82. Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Two
Mariella
I wake slowly, the sound of running water pulling me from sleep.
Where am I?
The air smells like Mateo. Hmm, his sweater didn’t carry his scent this strongly before.
I shift slightly, my senses sharpening as I take in my surroundings. Mateo’s bed.
How did I end up here?
The soft creak of the shower door opening provides a clue.
Panic tightens in my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut again, afraid of what I’ll find when I open them, afraid of his rejection.
Footsteps cross the room, quiet, measured. Then the mattress dips as he sits beside me.
Though he doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t reach for me. And the space between us feels like a chasm.
I force myself to stay still, breathing shallowly. The longer the silence stretches, the louder my heart pounds.
Then, finally, he exhales, long and slow.
“I’m sorry, dolcezza .” His voice is rough, worn.
Oh God. Is this it?
Is this when he pulls out his gun and ends it? But surely not in his own bed?
“I’m sorry for running out. For disappearing for hours, leaving you to expect the worst.”
What?
He pauses, and I’m tempted to open my eyes.
“I told you I loved you, and at the first sign of trouble, I ran. But you… you were so brave, telling me what your father did, knowing exactly what the consequences would be. I’m in awe of you. And I’m truly sorry for the way I reacted.”
A lump rises in my throat. Slowly, my eyes flutter open.
He’s close, but not close enough.
I sit up, pulling the blanket up against my chest as I eye him.
A towel is slung low on his hips, water droplets gliding down the ridges of his torso. The sight would normally make my mouth water, but nothing is normal at the moment.
And then I see it.
A tattoo.
My mouth drops open as my gaze locks onto the ink covering his chest, a laurel wreath around a roaring lion, the De Marco crest. But there’s more. Roman numerals at the bottom.
“But,” I swallow. “But the blood, you don’t—”
“I don’t cope well?” A faint smirk curves up his lips. “It was time to confront that phobia.”
I look up at him, checking his face for any sign of distress, but he appears calm, peaceful, even. My gaze drops to the tattoo again, amazed he sat through hours of pain for this. The agony he must have endured.
My fingers lift and softly graze the etched numbers. I barely touch it, just a whisper of contact, careful not to hurt his tender skin.
“It’s today’s date,” I whisper, my brows drawing together.
“Yes.” His voice is steady. “I wanted to commemorate today.”
My eyes lift to his, asking the question without uttering the words.
He holds my gaze. “It’s the day I make my own family.”
I stare at him.
I don’t understand.
“The laurel wreath is an ancient Roman symbol for victory and honor. My great-great-grandfather adapted it as a symbol for the De Marco family, honor and unity. Nothing breaks the ring. Trust, loyalty. They’re what sustain it.”
His jaw tightens, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. “Your father betrayed my family.”
I shudder. I don’t need the reminder.
“But you are not your father, Mari. You are loyal to me, to la famiglia. You told me about his betrayal, fully knowing how I ought to deal with it. And I have.”
A chill races down my spine. My breath catches in my throat, and for a second, I can’t find the air to breathe.
‘And I have.’ He’s dealt with it.
My blood runs cold. The ground seems unsteady beneath me, the world blurring at the edges.
“My sisters. Mamma .” The words slip out, barely a whisper. I dare not speak louder, not wanting to hear confirmation of what I fear.
They’ve been dealt with?
His gaze sharpens immediately.
“No! God, no, dolce mia . They’re safe,” he’s quick to assure me.
The air returns to my lungs, relieved beyond description.
“I killed your father,” he clarifies, pointing to the date inked on his chest. “I avenged my brother. The entire famiglia. And you.”
The words hit me, but there’s only an eerie calm inside me.
“I’m sorry, dolcezza .” His voice is gentle now. “I know he was your father, but—”
“He hated me for being a girl,” I whisper. “I can’t bring myself to mourn a man who never cared for me. If anything, it’s a relief knowing he can’t hurt people anymore.” My throat tightens. “All I care about is you. Are you okay?”
His chest rises and falls. Teo studies me closely, his expression unreadable.
“I will be, especially after we get married today. It’s why I had today’s date inked over my heart.”
“Married? Today?” My voice barely registers.
“Yes.” His eyes burn into mine.
The world tilts. My heart skips a beat.
Did I hear that right?
“Third time’s the charm?” I ask, disbelief thick in my voice.
“Something like that,” he chuckles.
For a moment, I let myself believe it, let the possibility sink into my bones, warming the cold spaces inside me. But then, reality rears its ugly head, and I remember the weight of everything that came before.
“Mateo, my father’s betrayal will always stand between us, and we will—”
“Do you love me?”
His question is a blade, slicing straight through my hesitation.
“With my life. But love isn’t the issue. Sparing and marrying me might bring down your empire.”
“It won’t.” His expression sobers. “I am the most powerful man in Italy now, Mari. No one will dare go against me.”
“You know that isn’t true. If there’s dissent among your people because you disobeyed the golden rule about betrayal—”
“Nobody will find out.”
I study him, wary. “How can you be so sure?”
His lips press together. “I killed your father alone. No witnesses. And…”
“And what?”
His gaze darkens. “It’s well known that I detest messy killings. This one was very messy. I mimicked the way the Bertucci dispatch their victims.”
A shiver runs through me.
“Mateo, I—” I pause, trying to find the right words. “Today isn’t the right day. Too much has happened. You had a long and bloody night, and you haven’t slept yet. You might not be thinking straight. I don’t ever want you to regret marrying me.”
His eyes soften, but his resolve doesn’t waver.
“I could never.”
He reaches for me, his large hands cupping my face.
“I love you, Mari. With a depth and a passion I never knew I was capable of. Nothing and nobody will stop me from being with you.
“I want to spend every single day of my life with you. To watch you get lost in your drawings, to listen to you hum when we cook together, to wake up to your beautiful smile.”
His thumb sweeps over my cheek, catching the tear that slips free. I lean into his touch, my watery gaze locked on his.
All I see is sincerity.
And love.
So much love.
“To share everything with you,” he continues, his voice rough with emotion. “First times, second times, a millionth times. And I don’t just mean sex,” he adds with a smirk when I blush.
“I want to watch you discover the world, to see it through your eyes. You appreciate everything. You love fiercely. And selfishly, I want to bask in that love.
“I thought when I found my One, I’d be head over heels, but I never expected this. To be so besotted that even a minute away from you feels like a thousand years.”
He drops to one knee, his gaze locked on mine. “Mariella Bianca Accardi, will you marry me… today?”
I choke on a sob. His eyes shimmer with tears too, his heart laid bare before me.
This is his third proposal. God, I really hope it happens this time.
“You think you’re besotted with me,” I whisper, “but I’ve been love-struck since I saw you on my sixteenth birthday. I’ve loved you from afar for four years, never believing this could become real. And through the craziest of circumstances, I got to know you, and I fell even deeper.”
I cup his face, my own shaking hands brushing against his scruff. “So to answer your question for the third time, will I marry you?”
I smile through my tears. “A thousand times… no, a gazillion times, YES.”