“I’ll live,” he muttered. “Did you have a nightmare?”
“Yeah.” I laid my hand on top of his, and he squeezed my fingers. “I couldn’t get back to sleep without knowing you were okay.” I brushed the sweat-matted black hair off his forehead. “Do you need a nurse? You look pale.”
He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. “Pain is weakness leaving the body.”
“I can ask the nurse to give you more morphine.”
I attempted to slide off the bed, and he said, “No, don’t leave.” He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Come here.”
“I thought you were dead,” I choked out, fighting the tears welling in my bottom lids. “Marcello, I can’t lose you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He patted the top of my hand with his fingers. “Don’t worry about me, beautiful.”
I lifted the blanket to inspect the bandage over his wound, exposing his scarred but muscled chest. “Did you get all of these scars from your father?”
A mess of scars covered his olive skin. Luca’s scars were so bad they looked like spiderwebs that spanned most of his chest and back. But Marcello’s scattered from his hip to his shoulder.
“A few of them, yeah. Luca took most of the punishments. My dad rarely hit me, but when he did, Luca always stepped in front of me.”
“I’m surprised he would sacrifice himself for anyone else.”
“He made a promise to our mother before she died.”
“To protect you?”
He nodded. “When I was a kid, I didn’t know any better. My mom treated me like a baby, while my dad let Luca shadow him everywhere. I was more like my mother, and my dad knew it. So did Luca. After she died, I realized I needed to toughen up. I learned to defend myself because Luca wouldn’t always be there to save me.”
“I’m still shocked he would do that for you.”
“My brother has a heart,” he said with laughter in his tone. “It’s just locked inside a steel box buried three hundred feet below the ocean floor.”
“We got into a fight last night,” I confessed.
“Your life will never be easy. Not with Luca,” he said with sadness in his eyes. “But he will take care of you.”
“I want him to love me,” I said aloud, which surprised me.
“He does,” Marcello insisted. “In his own way.”
Desperate to change the subject, I shifted the conversation back to his recovery. “You have a long road ahead of you. Pops said it could take months.”
“This isn’t my first gunshot wound,” he said with no emotion in his tone. “It’s not as bad as you think.”
“Where were you shot before?”
He pointed at a mark on his shoulder, then at another one on his stomach. “It’s nothing.”
My eyes widened at all of his scars. “Someone shot you, Marcello. That’s a big deal.”
“Occupational hazard. Bound to happen at some point.”
“You took a bullet for me.” I cupped his cheek with my hand. “My hero. Thank you.”
He snickered. “I’m no hero.”
“You saved me.”
Marcello turned his head to the side and glanced out the open French doors. “Luca saved you. I took the bullet because I didn’t shoot the asshole in the head.” A frown pulled at his lips. “I’ll never make that mistake again.”