Chapter Fifteen SANTINO #2
“Yes,” I repeated, voice low and final. My thumb kept stroking beside the cut, as if I could wipe away the injury with sheer will.
She stared at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had.
“Santino, it’s literally nothing. I’ve had worse cuts making dinner at home.”
I didn’t care. The sight of her blood, even this tiny amount, did something primal and ugly to me. My chest felt too tight. The same darkness that lived in me every day roared louder at the thought of her hurting. Even a little. Even by her own hand.
I brought her palm to my mouth and pressed my lips to the cut, tasting the faint metallic tang of her blood. Her breath hitched.
“You don’t hurt in this house,” I said against her skin, voice rough. “Not even a drop. Not while I’m breathing. And not unless I’m doing it to you.”
The room had gone completely still again. Matteo’s fork was frozen halfway to his mouth. The cook looked like he wanted to disappear into the pantry. Marco was watching me with a knowing, slightly concerned expression.
Aurora’s cheeks flushed deep pink. “You’re being insane right now.”
“I don’t care.” I finally released her wrist only to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her against my chest. “Marco. Medic. Now.”
Marco sighed but moved toward the hallway, still smirking. “You’re whipped, boss.”
“Say it again and I’ll shoot you.”
Aurora let out a soft, disbelieving laugh against my shirt. “It’s a tiny cut. I’m fine.”
“You’re mine,” I said quietly, only for her. My hand slid into her hair, holding her close. “That means nothing touches you. Not knives. Not accidents. Not even gravity if I can help it.”
She pulled back just enough to look up at me, eyes soft and a little overwhelmed. “You’re really going to call a doctor for this?”
“I’m going to burn the knife if it makes you feel better.”
Her lips twitched. Despite everything, a small smile broke through. “You’re ridiculous.”
I brushed my thumb over her bottom lip. “And you’re going to sit down while someone else finishes the fruit salad. No more bleeding today, Aurora. I mean it.”
She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t fight me when I guided her back to the table. I kept her injured hand in mine the entire time, gently stroking the uninjured skin around the cut.
Pathetic.
I was becoming completely, irreversibly pathetic for this girl.
The medic arrived within twelve minutes.
Dr. Alessandro Salvatori strode into the kitchen carrying his black leather bag with the quiet confidence of a man who had seen far worse than a paper cut.
In his early forties, the doctor was annoyingly handsome, tall, dark-haired with a touch of silver at the temples, sharp jawline, and the kind of calm, piercing green eyes that probably made half his female patients forget their symptoms. He had stitched me up more times than I cared to count and knew better than to test my patience.
He took one look at Aurora’s palm, then at me, and wisely kept his expression professionally neutral.
“It’s barely a scratch, Signore Moretti,” he said in his smooth, cultured voice as he gently cleaned the cut.
“I don’t care,” I replied, standing behind Aurora with my hands firmly on her shoulders. “Bandage it properly.”
Aurora sighed dramatically but let the doctor work. “You’re being completely ridiculous. I feel like I got shot and no one told me.”
Dr. Salvatori’s lips twitched with amusement as he applied antibiotic ointment and wrapped her palm in clean, crisp white gauze with practiced efficiency.
“He’s very… protective,” he murmured to her, a hint of sympathy in his tone.
“Understatement of the year,” she muttered.
I ignored them both, my eyes never leaving the bandage as it slowly covered the offending cut.
When he finished, Dr. Salvatori gave Aurora a polite, reassuring smile. “Keep it dry for the next twenty-four hours. You’ll be good as new.”
“Thank you,” she said sweetly.
I nodded at the doctor. “Send the bill to Marco.”
Once Salvatori left, I lifted Aurora’s bandaged hand and pressed a lingering kiss just above the gauze. “No more knives.”
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, but her fingers curled gently around mine anyway.
I didn’t let go for the rest of breakfast.
Later that afternoon, I took Aurora to the outskirts of the city.
The neighborhood was modest. Rows of small, worn houses with faded paint and tired roofs. I parked the black SUV myself and killed the engine. Aurora glanced at me curiously as we stepped out, but she didn’t ask questions. Not yet.
I led her to a pale blue house at the end of the block. Before I could knock, the door flew open.
Nonna Rosa stood there, small and fierce in her black widow’s dress, silver hair pulled into a tight bun. The moment she saw me, her wrinkled face split into a bright smile.
“Santino Moretti!” she exclaimed, reaching up with both hands to pinch my cheeks hard, just like she always did. “You get more handsome every time I see you. Come in, come in!”
Two small children, Gemma and Leone, came barreling out from behind her, launching themselves at my legs with loud squeals.
“Zio Santino! Zio Santino!” Leone yelled, trying to climb me like a tree. Gemma hugged my knee, refusing to let go.
I crouched down, ruffling Leone's hair and scooping Gemma up with one arm. “Hey, little warriors. You been behaving for Nonna?”
They both nodded eagerly. Behind them, the young woman I’d hired as their live-in nanny and the part-time nurse I’d brought in for Nonna Rosa greeted me warmly.
“Signore Moretti,” the nurse said with a respectful nod. “The new medication is helping her arthritis a lot.”
“Good,” I replied quietly. “Anything she needs, you call Marco.”
Aurora stood a few steps behind me, watching everything in silence.
I guided her inside the modest living room.
Nonna Rosa insisted on making us coffee, shuffling around despite the nurse’s protests.
While she was in the kitchen, I slipped a thick envelope into the old woman’s worn handbag on the table.
Enough to cover the mortgage for the next two years and then some.
No cameras. No announcements. No one outside this house would ever know.
Aurora’s eyes followed my every move.
I asked Leone about the new soccer ball I’d sent last month. I asked Gemma about her drawings. When Nonna Rosa mentioned her latest doctor’s visit, I pulled out my phone and quietly arranged for a specialist to come see her at home next week. All of it done without fanfare.
Because this family was mine to carry.
Years ago, my brother Angelo had killed their parents in one of his reckless, bloodthirsty operations.
A deal gone wrong, the kind of collateral damage he never lost sleep over.
I found out six months after he died. The guilt had eaten at me ever since.
These kids had no one left except their frail grandmother.
So I became their shadow protector. The monster who made sure the family his twin destroyed would never want for anything again.
We stayed for nearly an hour. Nonna Rosa pinched my cheeks again before we left and made Aurora promise to come back soon. The children hugged my legs and begged me to visit next week.
When we finally stepped outside, Aurora was quiet.
Too quiet.
I opened the car door for her, but she paused before getting in, turning to face me with an unreadable expression.
“You killed their parents?” she asked softly. There was no accusation in her voice, just quiet understanding of the weight I carried.
I shook my head. “Angelo did. Before I could stop him. Before I could fix it.”
Aurora looked back at the little blue house, where Leone was still waving from the window. Then she looked at me.
“You’re paying for your brother’s sins,” she whispered.
“I’m doing what’s right,” I said roughly. “There’s a difference.”
She stepped closer, her bandaged hand coming up to rest on my chest. “You remember their names. You make sure they’re taken care of. No one knows. No glory. Just… you.”
Her voice dropped, almost angry. “I hate how attractive that is. I hate how good you look doing it. You’re supposed to be the villain, Santino. You’re supposed to be terrifying.”
I caught her chin, tilting her face up to mine. My thumb brushed her lower lip.
“I am the villain,” I told her, voice low and dark. “But even monsters have debts. And sometimes we pay them with something other than blood. Like cheek pinching.”
Aurora stared at me for a long moment, eyes stormy with emotions I couldn’t fully read. Then she rose on her toes and kissed me, soft, slow, and full of something dangerously close to acceptance.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed.
“You’re still ridiculous for calling the doctor over a paper cut,” she muttered.
I smirked, opening the car door for her. “And you’re still sleeping in my bed tonight.”