31. Valeria
VALERIA
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Nico winks at me through the door opening, sparking a rush of heat down my spine. He’s dressed in jeans and his black bomber jacket like he’s just come back from a midnight stroll around the block, not his hotel room a few doors down.
Despite the fact that I’m pregnant with their grandchild and we’ve broken nearly every other possible rule, Nico’s parents were insistent on us maintaining tradition the night before the wedding by sleeping in separate rooms.
Not that I’ve done much sleeping. I’ve spent the last few hours lying in bed and counting the ceiling tiles while my heart raced, warning me of every possible disaster—and a few impossible ones—that could come when I walk down the aisle tomorrow.
Nico leans his head against the wall. “I couldn’t stay away, knowing you weren’t sleeping.”
A smile brushes across my mouth. “Who told you I couldn’t sleep?”
“You didn’t eat a bite at the rehearsal dinner tonight, so you’re hungry.
You were moved around like a doll all night, so you’re frustrated.
I don’t hear the sounds of people being horrifically maimed on your TV, so you’re anxious.
” He holds up a grocery bag, shaped suspiciously like butter and a loaf of bread. “So I came to take care of you.”
I glance between him and the food. A smirk grows across his lips.
Fuck it.
“Make it quick,” I say and swing the door open.
He slips into my hotel room like a street cat seeking refuge, stealing a kiss as I shut and lock the door behind him.
“Did anyone see you?” I ask.
“Only my father’s men.” He sets the food on the entryway table and looms over me, his hands cradling my jaw so he can press more warm kisses to my mouth. “But don’t worry about them. You only need to worry about yourself.”
I scoff breathlessly. “I think I have that covered.”
A pained look flashes across his features, and guilt settles low in my belly.
I know he feels it too—that pressure against your skin that signals a storm is coming. The prickle of fear against the back of your neck that warns of someone watching you.
But he’s doing everything he can to protect us. I know he is.
I wrap my arms around his waist.
No matter what happens, I want to make sure he always knows how much I believe in him.
I kiss him back, hard and eager. And how much I trust him.
A moan slips from my mouth. And how much I love him.
He responds with a fierce urgency, shoving his muscular thigh between my legs and scraping a thumb across the silk nightgown covering my nipple. I rock against him, chasing the sensations he offers me so effortlessly.
“Do you need me to fuck you?” he rasps.
Getting married tomorrow, the dread of knowing our lives will be in danger every day after, fades as Nico’s thumb brushes against my lower lip.
My heart in my throat, I look back at him and nod.
“Say it,” he murmurs. In my hotel room’s low light, his amber eyes are bright as a tiger’s.
“I need you to fuck me, Nico.”
He drops to his knees and shoves his face between my legs.
He’s gone by the time I wake up, a pleasant ache my reminder of him.
A vague memory, like a dream, floats through my mind. Nico softly whispering how excited he is to see me walk down the aisle. Of him kissing my belly over and over and telling our baby he loves her before he slips back out of my room.
It’s still too early to tell, but Nico swears it’ll be a little girl.
And maybe it’s silly, or wishful thinking, but I believe him.
The idea of the man I love holding our baby girl in his hands, telling her he’ll love her and protect her no matter what, heals something in me.
And today, I’m going to marry him.
Groaning, I stretch and grimace at the early hour on the hotel alarm clock. I consider going back to sleep, but haul myself out of bed instead to shower off my and Nico’s evening activities before my bridal party shows up.
After, I inspect myself in the hotel’s floor-length mirror.
I look pale without my makeup, my damp hair dripping onto my shoulders, and my black lace nightgown and robe clinging to my boney joints.
I’m starting to think the promised pregnancy glow might not be coming, because so far, I only look tired and thin and a little nauseated.
It’s too early to see the baby bump, but I rub my palm over my belly anyway and send her—or him—positive thoughts. With any luck, I’ll manage to reach the altar without a bout of morning sickness in front of a churchful of mobsters.
My phone buzzes against the mattress, and I let out a sigh. It begins.
I move to the bed, flipping my phone over to see the caller.
Mom.
My heart pounds as I stare at the caller ID, unable to process what I’m seeing.
I haven’t spoken to her in weeks. I didn’t even know she knew I was getting married.
One hand on my belly like I can protect my baby from what’s to come, I pick up the phone.
“Mom?”
“Sweetheart, did you think I would miss your wedding?”
I exhale shakily. “Yeah.” A raw, tender part of my heart throbs at the sound of my mom’s voice. Does she know I’m pregnant? Does she know about Dad?
“Come to the door, there’s something I want to show you,” she says.
A warning prickles at the back of my neck. “I can’t,” I whisper. My throat is dry. “I’m in my robe.”
“That’s okay. This won’t take long. Just come outside, there’s something I want to show you before you start your big day. It’s a surprise.” She sounds a little breathless, like she’s just run up a flight of stairs.
Pressing the phone to my ear, I approach the hotel door. All the horror movies I’ve watched blare in the back of my mind.
Don’t do it.
I rest my hand on the door handle.
And step back.
“Mom, are you okay? Something sounds wrong.”
Before she can answer, the hotel door beeps, and the person on the other side turns the handle.
The door swings open.
Stefano, dressed in an employee’s uniform, standing next to a big rolling cart, greets me with a somber expression.
“Mom?” My voice sounds a thousand miles away.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Stefano lunges into the room.