Chapter 50 – Penelope
T he door opened, and the telltale clip of boots and jangle of spurs sounded behind the curtain. I knew without looking that it was my dad. A swell of warmth bloomed in my chest. I was ready for another hug. That noise was part of my childhood, promising the comfort to come.
Mikey shot to his feet, finger on his lips to shush Dad.
“I hope he brought food,” Nicholas muttered. “The hospital stuff is crap.”
“Then have something delivered,” Karen hissed. “Either way, quit complaining.”
“I’m not complaining!” Nicholas said in a stage whisper. “I’m just starving.”
A few of us snorted quietly in agreement. Mikey gave us a warning look. Mom just fell asleep after a restless couple of hours.
A second pair of steps sounded, and a look showed the glint of shoes under the gap. My heart jumped to my throat. I knew that custom-made, black leather pair.
Dad moved into the room and came straight to me. The grave look on his face said it all. I rose and rushed into his outstretched arms, and he gave me a hug.
“He showed up,” he rumbled into my hair.
“Sooner than I thought,” I muttered into his plaid shirt.
“Want the boys to throw him out?”
I pulled back and saw the way my father’s eyes danced.
Crap. He liked the don.
It wasn’t hard to see why. They were fundamentally cut from the same cloth. My dad might not run a crime syndicate, but he was rough and wild. An old-fashioned cowboy who took the law into his own hands when occasion called for it.
Before I answered, the four boys stood as one. A wall of muscle and grit, facing off the monster from nightmares. It would have been comical, if the thick feeling of dread hadn’t descended on the room. My sisters looked between each other and began whispering. The beeps from my mother’s machines pierced the air, her only contribution to the moment.
“How dare you show your face here,” Theo spat.
That brother had the blackest hair, the most olive skin—a lethal dose of Mom’s Italian heritage.
And it was going to get him killed.
“Don’t.” I stepped forward, untangling myself from the safety of my father’s arms.
As one, my brothers moved into a tighter grouping. A wall of flesh to protect me. Their instinct would have been sweet. But I didn’t fear this monster—I never had, and I never would.
“I’m not going to fight you,” Alessandro said pointedly. “I just want to talk to my wife.”
“Well, she don’t wanna talk to you,” Nicholas fumed.
I walked right up behind the most blond of my brothers and clapped him upside the head. “You don’t speak for me.”
Nicholas yelped and ducked. “Pen! You said this piece of shit got on your last nerve.”
“And if that warranted a beating, you all would be black and blue right now! Honestly, boys, you’re acting like this is a bar on Friday night.” I pushed them aside.
And met the wolf head on.
“Come on, lupo, there’s a park outside we can talk in,” I snapped, walking past Alessandro.
Joseph snorted. “Best say ‘yes, ma’am’ and hop to it, Mr. Fancy Pants.”
Oh, mother of god, one of them is going to die.
I managed to extract my husband without the blood of my brothers spilling. His heated gaze crackled down my spine as I led the way to the elevator. Once the metal doors shut, the air evaporated, filled with a thick, turbulent energy.
“You look well,” Alessandro said, his voice a low rumble in the confined space.
I refused to look at him, watching the floor numbers tick down instead. It was too much. Too intense. We’d been apart for less than three days, and his presence overpowered me. He didn’t reach for me, but I knew he wanted to—because I wanted to reach for him.
“Don’t,” I managed to croak.
“Don’t what? Comment on my wife’s appearance? You look like you, Penelope. You look…refreshed.”
The blue jeans, boots, and long-sleeved shirt were my sister’s and didn’t fit in key places. But they might as well have been strangers’ clothes. I wasn’t that country cousin, come to the big city with a drive spurring her forward anymore. But I didn’t feel like a don’s wife either.
I wasn’t sure right now who I was.
The elevator doors slid open, and I marched out, feeling his presence behind me like a physical weight. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the hospital courtyard as we found an empty bench beneath a maple tree.
I sat, leaving as much space between us as possible. Alessandro didn’t seem to notice, settling himself with that effortless grace that had caught my eye in Detroit.
“Your mother?” he asked, his voice thickening. “She’s recovering well?”
“She is, thank you.” I looked up at the afternoon sun. “If I have any say in what happens next, I want to stay until she goes home. Then I’ll come back to Chicago—and I won’t run away again.”
“Vespina.”
The hurt in his voice had me snapping my gaze to his. Pain shone in those black depths. The echo of it hiccupped in my chest, but I swallowed the sob. I hadn’t shed a single tear the last three days. Staying awake, staying busy taking care of my family, had kept away the feelings I didn’t want to wrestle with.
Alessandro slid off the bench. That custom suit scraped on the sidewalk as his knees hit the ground.
“There are so many things I have to tell you, but I can’t find the words other than to say, I’m so sorry.” He reached for my fingertips. “I’m sorry I didn’t see what was before me the whole time.”
“What was that?” I breathed.
“That every breath, every heartbeat, every thought belongs to you. I messed up, vespina.” He knelt there, hands fisted at his sides. His body shook, and his gaze was filled with a wild desperation.
Emotions tightened in my chest. “You expect me to think you changed? That a mere apology can solve it?”
A breeze stirred his dark hair, and I hated how my fingers itched to smooth it back. Three days away and I was still weak for him.
“You’ve never apologized to anyone in your life, have you?” I asked.
His eyes—those deep, unfathomable eyes—held mine. “I’m doing it wrong, aren’t I?”
“We were doomed from the beginning, Alessio. The moves were always against us. I don’t think you fucked up any more than I did. And here we are.” Messed up beyond repair.
A ghost of a smile played at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The vulnerability in his face was new—raw and unfamiliar on features I’d memorized. “Where do we go from here, Penelope?”
He was asking, not telling.
That was…surprising.
I drew a deep breath, the familiar scent of his cologne reaching me even through the fresh air. It wasn’t fair how he still affected me.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, hands gripping the edge of the bench. “This whole marriage was a business arrangement from the start. We both know that.”
Alessandro’s jaw tightened. “Is that what you believe? After everything?”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “What am I supposed to believe? You married me to secure a relationship with my uncle. I married you to protect my family. We made a deal.”
“And then I fell in love with you,” he said, his voice so quiet I almost missed it.
The words hit me like a physical blow. We’d never said that to each other, not once in all our heated nights or quiet mornings.
“No, you didn’t," I whispered, pulling away from his touch. “Monsters aren’t capable of that.”
He dropped his hand. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but let me prove it to you.”
My eyes prickled. The stupid tears I fought for so long were going to conquer me. I squeezed my eyes closed, refusing to let them fall.
“Alessandro, I can’t. I just…can’t.”
“You can’t what, Penelope?” He clasped my hands. The heat of his touch was a shock. I was cold, chilled—numb.
“I’ll come back with you, but I can’t do this anymore,” I pleaded, opening my eyes and looking down at him through glittering lashes. The tears stayed firmly caught, safely trapped away.
“Then don’t.” His thumbs rubbed the back of my hands. “Stay with your family, and only come back when you’re ready.”
“You mean that?” I coughed.
“I do. I would rather love you from a distance and stand a chance at winning you back than force you and lose everything.” One more squeeze, and then he rose. My fingers fell onto my lap. “Because, Penelope, you are everything to me.”
The don moved away, a shadow swallowed by the sunlight.
His name was on the tip of my tongue. A scream in my chest formed, struggling to call him back. But my mind was in firm control of my body, and my lips pressed tight.
After a few tumultuous breaths, I rose and began walking slowly toward the medical building. The boys needed food. The surgeon would be in to do an update in the next hour. Dad hadn’t finished his nap, and I needed one eventually.
A shout cut through the air behind me. With the bustle and rumble of cars on the road, the throng of people going hither and thither, there was so much noise that I didn’t bother to look at the commotion.
The pop of gunshots stopped me in my tracks.
Dread crackled through my chest as I spun around. I knew, even before I saw, who was involved in the shooting. The scream that stayed silent before released now from my lungs.
“Alessio!” I ran.
The don turned, dark eyes flashing dangerously. “Stay back.”
I tripped, pitched forward, and barely caught myself. Alessandro seemed fine. Air cut my throat as I gulped for the next few breaths. After scanning his body for any signs of damage, I slowly began to take in the scene. My gaze traveled past him to where Dante came running up, weapon poised at the ready. And then….
Oh, good lord, no. There was a body on the ground.
I snapped my gaze back to Alessandro. He was unarmed.
Good, that was good. He stood over the body, but it didn’t seem as though he was the shooter.
“Go back inside, Penelope,” the don commanded.
I stepped toward him.
His voice came out hard and filled with warning. “Go! This is going to get messy.”
Dante stopped beside him and plucked at his arm. Alessandro swatted him away, but the way he held his arm—
I ran forward. He’s hurt!
Rational thought vanished. I had to reach him. I had to—
“Penelope!” the don growled. “The police are coming. Get the fuck out of here.”
Before I could disobey, strong arms wrapped around me from behind. The momentum from being tackled caused me to pitch forward, but we didn’t hit the ground.
“Baby girl, we’re going to listen to the mafioso.” My dad’s voice was firm. How long he’d been out here, it was impossible to say. “Come on, Pen. Let’s go.”
“But Dad!” The protest came out as a strangled cry. “He’s hurt.”
“It’s a flesh wound. He’s fine, but we need to leave him to this business,” Dad said sternly.
“There are witnesses,” I protested. “He’s going to be in trouble.”
“It was self-defense. But that’s for the law to sort out. Come on, honey.” Without waiting for me to move, my dad lifted me and began to haul me away.
The last thing I saw was Alessandro on his phone, his dominant arm hanging limp at his side. Those black eyes were focused on me as he spoke rapidly into the phone. The sliding doors to the building closed. Forced air blasted over my skin, and I was suddenly freezing.
“But I didn’t tell him that….”
“He knows, Pen.” My dad wrapped his arm around my shoulder, letting me lean my weight on him. He had me. I leaned my cheek against his chest. The steady patter of his heartbeat became the calm against the beeps and buzzes.
“He knows. And when you’re ready, you’ll find a way to tell him,” Dad added as the elevator doors closed behind us.