Chapter 34
Raven
“Ineed a shower,” I mumble against Matteo’s shoulder as he carries me down another hallway.
My voice sounds distant even to my own ears, exhaustion, and pain medication finally catching up with me now that I’ve verified he’s alive. My fingers trace idle patterns on his chest, reassuring myself with each heartbeat that he’s real.
He insisted on carrying me the moment the cousins started filing out of the kitchen, scooping me up like I weigh nothing despite his injured arm.
“I can do you one better, Little Thief.” His lips brush my temple, oddly gentle from a man who severed fingers less than two days ago. “How about a bath?”
“With bubbles?” I smile.
“With bubbles,” he confirms.
Reaching the bathroom, he sets me on the edge of the counter. His big hands linger on my waist to steady me.
Now that I’m not anxious to go find him, I can really appreciate the luxurious bathroom. It’s all black marble and gleaming fixtures. A shower large enough for an orgy takes up one corner, while a sunken tub that could double as a small swimming pool dominates the opposite wall.
“Can you sit here without falling?” he asks, eye narrowed with concern.
“I’m concussed, not drunk,” I retort, though the room tilts alarmingly when I’m not touching him. “I can sit on a counter without supervision. In fact, I’ve done it successfully since I was five. I think.”
He smirks, that dangerous half-smile that makes heat pool in my belly despite everything. “Well, aren’t you just the sitting pro.”
Water thunders into the tub as he turns on multiple jets, steam rising in lazy curls. Turning around, I look in the massive mirror behind me. My reflection blurs, pink hair like a halo around my slightly bruised face.
I feel as bad as I look. But that feeling gets worse when I lift his tee up enough to see my lower back and hip. “Oh no,” I cry out, horrified by the bruise that has formed partly on my ass. “That better go away soon.”
Matteo looks at me like I’m the most beautiful disaster he’s ever seen. “Your ass is still spectacular,” he assures me.
Turning back to the tub, he adds bath salts and deliciously smelling soap that creates a layer of bubbles. Once he’s done, he comes back to me, hands moving to the hem of his shirt that I’m wearing. “Arms up,” he instructs, voice soft.
I wince as I comply, my ribs protesting. The shirt slides over my head, leaving me naked. His eye tracks over my body, cataloging every bruise, every scrape, his expression darkening with each new mark.
“I’m going to find who did this,” he says, each word etched with deadly promise. “And I’m going to take my time with them.”
“We’re going to find them,” I correct, emphasizing the first word. “Together.”
Something flashes across his face—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. He nods once, while reaching for my hand. “We should take this off.” He fingers the compression bandage I hadn’t realized was wrapped around my wrist.
“Oh,” I say lamely. “I didn’t even notice it.”
After removing it, he sheds his pants and helps me stand. “Do you need help to get in?” he asks, gesturing at the tub.
Shaking my head, I get in and let the scalding water envelop me like a lover’s embrace as I sink into the tub. A sigh escapes my lips at the momentary relief it brings to my aching body.
Matteo slides in behind me, his legs bracketing mine, chest warm against my back as he pulls me against him. “Easy,” he murmurs when I hiss at the pressure against my ribs. His hands settle on my hips, steadying me. “Let me take care of you.”
“I need to see it,” I say suddenly, twisting despite the pain to face him. “Your arm.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then nods, unwrapping the bandage with methodical precision. The wound beneath is angry and red, a deep furrow carved along his bicep where the bullet grazed him.
My stomach lurches at how close it came to being so much worse. Two inches to the right, and it would have hit an artery. Three inches inward, and it would have pierced his heart.
“It’s nothing,” he says, watching my face. “Just a scratch.”
I lean forward, pressing my lips to the wound, tasting antiseptic and salt. His muscles tense beneath my mouth, a shudder running through him.
“Raven…” His voice has that rough quality that usually precedes him bending me over the nearest surface.
“Who did it?” I ask against his skin, lifting my eyes to his. “Who shot you?”
His hands slide up my back, careful of my injuries. “I don’t know. Not yet.” His jaw tightens. “Whoever it was got away.”
“What happened after I…” I trail off and bite my bottom lip hard. I don’t want to mention that he pushed me away, and not just because I instinctively know it won’t go down well.
The fact is he saved me, and I’m happy about that. Really, I am. I’m just not okay with him doing it at his own expense.
Matteo’s expression hardens. “After you got hurt, I had to choose between chasing the shooter or getting you to safety.” His fingers trace my collarbone, up my throat to cup my cheek. “It wasn’t a hard decision. You come first. Always.”
“You chose me over revenge,” I murmur, the realization sending something warm unfurling in my chest.
“And I would every time,” he says simply.
I shift in the water, ignoring the pain that radiates through my body as I straddle his lap. His cock hardens against my thigh, his eye darkening as I position myself above him.
“What are you doing?” he asks, hands settling on my waist. “You’re hurt.”
“I need this,” I whisper, lowering myself onto him with agonizing slowness. The stretch burns—I’m not as ready as I should be—but I welcome the pain. It grounds me, reminds me I’m alive. We both are. “I need you inside me.”
He groans as I take him fully, his fingers flexing against my skin. “Fuck, Little Thief—”
“Don’t move,” I instruct when he tries to thrust upward. “This isn’t about getting off. I just… I need to feel you. All of you.”
Understanding dawns in his expression. His hands gentle on my hips, no longer guiding or demanding, just holding. “Tell me what you need.”
“I want to know exactly what happened,” I say, leaning forward to rest my forehead against his. “After you got me out. I need to know everything.”
He takes a breath, his cock pulsing inside me with each beat of his heart. “I carried you to my car. You were unconscious, bleeding.” His voice tightens. “I thought… for a second, I thought you were gone.”
I clench around him involuntarily, my body’s response to the raw emotion in his voice. “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “I brought you here. Called our doctor—”
“Your doctor,” I correct, rolling my hips slightly, just enough to remind us both of our connection.
“The Russo family doctor,” he amends. “He patched us both up and said you had a concussion, bruised ribs, and a sprained wrist. That you needed rest.”
His thumb traces my lower lip.
“Don’t you remember waking up while he touched your ribs?” I shake my head, not remembering that at all. “Well, you did. And you cursed him out. I’ve been watching you ever since, waiting for you to wake up.”
“How long?” I whisper.
“It’s been twenty-six hours and eighteen minutes,” he says without hesitation. “You’ve woken up a few times, but went straight back to sleep. The doctor said your body would let you know when it was ready to wake up completely.”
I blink, caught off guard by the precision. “You counted?”
“Every second.” His admission hangs between us, more intimate somehow than our physical connection.
I rock against him, not seeking release but needing to be closer, impossibly closer. “I want a part of you inside me always,” I whisper, the words tumbling out raw and unfiltered. “Like a piece of you that nobody else can touch or take away.”
His eye widens fractionally, then darkens with something possessive and hungry. “You already have it,” he growls, leaning forward to capture my mouth in a kiss that tastes like promises neither of us has the words to make.
We stay like that, connected and still, until the water begins to cool. No urgent thrusting, no desperate race toward climax—just the quiet certainty of being exactly where we belong.
Later, after he helps me from the tub and wraps me in a towel large enough to be a blanket, I notice the counter. My specific brand of face wash. The pink toothbrush beside his black one. The bottle of French perfume I’ve been rationing since I left Paris.
“You brought my things here,” I say, picking up the perfume. “When?”
“While you were sleeping.” He runs a hand through his damp hair, suddenly looking almost nervous. “Piper cleaned out your apartment together with Lorenzo.”
“My entire apartment?” I turn to face him fully. “No, please say no. I don’t want Lorenzo to have seen my toys.”
“I’m sure Piper packed those.” He shrugs, but there’s tension in his shoulders. “Your clothes are in the closet. Books are on the shelf in the bedroom. I wasn’t sure where you’d want the rest, so it’s in boxes in a spare room.”
Something about the casual way he’s rearranged my life should piss me off. But instead, it feels right. Inevitable, even. Like we’ve been moving toward this moment since he first broke into my apartment and claimed that ridiculous favor.
“Are you asking me to move in with you, Psycho Bastard?” I tease, using the nickname I gave him in my phone.
“No.” No hesitation, no playful deflection. Just that single syllable, direct and uncompromising. “I’m telling you, we already live together.”
I blink, caught off guard by his bluntness. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He steps closer, hands settling on my hips. “Stay here. With me. Where I can keep you safe.”
I should argue about not needing protection. Should bristle at the presumption. Should at least pretend to think about it.
Instead, I rise on my toes, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Okay,” I say simply.
His eye narrow, suspicion written across his features. “Okay?”
“Did you want me to fight you on this?” I laugh, wincing as my ribs protest. “Because I can start throwing things if it’ll make you feel better.”
“No.” A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming him from dangerous to devastating. “I just didn’t expect it to be so easy.”
“You already know I’m easy,” I grin with a wink. Then I lean into him despite my body’s complaints. “Just know that you can’t change your mind later. This is us, Firestarter. Even if I’m a massive pain in your ass.”
His laugh vibrates through me, warm and real. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Little Thief.”
And as he leads me back to what is now our bedroom, I realize I’ve never felt more certain of any decision in my life. This broken, beautiful monster is mine. And I’m his.
Despite everything that’s going on and still needs to be answered, we’re safe for a breath. Is it wrong that I want to enjoy it for just a little before reality comes knocking again?
“How’s Gia doing?” I blurt out, my brain making the choice to voice the question I was trying to push down. Christ on a cracker. “I mean, is she…”
“She’s alive,” Matteo confirms. “She’s at the hospital and has been through surgery. I have people looking after her.”