Page 81 of Savage Vows

Matteo

The Don is awake and asking for you.

Nash’s text jolts through me. Thank God. Last night was a nightmare I never want to experience again.

The wait for real news was interminable.

He made it through surgery, which was the hardest part, and the rest would be wait and see.

In a matter of another hour or so, my brothers, my mother, and I were permitted to spend five minutes in the ICU with him.

Though the doctors warned us about what to expect when we entered the room, I wasn’t prepared. The image of seeing the mighty Don Raffaele Moretti—my father, my hero—reduced to a maze of tubes and wires, machines beeping out the precarious rhythm of his life will haunt me for life.

I type in my response.Ready to roll in sixty seconds.

The explosion happened more than half a day ago, and we’re no closer to answers. I want to put my fist through a wall. Twenty minutes with my punching bag wasn’t as satisfying as I needed.

Someone needs to pay.

I’m already showered and dressed in a fresh suit, and I work to knot my tie as I walk to the bed where Alessia is sleeping sweetly.

Her dark hair is spilled across my pillow like liquid silk, her face peaceful despite the hell we’ve been living through.

In sleep, she looks impossibly young and vulnerable—a stark contrast to the strength she showed at the hospital.

The memory of her fingers laced with mine during those endless hours makes my chest tight. She never wavered, never complained, just offered silent support when I needed it most.

I lean down to brush my lips against her forehead, breathing in her familiar, comforting scent of jasmine and vanilla.

She stirs beneath my touch, her beautiful eyes fluttering open. “Matteo.” She smiles.

Then she blinks, evidently noticing I’m dressed. Quickly she sits up, the sheet falling away to reveal the tank top she borrowed from me. The sight of her in my clothes does things to me that I can’t afford to think about.

Duty first, no matter how tempting my future bride is.

“Rest,” I tell her, my voice rough with exhaustion and the hours I spent on the phone and talking to people in the waiting room. “A car will be ready whenever you want to come.”

“No.” She’s already throwing back the covers, all sleek limbs and determined grace. “I want to be with you.”

“We only got home a few hours ago.” And if the bruises under her eyes are any indication, she needs several hours more sleep.

But she’s already out of bed, and she straightens my tie with an incredibly gentle touch. “You’re just as tired as I am.”

I capture her hand and kiss it.

Throughout the endless night, she never left my side. When my hands shook with barely contained rage and fear, she pressed coffee into them. When I couldn’t stomach the thought of food, she convinced me to eat anyway, knowing I needed thestrength. She handled my mother’s tears and Dante’s fury with equal grace, proving herself more valuable than I could have imagined.

If I have to marry—and I do—I’m not sorry it’s her. The thought surprises me with its intensity.

“He’s asking for me.”

“Seriously?” Her mouth forms a beautifulO.“He’s awake? Oh, Matteo! I’m so happy for you and the family.”

In a flash, she’s heading toward the bathroom.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

She stops and looks over her shoulder. “I understand.”