Chapter 38 Evi #2
Considering we’re surrounded by dead bodies that he killed with his bare hands, perhaps now is not the best time for my confession if he decides that I should join them, but now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop myself.
The words pour from me like a deluge as I tell him all about my parents’ promise that Sandro would cast me aside when he realized I was incapable of providing him with heirs, but if he didn’t think I knowingly entrapped him, no harm would come of it.
He could remarry, and I would go back home.
My words die on my lips as a dark frown creases Sandro’s brow.
“But… you did get pregnant,” he points out, the statement almost a question as his eyes search mine.
I nod, my cheeks flushing, and my hands drop automatically to my still-flat stomach.
“Yes.” I sniffle, a sad smile tugging at my lips.
“But, Sandro, you should know that even if I am pregnant… because of my condition…” I swallow hard, struggling to breathe life into the words.
“I won’t likely be able to carry to term. ”
Pain flits across his face. Disappointment. Then, concern. “Will it put you at risk—the pregnancy?”
“I…” No one’s ever thought to mention my health in that scenario before. My parents, the doctors have only ever talked about what would happen to the baby, and it hits me like a ton of bricks when I realize… “I don’t know.”
Worry flickers in Sandro’s eyes, and his hands slide down my bare arms to capture my hands. “We’ll see a doctor as soon as we get home. And, Evi, if you can’t have this baby… we’ll get through it together.”
Hot, salty tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I sniffle as my heart swells until it feels like it might burst through my chest. “You…” I swallow hard. “Still want me for your wife?”
Sandro’s laugh is warm and laced with stunned disbelief. “Of course I do. How can you doubt that for even a second?” he asks incredulously. “I’m so in love with you that just the thought of losing you drove me to the brink of insanity.”
He glances pointedly around the room at the bloody scene of destruction he left in his wake, and I giggle shakily as I see his point.
Then his face grows serious once more. The chains still dangling from his wrist clink as he lifts his hand to cup my wrist, the pad of his thumb brushing my cheek.
“I’m glad to know what’s been weighing you down all this time,” he murmurs, and his hematite eyes are so soft and understanding, it steals the oxygen from my lungs.
I don’t know what to say. It might be the kindest, most compassionate thing anyone’s ever said to me, and I’m overcome by his unwavering love and support.
“I love you,” I breathe, covering his hand with my own.
Bringing his forehead down to mine, Sandro closes his eyes. “I love you too. With all my heart.”
My breath hitches, and I smile, letting my eyes sink closed as well as I whisper my last confession. “I hope more than anything that we can have a family together, but if you love me, then that’s all I need.”
Cradling the back of my head, Sandro brings our lips together in a passionate kiss, then he pulls back too soon. “As much as I want to celebrate with you right now, I think the rest can wait until you and the baby are safe,” he says.
“Agreed.”
Accepting the key from him, I help Sandro out of his own shackles, biting back my shock and fury toward Kenji when I see the deep cuts they opened around his wrists as he tried to get to me.
But he hardly seems to notice as the chains fall heavily to the floor, and he takes my hand, pulling me toward the door.
He stops just long enough to snatch his tattered sweater off the floor and sling it around my shoulders. Then we’re climbing the narrow staircase up to a trap door that still gapes open.
Sandro presses a finger to his lips, signaling that we should move quietly, and I nod, though I find it odd that no one came to see what all the commotion was about. The door at the bottom of the stairs might be thick—but I doubt it’s soundproof enough to have silenced Kenji’s screams.
Regardless, I don’t question our luck as Sandro creeps forward toward the sliding frosted-glass panel and eases it open. His boots are impressively quiet as he navigates the long hallways, keeping me shielded behind him, my hand held firmly in his.
He stops suddenly, his arm coming across my clavicles to push me back against a wall as a loud crash echoes somewhere ahead of us.
But it sounds distant enough to be outside.
And the report of gunfire that follows a second later confirms my suspicion.
A disturbance at the front gates seems to be preoccupying everyone—which is probably why no one came to see what the commotion was downstairs.
Relaxing his arm, Sandro drops it to take my hand once more, and we start forward—only to round the corner and come face to face with a towering black-clad figure. Sandro tenses, then straightens, his shoulders relaxing as a bark of laughter bursts from his lips.
“Gio, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Raf said you got yourself caught. We came to spring you.” Gio peers around Sandro’s hulking shoulder to smile at me. “Glad to see this mission’s going to be easier than I expected. But I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Kenji.”
“Nor will you,” Sandro says darkly. “He’s now sporting a crimson smile.”
“He’s dead?”
“Unless he somehow finds a way to put all the blood back into his body and reattach his head.”
Gio chuckles darkly. “You always were an artist with a knife.”
“Miko taught me well.”
With a snort, Gio turns, gesturing for us to follow. “Come on. I’ll show you the way out.”
Our escape is shockingly easy with the commotion Miko and Raf are causing at the front of the compound, and we slip up and over the towering walls without too much trouble.
Then Gio’s calling Raf to tell his brothers they can fall back—the extraction was successful.
We make our way slowly through the trees, Sandro sweeping me up into his arms—and refusing to let Gio help—when the sharp, uneven ground proves too painful for me to silently endure.
“But, Sandro, your back!” I protest.
He silences me with a kiss.
An SUV arrives a few minutes later, Raf throwing the passenger door wide and flinging himself from the vehicle so he can look his twin over.
“Look what that bastard did to your back,” he growls when he sees the cane marks.
“I’ll be fine,” Sandro says for probably the hundredth time as he shrugs it off.
“Not much worse than what Father used to do to you, I suppose,” Raf observes dryly.
And even though it was years ago, and the Don is dead and gone now, my heart still clenches for the little boy with the stutter who endured far, far too much pain.
“Come on. Let’s get you two home,” Raf adds, clapping Sandro lightly on the small, unmarked portion of his shoulder.
We all pile into the SUV together. And as Sandro’s brothers talk about what happened and how, with Kenji most definitely dead this time, the Yakuza are going to be significantly handicapped for the war moving forward, Sandro wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I nestle into his side.
Their conversation strays toward what their next plan of action will entail, but Sandro seems entirely disinterested in participating.
Instead, he curls a finger under my chin and tenderly turns my head to face him.
Our eyes meet, and a spark dances between us that turns me giddy in an instant.
I must look atrocious, my face all tear-stained.
My eyes feel like sandpaper after days without water and far too much crying.
I’m sure I’m filthy as well, if my ruined slip is any indication.
And yet he looks at me with such burning love and devotion, I feel like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.
“What about you, Sandro?” I murmur so only he can hear. “What’s your plan?”
“Tonight, I intend to take my wife home and show her just how much I love her,” he rasps.
And as he leans in to kiss me once more, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ve never been happier. How I ever got so lucky, I’ll never know. But becoming Sandro’s wife has been the single greatest blessing of my life.
And I feel confident that, whatever our future holds, we will get through it. Together.