Chapter 31 We’re Not Going Home
We’re Not Going Home
I got into a fight today because Maria said that you were sending her letters too. I know that’s not true. —Iz
Enzo
“You!” I bellow, rushing to the nurse who’d tended to Izzy before.
Her eyes widen, taking in Izzy’s limp form in my arms.
“What happened?” she asks, eyes assessing as she runs over with a bed.
“She ripped her stitches,” I tell her, placing Izzy down.
Doctors and nurses start fussing over her just as she stirs, blinking her eyes opening groggily.
Her gaze finds mine. She smiles. “Ouch.”
Relief floods me. “Fuck.”
The nurse scowls at me as she checks Izzy’s shoulder. “We’ll need to re-apply the stitches, how did this happen?”
Izzy’s face turns guilty. “Uh, I tripped?”
Great. Use the excuse battered women do and make it sound like I’m a fucking woman beater.
“We had a break in,” I explain, rolling my eyes at Izzy.
The nurse narrows her eyes, looking between us before huffing and gathering supplies needed to fix Izzy back up.
We’re discharged an hour later.
I help Izzy into my car, then pull away from the curb, my hand gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles turn white. I try to force the tension out of my body, breathing deeply, but it’s no use. Seeing Izzy hurt—again—fucking broke me.
This is exactly why I never wanted her in my world. And yet… it’s not even my world that’s a danger to her. She’s in the middle of it.
The drive is quiet until Izzy turns to me, face scrunched in confusion. “Uhh, this isn’t the way home.”
Goddamn. Hearing her call the apartment home does something warm and gooey to my insides.
“We’re not going home.”
I don’t offer any further explanation, and surprisingly, she doesn’t ask.
We pull up to an airstrip where my private jet is waiting.
“Where are we going?” Izzy asks as I take her hand, gently guiding her towards the plane.
“Home.”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You’re not making sense. You just said we’re not going home.”
“Not that home.”
I’m pretty sure she mutters, “Pazzo stronzo10,” before walking up the steps and disappearing on board.
I nod at my security team then join her, finding her settling into one of the white leather seats, a contended smile on her lips.
Looking at me, as I make my way slowly toward her, she smirks. “This is fancy.”
I tilt my head. “No fancier than your fathers would have been, I imagine.”
Her expression morphs, a sadness to it. I curse myself for bringing him up.
“I wonder what he’d think of me now,” she muses, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“He’d be so proud of you, Izzy,” I tell her, taking the seat opposite her.
She shakes her head, just slightly. “I don’t know.
” I don’t even get a chance to argue with her.
“He wanted me to take over his place in Phoenix, to carry on his work. But look at me.” She sucks in a breath, fiddling with her hands.
“I haven’t worked for them in months. The investigation into Lucas has stalled. They’re fucking winning.”
I’m out of my seat in seconds, on my knees in front of her. “They are not winning, Cuore mio.” I swipe at a rogue tear escaping down her cheek. “Just because it’s taking longer than expected, doesn’t mean you’ve failed. We’ll take him down, together. I promise.”
She sniffles, then nods, pulling back.
Instead of going back to opposite her, I sit beside her, taking her hand and stroking her smooth skin for the rest of the flight. We don’t speak much. We don’t have to. We’re just… us.