39. Luna
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
LUNA
No more nightmares are yanking him awake. Just the slow and steady rhythm of his breathing. The tightness in my chest eases, and for once, I let myself relax.
He’s going to be okay.
That thought alone should be enough to soothe me, but knowing what waits for him on the outside keeps me alert. Exhaustion clings to me just as stubbornly, reminding me that I’ve barely slept, barely taken a moment for myself since this all began.
I push myself to my feet, rolling my shoulders to work out the stiffness that’s settled there. Too much sitting and not enough exercise has taken its toll on me in such a short time. I check on Nico one last time before I turn and head upstairs.
A hot shower is exactly what I need to relieve the tension that’s been building up over the last few days. As I step inside, I squeeze the body wash into my palm, but my hands are shaking. I tell myself it’s just adrenaline. Just the kind of exhaustion that makes everything feel like too much.
But it’s not.
It’s Nico.
It’s everything.
I press my forehead against the tiles, eyes shut tight. I haven’t let myself cry—not once. Not when he collapsed. Not when the doctors said it could go either way. Not when I sat by his bed, pretending I was just tired, not terrified.
But here, alone, with nothing but the sound of water and my own heartbeat?
I break.
It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic. Just a quiet, unraveling. Tears mixing with the water, slipping down my face like they’ve been waiting for my permission.
I didn’t mean to care this much.
I didn’t mean to fall for him.
And now I don’t know how to cope with all of this fear, this guilt, this love I never asked for.
And when I finally lie down, sinking into the soft mattress, I barely have time to think before sleep takes me under.
When I wake hours later, the heaviness in my chest has faded, just a little. The exhaustion’s still there, but it’s less stifling. For the first time in weeks, there wasn’t a disaster waiting for me the second I opened my eyes.
Pushing myself up, I shake off the last remnants of sleep. My body protests, reminding me I haven’t rested in longer than I care to admit, but I force myself to move.
My mind’s already pulling me back downstairs, back to him. Because, despite everything, despite knowing he made it through, there’s still something in me that needs to see it for myself.
The infirmary isn’t where he should be anymore. It was temporary, a place to keep him hidden while he fought through the worst of it. But now? Now, he needs to be comfortable.
As soon as I step into the room, I notice Antonio checking the monitors and taking notes in that efficient way of his. I clear my throat, and he looks up.
“When can we move upstairs?” I’m impatient, but I want what’s best for Nico.
Antonio crosses his arms. “He’s improving, but he’s not out of the woods yet. He needs to be able to walk up those stairs if you want him in your bed.” I knew that would be his answer, but I needed to ask, nonetheless.
“So, what? A few days?”
“Maybe, if he rests up.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “But let’s face it, since when has he ever done ‘easy’?” I blow out a breath, shaking my head.
“Never.”
Nico refuses to sit still, and he doesn’t let anyone dictate how long his recovery will take. But this time, he doesn’t have a choice.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t try anything foolish.” Antonio raises a brow.
“Good luck with that.” A chuckle cuts through the room.
“I’m right here, you know.” I turn, meeting Nico’s gaze, and despite the fatigue still clinging to him, that familiar fire refuses to burn out.
Doc doesn’t waver; he’s unimpressed. “Good. Then you can hear me telling you to stay put.”
Nico rolls his shoulders like he’s testing his limits, already proving the doctor’s point. “You think I need to be carried upstairs?”
“No,” I say before the doctor can respond. “But if you think you’re just going to get up and act like nothing happened, you’re wrong.”
His eyes flick to mine, with a stubbornness that infuriates me. “I’m fine.”
Antonio laughs. “You lost enough blood to kill most men. ‘Fine’ is a damn stretch.”
Nico’s jaw tightens, but I see the way he still fights the fatigue. He wants to prove he’s past it. He needs to be in control.
But for once, control isn’t his to take.
“Give it a few more days,” the doctor says. “Then, you can try going upstairs of your own volition.”
I watch Nico carefully, waiting for the fight I know is brewing behind his eyes. Instead, he flexes his fingers like he’s trying to remind himself that they still work. “Fine.”
There’s that damn word again!
Without thinking, I move. Gripping the sheets beside him, I lean in before I press my lips to his. A sense of urgency surges up from deep inside me, something I’ve kept locked away for too damn long.
He responds immediately, his fingers tangling in my hair, holding me right there, refusing to let me go. Heat builds between us, something that tastes like all the unsaid things we’ve been holding back.
The emotions swirling around inside of me aren’t just from the kiss.
They’re from everything. His near-death experience.
From the fact that Nico, the Boss of the Caputo famiglia , the man who has an army at his beck and call, put himself in the line of fire when he shouldn’t have had to. And I’m suddenly furious.
“You have soldiers for this, Nico.” My voice is edged with the anger I’ve kept bottled up while I watched him fight for his life. “Men who are trained to protect you. And instead, you’re the one bleeding out in a damn wine cellar.”
His eyes flash angrily, but he lets me get it off my chest.
“Do you know what would’ve happened if you’d died?”
Something wavers in his expression, but I don’t stop.
“Your men? Your family? Do you think they’d survive the fallout? And me—” I inhale sharply, “Did you think I would just pretend like we never existed?”
There’s danger in the way he holds back—nothing to do with the war he’s so hellbent on fighting. Then, finally, he speaks.
“I know what I’m doing, Luna.” His voice is so cold. Like the last few days never happened. And that look in his eyes—the one that says if I push, he’ll push back harder.
Well, I've got news for him, because this time I won’t back down.
“Your mother already lost one son, marito .” My voice is cutting since that’s the only damn language he speaks. “Do you think she could survive losing the other?”
His expression changes slightly.
“And if you had died?” I hold his gaze. “There’s no heir. No succession plan. Who steps up? Who takes control? You’re not just reckless, you’re irreplaceable. Act like it.”