Chapter 24
LILY
“It’s fine. It’s just a graze,” Lorenzo says as we pull into the driveway of a house on the water.
“It’s not fine if you’re bleeding,” I grit out, becoming more irritated by his lunacy than anything else. It’s dark, so I can’t see much of the property from the outside, but when he leads me through the garage, I’m momentarily stunned by the beauty of the home.
It’s all dark woods and black leather in the living space, leading to an open kitchen with a long, black marble island. Skylights stretch across the ceiling, and large windows line the back wall, giving a spectacular view of the dock and city lights sparkling from across the water.
Lorenzo throws his car keys onto the counter, then turns, realizing I’ve stopped dead in my tracks. I don’t know what I expected his home to look like, but this wasn’t it. His eyebrows dip slightly, and I refocus on our argument.
“If you weren’t so hell-bent on not going to the hospital, I might not worry.” I come to a stop in front of him. “Don’t you have an underworld doctor or something?”
He raises an eyebrow, seemingly indifferent about the wound. I know he wants to chase whoever shot at us. He’s been firing off commands over the phone ever since we left the cinema. I’m still in complete shock that someone would actually shoot at us in a movie theater, of all places.
Yet, all I cared about was him.
“Unfortunately, it’s too early in the night to sneak into the veterinary clinic to see the doc,” he deadpans. My jaw drops. I don’t even know how to respond to that, then I see the slightest twitch of his lips.
“Are you seriously making a joke right now?”
“Well, I assumed when you said underworld doctor, you had some inspiration from some TV show.”
I throw my hands in the air. “You’re such an asshole sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?”
“Sit.” I point to the barstool. “Do you have a first aid kit here?”
“I told you it’s fine,” he insists, and I pin him with a deadly glare.
“I said sit.”
The asshole's lips twitch again, but he does as he’s told, pointing to a bottom drawer in the kitchen.
I round the counter to the drawer he indicated. It’s strange. Despite the circumstances, for the first time, I feel like instead of falling into chaos or a nauseating swirl of uncertainty and despair—I’m calm.
Maybe it’s because of the indifference that Lorenzo shows for his wound, or perhaps I’m just so sick of being frightened.
So tired of circling around other people's expectations. Tonight, the reality finally hit that I’m not guaranteed tomorrow.
This is the second time I've been shot at… and I’m fucking done with not having that power in my own hands.
Lorenzo’s phone buzzes, and he picks up immediately. Whoever is on the line is rapidly speaking in a language I can’t understand, most likely Italian.
“Yes, boss. I’ll update you,” he says as I stop in front of him with the kit.
I don’t know how to accomplish it, but I want to protect him as well.
Ridiculous, considering how self-sufficient he is, even if he’s also reckless at the same time.
“The hounds are searching for him now. They’ll find the fucker who shot at us today, and when they do, I’ll make sure he pays for what he did,” he promises.
“Good” is all I say as I open the kit.
Lorenzo’s eyebrows dip slightly, as if he’s surprised by my response. I cross my arms in front of me.
“It can’t be that surprising, can it? He hurt you. Now, take your shirt off.”
“So bossy tonight.”
“Can you please take this seriously?” I bite back. “Just for once, work with me.”
A slow smirk appears on his expression. “I thought we always worked well together.”
I pin him with another glare, and he actually has the audacity to chuckle. I’m so stunned by the foreign sound that my hands are on my hips as he peels back his suit jacket, then removes his shirt.
“Have you ever stitched up a wound?” he asks, nodding to the kit.
I pause, memories resurfacing of times I had to tend to small wounds my mother endured. But I can't confess that out loud. It's always been our secret.
It’s so fucked-up.
“I had to tend to some of Vince's small cuts when he was a kid. You know, boys being boys. I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“Hmm” is all he says, and I don’t like the way he watches me, as if seeing straight through my lie.
“How are you so calm about this?” I question, wanting to shift the subject. It’s confusing that not only is he calm, but that he almost seems to find the situation amusing.
“I’m anything but. I’m doing everything I can so you don’t see the violence roiling beneath the surface,” he replies.
I stare for a moment at the tattoos scattered over his arms and stomach. Then I inhale a sharp breath when I see the deep red wound across his bicep. Our eyes lock, and that ever-present tension between us flares. His jaw tics, and I can almost sense that we’re both holding back.
Unsaid confessions.
Wavering emotions.
Because if I delve any deeper with Lorenzo, I know there’s no coming back from it. Yet the invisible thread that pulls us together is a palpable and sensational thing.
And for once, I don’t want to play by the rules.
I don’t want to hold myself back.
I don’t care what others might think is good or bad for me.
Lorenzo is a devil in disguise, but he's bleeding for me because he took a bullet in my place.
I tentatively step forward. I almost expect him to push me away or tell me he’s fine. I’m here for his wound, and yet, I can't tear my gaze from his as I step between his knees and bring my hand to cup his stubbly jaw.
A spark ignites when I touch him, that undercurrent that’s always smoldering between us, erupting and feeding me adrenaline. My heart begins to race as I offer a comfort and vulnerability I’ve never known before.
He may be a killer, but I know this man will never hurt me.
And I want to protect him. In whatever way I might be able to.
His gaze drops to my lips as I gently stroke his jaw.
Guilt floods me for taking my wrath out on him tonight, when he once again gave me his strength to walk away from a situation I didn’t fully have the courage to remove myself from.
As if knowing my inner thoughts and addressing my demons, he slowly touches his forehead to mine. I’m surrounded by his dominating presence. This man, whom I don’t entirely understand, calls to me on a primal level.
“We’re okay,” I breathe, stroking his jaw once again and pressing my other hand to his chest.
Those words feel like our undoing as I inhale his breath, as if fueling my own lungs. His nose brushes against mine, and I close my eyes, simply to be in this moment, to feel him cocooning me in the enigma that is Lorenzo Moretti.
“Are we?” Lorenzo's voice is soft, and my eyelids spring open, surprised by the gentle tone of a man who is usually cruel and guarded. There’s a softness in his expression I haven't seen before, something I want to drink in before it vanishes.
Lorenzo scoops me into his arms, barely wincing from his still-bleeding wound, and I hook my legs around his waist. He pushes back the loose strands of my hair, his callused hand cupping my jaw in the same manner I had him only moments ago.
He walks us toward a bedroom, his cock straining between us.
Slowly, as if he's still fighting the magnetism between us, his head dips to mine.
So I embrace courage and bring my lips to his in a gentle kiss.
A confirmation of our safety. His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, deepening the kiss, demanding more.
I open to him, offering everything and anything he needs from me as I desperately feed from him.
He lowers us to the bed, his cock pressing against the material directly over my pussy.
My legs are still wrapped around him, as if I'm scared he might pull away at any moment.
He guides my hands above my head, his fingers threading through mine as he holds me in place.
I feel exposed, despite still being fully dressed.
I pull his bottom lip between my teeth, eliciting a low, carnal growl I want to draw from him again.
Lorenzo might be a monster, but he still bleeds.
He bleeds for me, and I’m too tired to fight my attraction to him.
Too scared to not explore this chemistry—when I don’t know if it might very well be the last chance I have to do so.