Chapter 14
MARCO
For the first time in a week, I wake up without pain screaming down the left side of my body.
Gingerly turning onto my side, I watch my wife sleep for a few moments and decide that I need to do something for her.
She’s barely been more than three feet away from me ever since I got home from the hospital, tending to my every need, nursing me around the clock despite my protests. I want to show my appreciation.
When I nudge her gently, she doesn’t stir. Good. I get dressed slowly in a pair of black joggers and a button-down, which is the best I can manage these days with my arm in a sling, and then brush my teeth and spray on some deodorant before tiptoeing out of the room.
The house is quiet this early in the morning, and my footsteps echo faintly in the hallway. Expecting pain, I guard myself as I make my way to the kitchen, but my body doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it has been. I’m finally healing. Karina really would make a great nurse.
Thank God things are turning around. I feel like it’s been nothing but one piece of bad news after another ever since Karina and I got married. We could all use a reason to smile.
Apparently, Armani didn’t get much from Livvie regarding the tattooed man who likely sabotaged my car.
He said she seemed shocked by the security camera footage, but couldn’t—or wouldn’t—confirm whether it was her bodyguard on the video.
We’re all but certain it was him, regardless, but Armani didn’t want to push her.
As he relayed the mini interrogation to me, he didn’t bring up Karina having any involvement or information again, which was a relief.
But I still can’t entirely dismiss his accusations, nor my worry that he’s not just imagining things.
So after I feed Karina breakfast in bed, I’m going to drag out of her exactly what’s wrong. Even if it takes me all day to wear her down. They say you catch more flies with honey, right? Guess I’ll just have to give her all the honey she can handle.
Flicking the lights on in the kitchen, I start scrounging around for fruit and eggs and butter and bread, but I’ll be damned if I can find any actual pans to use on the massive, pro-style Italian range.
Which, speaking of, who needs two ovens and six burners?
And what are all those knobs for? And where the hell is the toaster hiding in this place?
I’m still banging around the cabinets in frustration when I hear someone come in through the side door. It’s Alain, our family’s longtime chef. He smiles in greeting, though his bushy gray eyebrows are so high up his forehead that it’s obvious he’s surprised to find me in here.
“Good morning, Mr. Bellanti.” He sets a few bags down on the far counter and grabs an apron from a hook on the wall.
“Morning,” I say, unable to hide my exasperation. “I was just trying to put together some kind of breakfast for my wife. Except that I don’t know what I’m doing, obviously. Any suggestions? And where the hell are all the pans?”
He grins and points to the ceiling, where—yeah. A pot rack is hanging over the butcher block island. I’m a genius.
“I’d be happy to help, Mr. Bellanti. You might have a hard time cooking with only one good arm anyway, no? Give me just a moment.”
I’m relieved to stand back and watch as Alain, consummate professional that he is, assembles an herb and goat cheese omelette, sliced fruit and avocado, and a small silver pot of coffee.
The reason I couldn’t find the toaster, by the way, is because there isn’t one.
Alain uses the broiler, and the smell of hot sourdough bread has me practically drooling as he spreads butter on each perfectly crisped slice.
I use the juicer to make some fresh squeezed orange juice and then Alain arranges everything on a footed tray, dashing outside afterward to retrieve a hibiscus flower to put in a bud vase.
Then I add a linen napkin, silverware, and tiny cut crystal salt and pepper shakers.
The final result looks like something from a magazine.
“Would you like me to carry this to Mrs. Bellanti?” he asks.
I don’t miss the way his eyes dart over me, quickly assessing my ability to carry the tray. It might be a little tricky to get the tray in my hands, but I tell him I want to do it.
“Here—” he says, lifting the tray and holding it until I have a firm grip on the handles.
My walk back down the hallway is slow. Alain follows behind me, opening the bedroom door so I can head toward the bed with ease. Once I’ve reached Karina, who is watching me approach with a smile on her face, I hear the door close quietly behind me.
“Ooh, you’re spoiling me. Give me that tray,” she half-scolds, taking it and setting it on the nightstand.
Dropping to one knee beside the bed, I take her hand.
“You’re done taking care of me, Karina. Okay? Starting now, we’re back to normal. We’re back to being you and me and not nurse and patient.”
She shakes her head and kisses my hand. “Oh, really? Did you wake up today and decide you’re suddenly all better?”
“Something like that.”
“That’s not how it works, Marco. The doctors said it would be months before—”
“Shh.” I get on the bed and curl myself around her, leaning on my good side. “I don’t want you worrying right now. In fact, I don’t want you to do anything but sit here and enjoy your breakfast while I take a shower by myself like a big boy.”
“Marco.”
“Karina.”
We lock eyes and I completely enjoy the moment when she realizes she’s not going to win this argument. She rolls her eyes as a smile works across her lips. “Okay, fine. But you have to leave the door open and give me a shout if you need me.”
“Deal.”
I kiss her softly, slowly, relentlessly until a throaty moan spills out of her. Then I grab the orange juice and hand it to her.
“Squeezed it myself. Now eat up. I need to hop in the shower.”
“Thank you,” she says. “Go on, then. And no hopping!”
“Yes ma’am.”
One last kiss and then I head to the en-suite bathroom.
It’s nice to find some lightness between us after everything that’s happened.
And it feels really good to get into the shower alone for the first time since the accident.
The back scrubber loofah with the long handle makes washing myself about a million times easier than I expected, thank God.
Being able to shower, prepare breakfast, and get myself dressed and undressed today, I’m feeling invincible.
It’s the confidence boost I need to mentally prepare for the task of getting Karina to open up to me.
As I rinse off, I consider my strategy. I’m afraid to push her, but I need to—giving her time and space has gotten me nowhere thus far.
It’s time to make demands. To do whatever it takes to get the truth out of her.
That’s the tiny part of Armani in me wanting to come out, I guess.
The part that hates being refused or told no.
But I’d never treat Karina as harshly as he does, and as impatient as I am, I’m not going to lose my temper.
Whatever the Brunos did to her or said to her might go deeper than I can fathom, and I’m sure she’s keeping it locked away for good reason.
I just have to make her understand that we’re in this together.
We’re a team. She needs to come clean so I can help her, and so I know what I’m dealing with when it comes time to kick some Bruno ass.
The next time Armani makes a plan to take them down, I’ll be front and center with goddamn bells on.
Finishing up, I go back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around my hips.
Karina looks up at me over the rim of her coffee cup. “Do you want me to help you get your sling back on?”
I wince at the mention of it. The sling keeps my arm immobilized so I don’t re-traumatize my clavicle, but the thing is tight and itchy and it makes me feel worse. “In a little bit.”
“Vicodin? Advil, maybe?”
Smiling gently, I shake my head. “No. I don’t need anything except to spend the morning with my wife.”
We get cozy and lay quietly together for a while. Her entire body relaxes as she rests her head on my chest and I run my fingers through her soft hair. My body begins to cool, partly thanks to the damp towel I’m still wearing, but I don’t want to move and break the moment.
Her fingers trail along my abdomen and I realize how much I’ve missed her touch.
“Thank you for taking care of me.” I kiss her temple. “I want to take care of you, too.”
She lets out a sigh. “I know.”
This next part is what I’ve been practicing in my head, over and over. I hope she’s open to what I have to say.
Tilting her chin up so I can look her in the eye, I tell her, “If there’s something bothering you, you can always talk to me. I want to help you through this. Whatever it is. I’ve got you.”
She’s quiet, then nods and splays her fingers over my abs. But she doesn’t speak.
“Karina, did something happen to you when—”
I’m interrupted by the delicious warmth of her hand sliding under my towel and over my cock. A jolt of pleasure darts through me and I momentarily forget what I was trying to say.
“Karina, I’m worried about you.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
Her fingers wrap around my rapidly hardening length. Sweeping her thumb over the head of my cock, she turns into me, carefully, and kisses me.
“No more worrying,” she whispers. “Just lie back and let me take care of you.”
Her words are teasing, but I swear I can see a shimmer of tears in her eyes. I try to resist as she gently climbs over me and pulls my towel off, tossing it to the floor.
“Karina—”
Moving onto her hands and knees, she leans over and takes my cock in her mouth. My brain snaps from concerned to lusting, and my original thoughts take a dive. She moves gently, carefully, but with single-minded focus as she plies my cock with her hot, wet mouth.
“Fuck,” I groan, struggling to get this conversation back on track. “Karina, please, just talk to me. You haven’t been the same since they took you. Did they threaten you? What are they holding over your head?”
I reach for her with my good arm, cupping her cheek in my hand. But she doesn’t answer me, just locks her gaze on mine as she licks and sucks at me, her moans sending vibrations down the length of my shaft. My eyes flutter as I gasp, my mind gone blank, my balls tightening.
“Karina—” but I lose the rest of my words as she works me into a fucking frenzy.
Watching her bob her head around my cock excites me almost to the breaking point. I’m groaning, my fingers digging into her hair, thrusting in time with the suction.
“Fuck yeah,” I grunt. “Fucking God yes.”
“Mmm.”
Suddenly, she pulls hard with her mouth and pops off my cock with a wet, smacking sound.
Her panties are off in a heartbeat. Before I can get another word out, she’s climbing over me, feeding my dick into her wet pussy, peeling off her top so I can watch her breasts bounce as she fucks me.
Palms flat on the bed behind her, she leans back, careful that she doesn’t put any extra pressure on my broken body.
But I can’t complain. From this angle, with her thighs spread apart and her pussy split wide open, I have an amazing view of my cock buried inside her. Holy fuck.
She picks up her pace, still careful not to rock me too hard or move too fast, but the slow ride has me just as turned on as if I was pounding into her.
I watch her ride me, feeling her getting wetter and hotter by the second.
Her moans are music to my ears. Intense jolts of pleasure wash over me in waves. I’m barely holding myself back.
“Marco,” she pants breathlessly.
“Yes,” I groan.
“I love you.”
Hearing those words, I’m fucking done for. I lose it, exploding into her in a hot, helpless rush, even as I tell myself that this isn’t over yet.
I won’t give up on my wife. Because she sure as hell didn’t give up on me.