a week, and Massimo has been taking care of me.
He looks shattered.
“What about you?” I challenge quietly. “Have you slept?”
He turns his face into my hand and kisses my palm. “I’m fine, dolcezza.”
I tip my chin back. “I’ll sleep if you sleep.”
His eyes narrow with displeasure, not caring for my defiance.
I caress his cheek, tracing the bold lines of his masculine features until most of the tension melts away.
He releases a low sound, something between a hum of contentment and a groan of pain. His eyes close, and his head drops back against the pillow.
“Farfallina…” he murmurs, an exhausted rebuke.
It’s my turn to shush him. I’m so tired, too, drugs still swirling in my system.
I rest my cheek on his chest and relax against him. His breathing turns deep and even, and mine slows to match. We both fall into a peaceful sleep.
The next week passes in a disjointed blur. Massimo insists that I continue taking painkillers that make me drowsy, and I don’t protest. He wants me to heal quickly, and I have no reason to argue. The sooner I recover, the sooner I can stay conscious long enough to have a real conversation with him.
As it is, I spend the days sleeping in his arms, eating from his hand, and being tenderly bathed by him.
He sees to my every need, and my whole world centers on him.
I’m completely reliant on him, but I don’t feel so much as a flicker of disquiet.
Being with him feels right, despite my lingering pain.
I’ve never been cared for like this. No one in my family noticed me at all while I was growing up, and George cruelly neglected my needs.
He insisted that I bend over backward to please him, and nothing I did was ever enough.
The point was always to make me feel small and inadequate, to keep me desperately trying harder to make him happy.
I see the years of abuse so clearly now that I’ve experienced what life is like with Massimo. He would do anything for me, and he asks for nothing in return. There are no guilt trips or bargaining. He gives me everything I could ever need or desire, and that seems to make him happy.
I want to learn more about Massimo while I rest, so I ask what he usually does with his free time.
“I like to read,” he replies.
“Really?”
I can’t quite hide my surprise. He’s a dangerous man, a man of action. It’s hard to picture him quietly reading.
He nods.
“My parents wanted me to be educated. They thought that was how I would escape Le Vele one day. That dream was never realistic, but they instilled the value of learning in me from a young age. Even after they died, I didn’t leave that part of my childhood behind.”
He absently tucks a stray lock of my hair behind my ear.
“Is that how you honor their memory?” I ask quietly. “By continuing to educate yourself?”
His lips press to a thin line, and he takes a moment to consider his answer.
“You give me too much credit, dolcezza. There was nothing noble about it. Even though my parents were na?ve idealists, they were right about one thing: ignorance won’t get you very far in life.
Gian and Enzo understand that too. When we met at the Camorra bar where we ended up living, we all agreed that we would get out of Le Vele.
We would use every weapon at our disposal.
I was a scrawny kid, and a sharp wit served me better than my fists at the time.
My friends and I survived because we were smarter than the other boys.
We read everything we could get our hands on. ”
“What kind of books did you read?” I ask. “Was there a library or something in your neighborhood?”
He snorts his derision. “No, there wasn’t a library. We couldn’t afford physical books. My shitty old phone was filled with e-books I scoured from the internet. At first, I read up on fighting techniques, then military strategy. But on sleepless nights, I found escape in fiction.”
He says it like there were many sleepless nights.
Was he haunted by nightmares of his parents’ murders all throughout his violent childhood?
My heart aches for him, and I tenderly caress his cheek. He leans into my gentle touch, as though he can’t help himself.
“What do you like to read now?” I press.
“Before I came to Mexico City to make this deal with Duarte, I was reading a biography about the emperor Hadrian.”
“Do you have it with you?”
His brow furrows in confusion. “I have the e-book on my phone. Why?”
“Will you read it to me?”
My eyelids are heavy again, and I’m becoming more aware of the dull ache in my side.
“It’s in Italian,” he replies.
“I don’t mind.” I sigh, leaning into him. “I just want to hear your voice.”
He drops a kiss on my forehead. “Anything for you, farfallina.”
I close my eyes and allow his steady stream of rumbling Italian to roll over me, the cadence lilting and almost melodic. Despite the dark circumstances that brought me here, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“Can we watch something in Italian with English subtitles?” I ask when Massimo turns on the massive TV across from the bed.
“You don’t have to do that for me,” he replies. “I’m fully fluent in English.”
“I know.” His English is impeccable. “But I want to learn Italian. I’m good with languages, and I can start picking it up if we put on the subtitles.”
His eyes shine as they study my face. “You want to learn Italian?”
I smile at him. “Yes. If I’m going to Italy with you, I need to speak the language.”
His expression shutters.
“I’ve been thinking about this.” The solemn heaviness in his tone makes my stomach drop. “You were shot because I kept you here with the cartel. I didn’t keep you safe. You were hurt because of your association with me.”
My heart twists, and I grasp his hand in a desperate grip. His words are laced with guilt and something I don’t want to acknowledge. It sounds like a prelude to goodbye.
But I committed myself to staying with him before the firefight broke out in Stefano’s club. And now that he’s cared for me so tenderly in my recovery, I’m more attached to him than ever.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say firmly. “George dragged me into this world when he decided to be on the cartel’s payroll. He chose to work for Los Zetas. You saved me from them. And from him.”
He shakes his head. “You said you wanted to go back home to Albuquerque. I refused to let you leave me. You were in the line of fire because of me.”
“No,” I insist, clutching him more tightly so that he can’t put distance between us. “If I’m not with you, George will get to me. He’ll kill me to keep his corruption secret. You keep me safe, Massimo.”
His lips twist with regret. “I won’t leave you unprotected in Mexico City.
But if I send you back to the feds in America, he won’t be able to get to you.
I was selfish and didn’t want to be parted from you, so I kept you.
” His eyes are dark with pain. “Once you’re fully recovered, I’ll take you home. ”
I square my shoulders, harnessing my defiance to quell the pain in my heart. It isn’t the sting of rejection; it’s a cutting sense of loss.
I can’t lose Massimo. I won’t allow him to send me away.
“You will take me home,” I say evenly. “To Italy. I want to stay with you.”
He shakes his head again, his features drawing harsh with determination.
“That’s not your choice. I vowed to protect you, and that means sending you back to Albuquerque. I always keep my promises.”
“Then promise me that you won’t send me away,” I demand. “Because I don’t want to go.” I tip my chin back and allow my stubborn gaze to clash with his. “Respect my choice, Massimo.”
His dark brows draw together. “I do respect you. But I won’t put you in danger. My life is dangerous. It always will be. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you because of me.”
His cheeks color with something like shame. “It already has happened. You were shot. I thought you were dying. I can’t lose you.”
“The only way you’ll lose me is if you send me away.”
I lean in and kiss his taut lips, reassuring him that I’m alive and safe in his arms.
“I’m right here,” I promise. “I’m okay.”
“You’re hurt,” he says gruffly.
“And you’re taking care of me,” I counter calmly.
“Farfallina…” His voice is rough with longing.
“No one has ever taken care of me,” I whisper. “I’ve never let anyone. But I trust you. Don’t make me go. Please.”
He kisses me like I’m made of glass, careful not to jar my injury. I long for him to sweep me up in a savage kiss and claim me ruthlessly, but I know I have to recover first. Soon enough, I’ll feel him inside me, joining us in the most intimate way possible.
Because Massimo isn’t capable of letting me go any more than I’m able to leave him. I’m not sure if I would survive separation—and not just because George still poses a threat to my life.
If I lose Massimo, my heart will shatter.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs against my lips. “My sweet Evelyn.”
“Does this mean you’ll teach me Italian?” I ask breathlessly, desperate for his reply.
“Anything for you, dolcezza,” he vows. “I’ll make sure you feel at home in Naples. I’ll show you the kind of life I can provide for you. You will have everything you could ever desire.”
I think I already do. I keep the admission locked deep in my chest, afraid to declare the intensity of my feelings for him out loud.
I sigh and melt against him, conveying everything I can’t say in an achingly tender kiss.