“I’m fine, amore mio,” Lucian says, his voice deceptively calm. My eyes snap up to his, and I see the anger brewing in his dark brown irises.
I could’ve lost Lucian today.
If that bullet had hit higher.
If Franco didn’t pull him back.
Lucian takes hold of my left hand, and his thumb brushes over the ring on my finger. “I’m here. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
I slump back against the seat and close my eyes against the unbearable pain the mere thought of losing Lucian brings.
I’ve been wrapped up in a happy bubble, enjoying my life for the first time.
I forgot.
I forgot Lucian’s the head of the Mafia.
I forgot there are people out there who want him dead.
Every day Aunt Ursula taught me how to cook. While we went shopping. While we relaxed in the garden, learning to get to know each other.
Every day I lived in blissful peace – Lucian put his life on the line.
And I forgot.
When he held me at night. When he kissed me. Even when he told me he loved me this morning.
I forgot it could be the last time I see him. The last time I feel his arms around me. The last time I have his strength keeping me safe.
Tears flood my eyes, but I swallow them down.
Never again.
I’ll treasure every second I have with him from this day forward.
When we get home, we’re all quiet, processing the shock of the attack. Leo goes to check every room while Lucian walks to the side table and pours himself a drink. I watch as he downs it, and then he fills the glass again.
“Let me look at the wound,” I say. Taking hold of his arm, I tug him to the couch and push him down on it.
Lucian rests the tumbler on his knee, slowly twirling it with his right hand while I push his shirt up. Needing the fabric out of the way, I say, “Take off your jacket.”
He sets the glass down on the table and shrugs out of the jacket. I unbutton the shirt and push it over his shoulders, helping him out of the ruined fabric.
Aunt Ursula brings a first aid kit and sets it down on the coffee table.
Opening the kit, I remove what I’ll need, and while I clean the wound, Lucian doesn’t make a sound. He just stares ahead of him, murder in his eyes.
Franco comes to stand by us. “Is the bullet still in? Do you need stitches?”
My head snaps up to him. “Do you know how?”
Franco nods and gestures for me to move aside. I take a seat on Lucian’s right and grab hold of his hand.
I watch as Franco takes tweezers from the kit along with what he’ll need for the stitches, then I say, “Wait. He needs something for the pain.”
“I’m fine, just stitch me up,” Lucian growls.
Aunt Ursula turns away and walks to the kitchen. Franco makes sure the bullet isn’t stuck inside, and when he pushes a needle through Lucian’s skin, the sight makes my stomach churn.
Lucian’s grip tightens on my hand, then he grinds out, “Give me the drink.”
I quickly reach for it and hand him the tumbler. He downs the amber liquid, then throws the glass. It shatters against the wall, and my breaths instantly speed up.
With a racing heart, I sit frozen as Lucian takes his phone from his pocket. He dials a number, and a moment later, he growls, “She just tried to fucking kill me.” Lucian grimaces as Franco pushes the needle in again.
Oh, God.
It all becomes real. It sinks in hard. It robs me of my breath.
“We need to find her and end this,” Lucian snaps.
Not wanting to upset Lucian any more than he already is, I get up and walk away, knowing Franco will take care of the wound.
I rush up the stairs and into our room, and then I place my hand over my heart that feels like it’s been torn in two.
I love him.
I love Lucian Cotroni, and the thought that he can die rips through me. Maybe not today, but one day I could lose Lucian in the blink of an eye.
Tears spill down my cheeks, and for the first time, I cry not because I’ve been hurt but because I fear losing the man that’s shown me what it is to be loved.
LUCIAN
When Franco’s done stitching me up, our eyes meet. “Thanks.”
He nods, then says, “I’m going to go see if I can find any footage of the shooter.”
“Take men with you. Be careful.” I can’t afford to lose my best man. He proved himself to me today.
Rising to my feet, I walk to where my aunt is cleaning the mess I made. “Sorry,” I apologize.
She shakes her head, and when she climbs to her feet, I take hold of her arm. “Zia Ursula.” Her eyes lift to mine, and then they flood with tears. I pull her against my chest. “I’m fine.”