Chapter 40 #2
So we wait until we're sure it's just him and her inside.
We decide to move. The moment Owen gives the signal, I can't hold back—I sprint toward the house and kick down the door, gun drawn.
I see him. He's on the couch, but the noise startles him and he jumps up, pointing a gun at me.
Then Owen, Carter, and two officers burst in behind me. It's over for him.
“Lower the weapon, or I'll blow your brains out,” one of the officers says from behind him, gun pointed at his head.
I let them deal with that figlio di puttana—if I got my hands on him right now, I'd kill him.
I run through the hallways, searching for my woman and my son.
When I get upstairs, I start shouting her name.
I hear a noise coming from one of the rooms. I try to open the door, but it's locked.
I break it down and burst in to find Emma holding my son, dried blood on her forehead.
I crouch beside her and check her over—a small cut on her lip, another on her forehead.
Our son sleeps peacefully in her lap. She hugs me and cries.
“It's over, my love. It's over.”
“I thought… you'd never find me,” she says, sniffling.
“I'd go to the ends of the earth for you two, Emma. Let's get out of here.”
I pick them up and leave that mold-reeking room.
I head down the stairs and everyone rushes toward me, wanting to know if they're okay.
We leave that strange house and go straight to the hospital.
A doctor evaluates them and treats Emma's wounds, and soon we're on our way.
I want to keep them close today, keep them safe.
I was so afraid of losing them, I tell her.
“Tonight you're staying at my place.”
“I want to see my family, Mattia—my mother, my sister, and Sam. They must be worried.”
“We already called and calmed them down. I told them you're staying at my place tonight. Don't argue with me, Emma. Please. Not today.”
While the doctor was examining her and my son, I called Samantha to let her know they were both fine, to put everyone at ease. I head straight to my apartment and carry them to my room, where I run a bath so she can relax. I stay on the bed with Matteo, who's still sleeping like an angel.
“Feeling better?” I watch her come out of the bathroom, wrapped in my robe, which swallows her.
“Thank you for everything. I was desperate, not knowing how I'd ever get out of there. And then you showed up.”
“Come on, you need to rest. I made you some warm milk.”
I help her lie down in my bed and cover her, then hand her the glass of milk.
Seconds later, she's asleep—she was exhausted.
I stay there for a long time, watching over her, marveling at how strong she was, how she endured everything alone with our son.
Emma surprises me more every day. After a while, I take a shower and try to lie down with them, but I can't sleep.
Not wanting to disturb their rest, I go to the living room and sit there watching the sky until it lightens, dawn already breaking.
I check the clock—almost eight in the morning—so I go make a hearty breakfast for Emma, who hasn't eaten. I'm just finishing setting the table when she appears in the hallway, our son in her arms.
“Good morning. How are you?”
“Hungry.” She smiles.
“Come eat, then. I made all this for you. Hand me Matteo so you can eat properly.”
I take my son in my arms and watch her. She eats a little of everything. I'm glad she's okay—and my ragazzo too. She finishes, gets up from the table, and starts carrying the dishes to the sink.
“Leave all that. I'll take care of it later. Your mother already called—she wants to see you and our son.”
“Then let's go. I want to see them too.”
I lend her some of my clothes, which are huge on her, but hers were filthy and torn in places, so I threw them out. We leave, heading to her house.
“Call me if you need anything. I've got some business to take care of.”
I leave after watching her go inside. I call Owen and ask where he is. He sends me the location right away—they didn't take the bastard to the police station. Good. First, I want to teach him how to treat my woman and my son. With rage in my eyes, I head to my destination.
I'm the kind of person who can't stand aggression, especially against women, and that's exactly why I'm going to teach him how to treat them from now on.
Emma suffered so much because of him—when she told me everything she went through, how he stalked and threatened her afterward—and this time, the bastard went after my woman and my son again.
He's going to get what he deserves. I floor it and minutes later arrive at the location, a strange place that looks abandoned, but my friend greets me right away.
“Took you long enough.”
“Never would've expected a place like this,” I say, looking around.
“What, you want us to do this out in the open? Come on, have a little fun. We need to take him to the station, just don't mess up his face too much,” he says, patting my shoulder.
When I get inside, I see the two officers who were with us, along with Carter. I look at the bastard sitting in a chair in the center of the warehouse. He looks me in the eye and smiles, and my rage spikes.
“She doesn't love you. If you think you're going to be with her because of that bastard kid, you're dead wrong. Emma is my woman.” He blurts it all out at once.
“I think you've said enough.”
“When I told her to leave you, she didn't think twi—”
I didn't let him finish. I didn't even realize when my fist clenched and I punched him in the mouth with everything I had, drawing blood—just like he did to my woman.
I usually try to control myself in these situations, but this idiot messed with the wrong person.
Hatred and disgust consume me in that moment.
I see nothing else. I pummel his face like my life depends on it until Owen runs over to pull me off him.
“Well, at least he deserved it. But I told you not to hit his face, and you went and broke his nose and jaw.”
I glance over at him and finally see the state I left him in—his nose and mouth gushing blood. After what he said, I completely lost it and just attacked him. Seeing how he ended up, I have to admit I feel relieved.
“I hope you never get out of jail, because if you do, I'll put you right back in.”
I thank Owen's friends and Carter for helping me and start walking out of that place, which now feels suffocating. My friend comes running after me.
“Sorry, I completely lost it.”
“Don't worry, we'll take care of it. I think you understand me now, right?”
I nod, get in the car, and drive off without another word. I want to check on Emma and Matteo, but I look at my hands—they're banged up—and head straight home instead.
Chapter 42
I talked to Emma on the phone for three days, just to check how they were doing.
I didn't want to explain the injuries on my hands—and couldn't, really—so I decided to let the wounds heal first before seeing them.
And that's what I did. After everything that happened, I realized I can't be separated from them again, and I don't ever want to be.
She's going to have to take me back, because I'm not leaving her.
I send her a message inviting her to dinner, and she accepts without hesitation.
I start preparing a special dinner here at home—tonight it'll be just the two of us, and we'll work everything out.
At eight o'clock sharp, she arrives. The doorman told me she was on her way up, so I wait for her at the elevator door, which opens directly into my apartment.
She looks beautiful, wearing a red strapless dress and red heels.
That color looks stunning against her skin and hair, and since she doesn't like wearing makeup, her freckles stand out even more.
She looks beautiful with that effortless style only she has—it captivates me.
Always with her glasses, loose hair, and a touch of lipstick.
I smile at her and she smiles back. I ask her to come in, taking her heavy coat and hanging it up.
“You look beautiful, as always.”
“Thank you, you don't look bad yourself.”
“I'm almost done—come sit here. Can you have a glass of wine?”
“Yes, I left some milk for Matteo at home.”
“And how is he?”
“Adorable and chubby,” she says with a smile.
“You take such good care of him. Thank you for that.”
“I'm his mother. I'd give my life for him if I had to.”
“I know—I chose the best mother for my son. Anyway, dinner’s ready.”
I set the table and we sit down to eat. She loves the shrimp risotto I make, and that’s what I prepared tonight.
We chat the whole time—I’d missed talking with her.
I clear the plates and get dessert. After we finish eating, she helps me load the dishwasher, then we settle on the couch and I pour her another glass of wine.