25. Lucia
Chapter twenty-five
Lucia
F inding my husband lying battered and bruised on a hospital bed is shocking. But when my father, who I haven’t spoken to since the wedding party, walks into that very same room, my legs wobble alarmingly. I drop onto the edge of the bed. And Antonio grunts at the shift in the mattress.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, glancing down at him.
Maybe if I ignore my father, he’ll leave. He has no right to be here.
“I’ve come to take you to my villa in Capri where you will be safe,” Papa commands from behind me, and while his words seep into my brain, I’m glad I’m sitting, as that statement could have had me dropping like a stone.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I spit out, turning on him. “I’m here with my husband, and it’s time you realized I’m no longer yours to order around.”
“Your husband asked for me to come.” My father’s voice is low and steady.
What? My head swims with fatigue and confusion in equal measure. I look back down at Ant, expecting to see him call my father out on the lie. But what I see in his face stabs me in the heart.
“Please leave us. I want to speak to my wife in private.” Ant’s voice rises above the rush of blood in my ears.
I silently search his gaze for answers, but he’s the master of shuttering his emotions away from the world at times like this, and I come up empty.
Behind me, Gio ushers the others from the room until we’re alone.
“What does he mean?” I ask, staring into his dull eyes laced with pain, drugs, or a combination of both.
He reaches for my hand. “The men who did this to me are now threatening to do the same to you.”
My eyes spring wide with shock. “Why?” The blood rushes from my face, leaving my skin cold and clammy. Tendrils of fear send a shiver through my body, and I don’t bother trying to hide it.
He starts to speak in a low, husky voice, like it pains him to share the truth. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, this isn’t something Gio or I ever envisaged happening. We just needed to find out who was stealing from the company.”
“But you haven’t?” I whisper the question, hoping this wasn’t all for nothing.
An uneven breath lifts his chest, and a wave of pain passes over his face as it tests his injuries.
“No.” The admission pulls painfully from his mouth.
And there’s no softening in my husband’s tone when he continues.
“And until we do, I need to know you’re going to be safe.
I can’t do that lying here helpless. Your father can.
” His jaw clenches as he closes his eyes.
The low hum of machinery the only sound filling the silence.
“But I—”
His eyes spring open. “No, Luce,” he grinds out, and my body jerks back at the sudden outburst. “You don’t get it. I can’t protect you. He’s the only one who can and his villa on Capri is the best place to do that.”
Stiffening my shoulders, I glare at him. “No,” I say with as much force as I can muster.
I can’t return to my father’s villa. It was there that Bruno attacked me. Antonio knows what going back there means to me. It’s not just having to be back under my father’s roof. It’s that particular roof.
“Please, for me, Lucia,” he pleads, his eyes now a watery blue gray. He reaches for my hand, and again, he winces in pain. I pull away.
My heart throbs and aches like it’s been ripped from my chest, and there’s a gaping hole where it once rested. “I’ll do this … for our baby.”
“Our baby,” he repeats as he places his hand on my flat belly. “You need to see a doctor,” he says, his gaze darting up to meet mine.
“It’s okay. I’d just finished at the doctor when Gio called. The baby is fine. I’m fine.”
He closes his eyes, then blinks them open again. “It would kill me if anything happened to you or the baby.” As he sinks lower into the bed, all the fierceness of moments ago disappears. He swipes a hand across his eyes.
I’ve never seen Antonio come even close to shedding a tear, not even when he told me his mother had died. Yet here he is, distraught that something bad might happen to me.
“I’ll do this for you too,” I say before leaning over him to touch my forehead to his. We stay suspended that way in silence for a few minutes, breathing in each other’s air.
“I love you,” he whispers, emotion turning his voice croaky.
I kiss him lightly on his cracked lips. “I love you too. But we’re not done with this conversation,” I say, then stand to go.
When I reach the door, he mutters, “I’m sorry.”
Me too. I wish he’d talked to me before asking for my father’s help. Even if this is probably the only option.
In the hospital corridor, my father stands with his feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed against his chest, and spine stiff as he speaks quietly with Gio.
In contrast, Gio’s hands are tucked casually into the pockets of his suit pants, his head held high, face stern, and eyes glacial as he stares my father in the eye.
Two broad-shouldered bodyguards flank them.
They’re certainly taking the threats seriously, and I know I should too.
But leaving my husband’s side when he’s hurting breaks my heart.
The tears I held back with Antonio trickle down my cheeks. Gio notices me first and leaves my father midsentence to come to me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, the kindness in his tone matched by the concern etched in his features.
“I don’t want to leave him.” It’s a simple confession that does nothing to describe how much it hurts to walk away. I’m shattering into a thousand pieces because, when it matters the most, Antonio and I should be together, like we’ve always been.
The arm Gio places around my shoulders is a small comfort when it’s my husband’s arms I need.
He gives my shoulders a light squeeze. “He loves you, Lucia, and can’t bear the thought of something happening to you and—” Gio doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know what he was going to say. It doesn’t surprise me that Ant confided in him.
A small nod is all the response I manage, my eyes welling with fresh tears.
Gio and I were never that close growing up, but when we were thrown together over the marriage contract, I learned to respect and trust his opinion.
Now that he’s my brother-in-law, I’m finding him to be the older brother I wished I had as a child.
Maybe it was just the vibe I picked up from Antonio over the years, but Gio’s loyalty to his siblings is evident in every word he speaks.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks.
“Just promise me you’ll keep him safe.”
“I promise.” He swallows deeply. “Nico and I will stay with him until we can all walk out of here.”
I didn’t even know Nico was here, but again, I’m not surprised.
“We’ve also got security.” Gio gestures with a tilt of his head to two men at the far end of the hallway. They aren’t as burly as my father’s bodyguards, but there is a lean toughness in their stance as they track the people moving through the corridor. I’m guessing former military men.
“Thank you.”
“Lucia, we need to leave,” my father commands, and like I’ve done for the majority of my life, I obey.
***
I know I’m a mess, and I don’t need my father’s grimace to drive home the point.
I couldn’t care less. Not waiting for the driver to open my door, I jump out of the car as soon as it stops.
It’s a short drive from the marina up to my father’s villa on Capri.
But the winding road and the oppressiveness of my father’s presence is making my stomach swirl.
Circling the back of the car, I gulp in some fresh air. I don’t want him knowing about the baby, so I swallow the bile clogging my throat before I follow him.
The second I step through the door of the villa I swore I’d never set foot in again, my father stops and turns to block my path.
“Come and see me in my office when you’ve cleaned yourself up.” Then, spinning on the terracotta tiles, he leaves. Not even noticing the glare I’m searing into the back of his head.
“Good to see you too, Papa,” I mutter. His stride falters, and I wonder if he heard me. Again, I’m beyond caring.
“Your mother and brother are on their way from Rome,” he says, not turning, but his tread is slow and heavy as he continues to his office. Every property he owns has a fully equipped office, which I always believed was so he could hide from his family.
I stand statue still, my arms crossed tightly around my waist, watching his retreating back until he turns into his office and the door bangs, echoing along the hall. I flinch.
“Signora Barbieri, would you like me to take your bags to your room?”
“Sì, grazie, Marco.”
He nods, his expression blank except for his brown eyes, which hold more warmth than my own father’s.