VIOLET
The sound of gunfire still echoes in my ears, even though the chaos is long gone. My hands won't stop shaking. The scent of gunpowder clings to my skin like sweat, and every little sound in this damn penthouse has my heart trying to claw its way out of my chest. But I'm alive.
I'm alive because Marcello came for me.
I keep replaying the moment he stepped into the alley—like a force of nature, relentless, merciless, but somehow still mine. He didn't hesitate. He didn't even blink. He shielded me with his body like I meant more than his own damn life.
That thought should terrify me.
It did. It does. But it also does something else.
It roots deep in my chest like a steel hook and tugs every time I think of him.
I should run. My mother would tell me to pack my things and disappear.
Pretend none of this ever happened. That I never met him.
That I never let him touch me, kiss me, see me the way he has.
But I did.
And as much as I search my soul, I don't regret it. Not for a second. Not when he held me behind that desk, whispering promises through clenched teeth as bullets shredded the air around us. Not when he pushed me behind Luciano with the kind of fury only a man in love can wield. And not now.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I've seen who he is. What he is. I've seen what his world looks like. Blood-soaked, brutal, and unforgiving. But it's also full of loyalty so fierce it sears. Of men who would die for each other. Of a man who would die for me.
If there is one thing I know for sure, it's that nothing will ever happen to me with him at my side, protecting me.
He didn't ask any questions; he didn't demand any details.
He simply came. He risked his life when he knew I was in danger.
What kind of man does that? None of the ones I know.
Scott would have demanded a full analysis of the situation first, and Lee, my brother-in-law, whom I dearly love, can't even hurt a fly.
It would have been Elaine standing in front of him.
God, I'm scared. What does this make me? What have I chosen? But I'm more scared of going back to a life where nothing ever felt this real.
Marcello is chaos. He's fire. But he's also security and steel—unshakable when the world tilts, the kind of man you can stand next to while being shot at and still feel safe.
I'm done pretending I want a life without him in it. The last few days taught me that. They were endless, painful, and lonely. I'll learn to survive in his world—hell, I'll thrive in it—because I've seen the man behind the title. And I'm not walking away from him again.
I take a bath and pilfer one of Marcello's shirts and a pair of socks.
I also pour myself a liberal glass of whiskey.
It's not something I usually imbibe, but given the afternoon I've had, it's well needed.
I revel in the knowledge of the four guards in the anteroom.
Nothing and nobody will get by them. I'm safer than the gold in Fort Knox. And that too is like balm on my soul.
I want to call Pippa, but I realize that I lost my purse and phone somewhere at the restaurant—probably she did too. I'll have to ask Marcello if there is a way to get them back. The cops might even want to talk to me.
Now that opens a whole new can of worms. What do I say to them? Do I need a lawyer? I didn't do anything. Shit, I'm so over my head in this, I don't know what to do. What I do know, though, is that Marcello will.
The thought of him already soothes me, I can still feel his kiss on my lips, and every now and then, I touch them reverently, close my eyes, and let myself sink back into that moment.
I was a fool to think I could just break things off like this.
Not only because once you set foot into his world it's impossible to get out—yeah, I probably watched too many mafia movies with Pippa—but mainly because I don't think I can exorcise him from my heart or mind.
The door to the basement is finally closed and locked.
I am standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking around.
Marcello has become a permanent fixture in my head and heart—one I don't want to live without.
The last couple of days without him were hell, and now I can admit that to myself.
I wasn't living at all; I was surviving.
But I don't even know if he wants me back.
All I have is the kiss before he left and the hope that it was an indication of him going back to where we were before I made my decision to leave.
None of my self-realizations diminishes the guilt I feel for what this could mean for my family.
It's still a big factor. I considered calling them and telling them to go back to the lake house, but a couple of things stopped me.
One, Luciano had no problems figuring that out within hours, and two, Marcello said he would protect them, and I trust him.
The light from outside dims as the sun goes down, and some of the inside lights turn on automatically, sending an ambient illumination through the penthouse, while I watch the city that never sleeps.
It's a spectacular view from up here. I stare down at the millions of people going about their business.
Cars driving down the streets, an unending flood of red lights going in one direction and white ones coming from another.
It's amazing how life simply moves on, while so many people died today.
How can I stand here and enjoy this view while others never will again?
Even more amazing is my lack of empathy for the men who died.
I'm actually glad they're dead. They were going to abduct or kill me, or worse.
This vengefulness inside me is new, but it feels like it was inevitable, like it has been slumbering for years, just waiting for me to finally let it breathe.
I take a healthy sip from the whiskey, but even the burning doesn't ease the restlessness spreading through my stomach.
I'm a nurse, I understand the aftershocks after a traumatic event, and I'm well aware that my body is still mentally and physically going through the motions.
Probably will be for a while. I don't think I'll ever be able to go into a restaurant as unconcerned and as free as I did a few hours ago.
One more time, I wonder if I'm really willing to live a life like that—a life where I never know if I will return home after an outing.
That or a life without Marcello?
I tap my finger against the slowly emptying glass. I need to quit teeter-tottering and stand behind the decision I already made. To reiterate that, I ask myself again, what kind of life would I live without Marcello?
Boring is the first word that comes to mind. Sexless is the second, because just the thought of having sex with anyone else turns my stomach.
You're being an idiot, Pippa's voice sounds in my head.
Followed by a barrage of images of things I've seen in the ER. People shot, stabbed, beaten. That shit happens every day. No matter if you're with a mob boss or not.
I think of the man who was jogging in the park when a tree branch fell on his head.
There was no wind, no reason why the branch broke.
It just happened. Or the woman who had a rod sticking out of her forehead because the driver of the truck in front of her hit the brakes too hard and one of the metal pipes from his load came loose, making it through the windshield and into her brain.
How often have I seen food poisoning? Okay, so avoid McD's, but salmonella is regularly found in salads and meats. So, there's that too.
Really, I could die in many ways. Right now, the entire skyscraper could come crashing down around me.
My morbid thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Ready to throw myself at Marcello, I'm almost disappointed to see Alejandro walking in.
"Dear God, what happened to you?" I exclaim, nearly dropping my glass.
His face is a mass of ugly scratches, his arms as well, the front of his shirt is shredded, and he's holding his jacket bundled up in his arms. The bundle is moving, too.
A loud growl emanating from it makes the hairs on the back of my head stand up.
"Please tell me that's not Felix in there?"
He nearly throws the squirming bundle at me. Carefully, I unwrap my cat from the confines within. He's ready to do battle. His teeth are bared, his eyes huge, his ears back, he's hissing straight at me.
"Felix," I coo. He jumps at me, claws out, and digs them into my shoulders, holding on to me for dear life. His little heart is beating up a storm. "It's alright, buddy. It's okay, kitty. Mommy is here. Shh, sweetie, it's all good."
I throw a death glare at Alejandro. "Why didn't you put him into his carrier?"
"I did, but he broke out."
"Ah, my poor kitty. Did the mean man scare you? Poor baby." I drop kisses on top of his head. Ever so slowly, his little pounding heart slows down.
"You didn't tell me he was a tiger." Alejandro pouts. "I hope he's had his vaccines."
"He's an inside cat," I defend as a new kind of guilt rushes through me.
I'm a nurse. I should know better. But besides his kitty shots, Felix hasn't been to the doctor in…
forever. Because… because last time I tried to put him in the carrier, I looked similar to Alejandro. Contrary to him, I gave up, though.
"Thank you. I'm sorry." I say, meaning it.
"I'll live." He waves his hand.
"Let me take care of you." I try to soothe things over. "Let me check for the medicine cart." The last time I saw it was in Marcello's bedroom.
Carrying Felix, I go there first. "Get yourself a drink. God knows you deserve it," I call over my shoulder, aware that I'm already acting like the lady of the house.
Felix sees the bed and jumps off my arms. He throws me a glare that says he's not done being mad at me because he knows the whole thing is my fault, then sits down and begins licking himself.
"Be a good kitty. I'll be right back," I tell him, spotting the medicine cart in a corner and pushing it out into the living area.
"Did you bring any of his stuff by any chance?"
"Like?" Alejandro asks, throwing amber liquid down his throat.
"Uhm, a cat litter box? Food? Water dish?"
He stares at me as if I'd spoken Chinese. Sighing, I take that as a no. "No worries, I'll take care of it. Here," I point at one of the raised chairs by the kitchen counter, "sit."
I pour disinfectant over sterile gauze and begin taking care of Alejandro's various battle wounds. Some of the scratches are vicious and deep. "I'm so sorry Felix did this to you."
"I would have shot the damn thing if I didn't know how much you love him."
A small giggle escapes me because this entire situation is ridiculous. Not only is Alejandro a killer who wouldn't hesitate to shoot a person or a cat—if it wasn't mine—but also because Felix did such a number on him. I'm sure no human would have gotten away with what he did.
"I appreciate your restraint. Thank you." I manage to say this with a straight face.
"Marcello would have killed me if I did something to hurt you."
His words still me. Would he? I know it's wrong to feel flattered, but there it is.
Maybe I'm more like Pippa than I realized.
Or maybe I've picked up a few bad habits from her.
I mean, when you spent most of your time with a certifiable psychopath…
I had always hoped it would be the other way around, but here we are.
"Do I need stitches?" Alejandro asks, scrutinizing four nasty scratches on his arm.
"Nah, I think some antiseptic and antibiotic cream will do the trick. Felix is a pretty clean kitty."
He mumbles something about kitties and his ass, too low for me to understand.
"How come he's got such a nasty attitude?" Alejandro keeps the conversation going.
"He really doesn't. He's usually the sweetest kitty. I found him when he wasn't even weaned yet and hand-fed him." I dab antibiotic ointment on the scratches. "What would you do if a stranger came into your house and tried to put you into a bag?"
"I'd probably shoot him," Alejandro admits. "After I beat the crap out of him."
"Well, it's a good thing for you then that Felix doesn't own a gun."
Alejandro looks startled for a moment before he breaks out into laughter.
"Now I think you should take your shirt off," I suggest, seeing that it's ripped in many places.
He looks stunned, and I clarify. "To let me see the damage."
"Oh, right."
He takes his shirt off, revealing a nasty gash. "That will need a larger band-aid." I lean forward and carefully dab at the dried blood to see better what I'm dealing with. That's when the door opens.
And just like that, Marcello is home.