Page 99

Ah, so Maz thought Vito was with me. I didn’t want to worry him, so I sent back a thumbs up.
The flakes fell faster now, a white blur going past the windows. There would be little to no visibility on the roads and I couldn’t take it anymore. This was ridiculous. And inconsiderate. Vito orders me to be here, then he can’t be bothered to check in, even during a terrible storm? What a fucking prick.
I pulled up our earlier text exchange.
I’m ok in case you were wondering
Hope you aren’t dead in a ditch somewhere
No response. I tossed my phone on the coffee table and stretched out on the couch, then restarted my show.
I tried not to look outside.
A little while later, without warning, the door to the deck flew open. A large figure in a long overcoat stumbled in, snow clinging to every surface.
Holy shit. It was Vito.
The knot in my stomach eased as I sat up, watching as he closed the door behind him. He was moving awkwardly, stiffly as he unbuttoned his overcoat. Was he frozen solid? “Did you get my texts?” I asked.
When he turned, I saw a tear in his sweater, right along his ribs. The edges were stained red. What the fuck? Was that . . . blood?
I was off the couch in a flash and moving closer to get a better look. “Are you hurt? What happened to you?”
He held up his hand. “I’m fine. A scratch.”
“That looks like more than a scratch.”
He started to take his overcoat off, but then winced. I jumped into action, pulling the sides of the coat off his shoulders and down his arms. He hissed when the wool dragged along his wound. “Sorry,” I apologized as I hung up his coat to dry.
Then he was there, in my space, with one hand coming up to hold my jaw. There was pain reflected in his eyes, but also something else. Something I hadn’t seen before. Without saying anything he lowered his head and pressed his cold lips to mine, and we kissed for a long minute. No tongue, just the simple brush of our lips over and over again. This kiss wasn’t filled with passion or excitement—it was filled withrelief. Gratitude. Comfort.
Finally, he pulled back and whispered, “You have no fucking idea how happy I am to find you here, angioletto mio.”
I swallowed heavily, my chest fluttering. “Baby, you’re wet. And bloody. Let’s get you into a shower to warm up.”
“Only if you come with me.”
I nodded and reached out to help him. He shook his head. “I’m fine. It stings, but I’m okay.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. I wanted to take a look at his wound and see what kind of care he needed. I went up the stairs, Vito right behind me. Once in the bathroom I started the shower as he tried to toe off his dress shoes. He winced with every movement.
Taking pity on him, I bent down and unknotted the frozen laces. “We really need to get you a pair of boots.”
When his shoes were off, I peeled off his wet socks, then unbuckled his trousers. He rested against the counter, silent, and let me undress him. I could feel his gaze watching me carefully as I slid his trousers off his hips and down his legs. I didn’t stop to admire him, because his olive skin had turned so pale. Cold? Pain? Both?
Steam filled the room as I rose to deal with his sweater. He’d already taken off his watch, so I worked the fabric off his good side, leaving the injured side for last. I lifted the bloody fabric off his ribs, but he didn’t so much as twitch. I got the sweater over his head and off his other arm. A large gash on his ribs oozed blood. “What happened?”
“Let’s get in the hot water.”
An evasion, a Vito special. I shoved his briefs off, letting them fall to his feet, and he stepped out of them. I put him into the shower, then quickly undressed myself. When I closed the glass door behind me, I found him under the spray, leaning against the tile, eyes closed. The color had returned to his skin, which I found encouraging, but blood was tinting the water as it ran across the tile. Not so encouraging.
“You may need stitches,” I told him, peering at the wound. It looked jagged and angry but, as the blood washed away to reveal the skin underneath, maybe it wasn’t as bad as I first thought.
“It’s nothing,” he repeated.
“Vito, it’s not life-threatening, but it’s not nothing either.”
He cracked one eye. “It’s a scrape. The car slid off the road and into a snow drift. I was helping to push it out and injured myself on a fence.”