17. Lina
Lina
"I don't need you to hover, Dante," I huff, my fingers shaking slightly as I wring out a warm washcloth over a ceramic bowl. "And I certainly don't need you staring at me like I’m about to break."
Dante stands by the double doors of the Mayfair suite's master bedroom, his face its usual cold marble. "The doctor said Don Giovanni needs rest, Signorina. Not a self-proclaimed nurse who has been through an active shootout."
“Well, I don’t think I can sit in the other room and bite my nails while he bleeds. Now, either help me move this basin or get out of my way."
Dante looks at me for a long, silent second. Then, a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of respect touches his eyes. He steps back, crossing his arms. "I will be in the hallway."
I let out a shaky breath as the heavy door clicks shut.
The bedroom is quiet, smelling of copper, antiseptic, and the rain still dripping from the balcony outside.
Gio is sitting on the edge of the massive cream-silk bed, shirtless, with a stark white bandage wrapped tightly around his left shoulder, and a thick layer of medical tape binding his right ribs where the second bullet grazed him.
He looks pale, his dark eyes shadowed with pain, but his jaw is still clenched in that stubborn, granite line.
"You should be in bed," I murmur, walking over and kneeling on the thick rug between his knees.
"I am fine, piccola," he grunts, his voice a rough, gravelly rasp.
"You got shot twice, Gio. You are not fine." I gently press the warm, damp cloth against his bare collarbone, wiping away a smear of dried, dark blood that the doctor missed. My heart does a violent, painful squeeze in my chest.
If that bullet had been just a few more inches to the right…
"You almost died," I respond.
"But I didn't," He reaches out, his huge, warm hand closing over my wrist, stopping my movement. His grip is still incredibly strong, sending a sudden, comforting wave of heat straight through my sleeve. "And neither did you."
"Because you threw yourself in front of a gun," I whisper, looking up at his face.
The firelight from the hearth catches the sharp angles of his cheekbones.
My throat goes tight, a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion rising in my chest. I want to tell him.
I want to say the words that have been clawing at the back of my throat since we hit the wet grass in the park.
I love you.
The realization is terrifying and beautiful. I love a man who lives in a world of violence, a man who carries scars on his chest and a gun in his coat. My mother spent her entire life running to keep me away from fire, and here I am, voluntarily stepping straight into flames.
"Lina," Gio murmurs, his dark eyes searching my face, his thumb dragging across the pulse point on my wrist with a slow, heavy pressure. "What is it?"
"I almost lost you," I say softly.
Before he can answer, the bedroom door clicks open. Dante steps back into the room, his phone clenched in his hand and his face entirely devoid of color.
"Gio," Dante starts, his voice carrying a sudden, cold weight that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. "We have a problem."
Gio’s eyes instantly snap to his second, the warmth draining from his face as the enforcer takes over. "What?"
"Matteo’s New York cell just leaked a message through the secure channels," Dante mutters, stepping closer and handing Gio a small burner phone. "They know the London meeting was a setup for the merger. They’ve flagged the airport, they’re calling her 'dead weight,’ and they want her gone before we can clear the tarmac. "
My stomach does a sudden, sickening drop.
I look at the small screen of the phone, at the coded Italian characters that Dante just translated.
"They won't touch her," Gio growls, his hand tightening on my wrist so hard his knuckles go white. He tries to stand, but his taped ribs catch, and he lets out a low, guttural hiss of pain, his body stiffening.
"Don't move!" I command, my hand flying to his bare shoulder to push him back onto the mattress and I turn to Dante. "We can’t run to the airport if they're waiting for us. What's the alternative?"
"We have a private transport vessel leaving the docks at midnight," Dante answers, looking at me with a measuring gaze. "It's slower, but it bypasses the commercial security lines. We can be back in Boston by morning."
"Then we take the boat," I announce, my voice steady, surprising even myself. I look back at Gio, my fingers lingering on his warm skin. "Makes more sense.”
Dante looks at Gio, waiting for the don's nod. Gio watches me for a long second, his chest rising and falling fast against my hand. Finally, he nods once. "Prepare the vessel, Dante. And tell Marco to double the perimeter at the docks.”
"Understood," Dante nods and slips back out of the room.
The door shuts, leaving us in the quiet, firelit bedroom once more. The rain outside is still pattering against the glass, a soft, steady rhythm. I look down at my hands, and they are still shaking slightly.
"Lina," Gio calls, his voice quiet, carrying a heavy, dark intensity. "You should go back to Maine. I can have Dante put you on a secure flight to Canada, and then—"
"No," I reply, my chin tilting up, my eyes locking onto his. "I'm not leaving you, Gio."
"It is a war, piccola," he whispers, his hand reaching up to cup my jaw, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "If you stay next to me, you will be in the crosshairs every single second of your day."
"I know," I lean my face into his hand, my heart hammering a wild, eager rhythm. I’ve spent my whole life being a "feral kitten," waiting for someone to knock on my door and tell me I don't belong.
But looking at this scarred, beautiful man who just took two bullets for me, the fear vanishes.
"I don't want to run anymore. I want to be here. With you. Please don’t make me leave... "
A low, ragged breath escapes his lips. The quiet restraint in his posture snaps like a dry branch.
"Lina," he growls.
He yanks me upward, his uninjured arm wrapping completely around my waist, pulling me effortlessly onto his lap.
I let out a soft, startled cry, my hands flying to his broad shoulders to steady myself, my thighs opening to drape over his hips.
He is burning, his rigid length already pressing hard against my beige wool dress, pulsing with a raw, desperate frustration.
I look down at his mouth, my chest heaving.
I am all in. No reservations.
"Be careful of your shoulder," I whisper, my fingers sliding into his dark, damp hair.
"Fucking let it tear," he murmurs, his dark eyes completely black with blown-out lust.
He captures my mouth.
The kiss is hot, heavy, and completely consuming.
He doesn't hold back this time as his tongue slides past my parted lips, tasting of neat bourbon and the sharp copper of the park.
I let out a soft, whimpering moan into his mouth, my hands sliding down to rip at his belt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.
Gio lets out a guttural groan, his hand sliding down my back to grip the hem of my beige dress. He yanks the fabric up to my waist, his fingers hot and rough against my bare thighs. He hooks his fingers into my underwear and tears them away with a single, violent jerk, tossing them onto the floor.
I gasp against his lips as the cold air hits my skin, but the chill is gone an instant later as he guides me down onto him.
The friction is tight, thick, and absolute.
I let out a loud, broken scream into his neck as he drives himself deep inside me in one heavy, solid thrust. My hips roll instinctively against his, my thighs locking around his waist to take the full force of his weight.
Every touch of his bare skin is a wild, raw friction that makes my brain go completely fuzzy.
"G-Gio... oh, god..." I sob, my head flinging back, my neck exposed.
"Look at me, Lina," he growls, his hand gripping my jaw, forcing my eyes to meet his. His face is a mask of pure, possessive intensity, his chest rising and falling fast against mine. "You are mine!. Do you hear me? No matter what happens. No matter who comes for us. You are mine.”
"Yes," I gasp, my fingers clawing into his bare shoulders. "Yes, Gio. I'm yours."
He begins to move, his hips rising and falling in a hard, relentless rhythm.
Because of his taped ribs, I take the lead, shifting my weight, my body aligning perfectly with his as the heat climbs higher and higher.
The pain of his injuries seems to only fuel his aggression, his hand digging hard into my hip to guide my pace.
I can feel the tight coil of my climax beginning to squeeze around him, my muscles contracting, pulling him deeper and deeper into my core.
"G-Gio... please... I'm going to..." I sob, my eyes rolling back.
"Cum for me, piccola," he growls against my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Let me feel you milk me.”
I scream his name, my body shuddering violently as the waves of my release crash over me, thick and unyielding.
The tight, pulsing spasms of my core grip his cock, pulling him over the edge.
Gio lets out a low, guttural roar, driving deep inside me one last time as his own release explodes, hot and heavy, filling me completely.
But he doesn't pull away.
He stays inside me, his chest heaving, his heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird. He buries his face in my neck, his un-injured arm wrapping around my shoulders, holding me so tightly I can feel the sticky heat of our sweat bonding our skin.
I run my fingers slowly through his hair, a soft, dazed smile touching my swollen lips.
I am safe with him, even in the middle of a war, I am safe.
I look at his pale, beautiful face, my heart cracking completely open. I trust him with my life, I trust him with my mother's memory. I trust that the safe, ordinary life we are going to build together when this is over is real.
I am all in.