Page 29 of A Love Most Brutal (Morelli Family #2)

MARY

“You were reckless,” Nate says for the third time as he drives us through traffic to my new home. I wince as I press the bag of frozen carrots to my cheek that Nate grabbed from a corner store in a huff.

I can only hope that my dear and ever-nosy husband is still out visiting one of his clubs, because if not, I will get no peace this evening.

As it is, I’m getting none now.

“What were you thinking going in there alone?” Nate asks again. “You don’t think sometimes.”

“Stop yelling at me,” I grumble, but he is right. I should have waited for him and Leo to get to the drop point before going in on my own. They were on their way, but they were taking a long time and I was getting antsy.

Davini drops are usually harmless; we provide large sums of weapons, they move said weapons wherever they’d like, marking up the cost on their end, and give us an additional cut of that.

Easy peasy.

There were a number of unfortunate events that led to tonight going so horribly and the first of these was that the Davini family decided to send Johnny D.

The Davinis are a key partner from New York; not the top family, but beloved underbosses which translates to: no way in hell can I kill one of them without causing an incident . Knowing this, Johnny has gotten too comfortable.

Johnny D is around my age with a fragile ego and probably CTE from all the concussions he’s had. I beat his ass bad at Leroy’s last year and he still isn’t over it, but I am an adult, as is he. I believed we were past that, and if we weren’t, that we’d work it out in the ring next time.

Simple mistake on my part.

Nearly the moment I approached, Johnny D told me he wanted a rematch. I laughed, which, in retrospect, was the next mistake of the evening.

He got defensive, puffing out his chest and taunting me like my fear was the reason I wouldn’t fight him in the middle of a business transaction. It’s unlike me to deescalate a situation, though, and today was no different.

I ran my mouth, he got angrier, and all the while, some common thieves that had been trailing Johnny busted in to try to nab the shipment.

This is why you don’t go alone.

One of the men got the jump on me, smashed his fist against my face—hence the swollen, throbbing cheek now—and was about to do it again like a fucking maniac, but I swept his feet from under him before proceeding to shoot him in the chest. The second man, seeing the fate of the first, ran before I could get him.

Meanwhile, Johnny D was hiding behind the crate like a coward, willing to let me face off against two men alone to save his ass.

Nate and Leo showed up before I could beat Johnny to a pulp for being a little bitch.

They managed to deescalate the situation (Nate’s strong suit), but by then, the damage was already done. Though I’m sure there’s nothing broken in my face, there’s not a world where I don’t have a nasty bruise across my cheek and under my right eye for a couple weeks.

“Johnny wouldn’t have been able to really hurt me, why are you freaking out?”

“He did hurt you, Mary! And now your monster husband is going to kill me, and—you know what? I’m going to kill you first.”

I chuff. “You couldn’t.”

“I’ve killed before,” he reminds me, which is true enough. He landed the fatal shots to Cillian last year and earned my forever respect for it. Hasn’t killed again since, though, and I hope it can stay that way.

He’s got a tender heart, he doesn’t need it all sullied by so much death. It’s why we keep him as back up on drops to show him we value his help in our illegal endeavors without putting him in too much danger. Usually very little to go wrong.

Today was an anomaly.

An avoidable anomaly, I will admit. Johnny wouldn’t have pulled that shit if I had the guys with me and if he hadn’t, we would have been on our guard to get the punks who wanted a quick payout.

“It’s like you have a death wish. Do you really care about your life so little?”

“ Nate ,” I snap, loud enough to halt his rant, but his shoulders are still hitched up to his ears like he’s pissed. He was worried, I know. He was scared. I hate being scared, too.

I soften. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

He doesn’t accept my apology, but he doesn’t yell at me any more as we pull up to the curb in front of the building. I can see the night doorman, Jean, through the glass doors at his desk and sigh thinking about him inevitably messaging Maxim the moment he sees my face.

I’d call him a traitor, but he’s worked for Maxim for years. I’m the new one here.

“I’ll be more careful,” I promise.

“No more going into shit alone,” he says, and I nod. “You know better. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

“Yeah.”

Stiffly, I reach out and pat his arm. Nate and I have spent lots of time together in the last year, even more since he and Ness got married, but we do not hug. I don’t hug many people, and especially not Nate.

But he’s obviously distraught, so I offer a lopsided sort of smile that I hope looks assuring but believe probably just looks like a wince.

“Okay, I’m going,” I say, cutting the moment off and getting out of the car. I’m about to shut the door behind me when Nate calls my name. “Hm?”

“You’re not invincible, okay? You don’t have to be.” The first part is obvious, the shiner on my face affirms the fact, but it’s my instinct to reject the latter. It’s a luxury to believe that you can be fragile, that someone will be there to pick you up if you break.

I wave and click the door of Nate’s Prius shut.

As expected, Jean smiles pleasantly at me, and then does a horrified double take when he sees I’m holding a bag to my swollen face.

“Goodnight, Jean,” I say, before he can ask about it, and rush to the elevator.

The whole ride up I close my eyes and say tiny prayers to whoever might listen that Maxim won’t be home, but, of course, he is, waiting with his phone in hand in the entryway of the apartment, a stricken expression marring his perfect face.

Maxim doesn’t even say goodbye to the person on the line, just hangs up wordlessly as he takes me in.

He looks so distraught by the state of me that I feel a foreign wobble about myself.

That’s the only way I really know how to describe it, an unsteadiness in my chest as he bridges the short distance between us and takes my face so tenderly in his hands.

He gently swipes his large fingers down my forehead, under my chin, searching for the extent of the wounds.

There’s a burning in the backs of my eyes, and I blink hard until it subsides.

“Darling thing,” he whispers, and pulls me into his chest, careful not to press against the injured side.

My body is acting on its own accord, probably a result of the blunt trauma to my cheek, and three hot tears escape my eyes, unbidden and as unfathomable to me as Maxim’s shock and concern.

I can’t even explain why, only that as he holds me, I cannot keep from crying.

“I’m okay,” I say, but don’t pull away from his embrace. It feels nice, and I can allow myself something nice every now and then. When I’m tired. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

I sniff and try to wipe away the tears falling, then whine when I press too hard against my sore cheek.

He startles at the sound and pulls back enough to look down at my face.

He’s standing so close I have to crane my neck to look up at him.

The concern bleeds into a sort of frantic anguish and rage that flickers in his eyes, the flame hardening all of his features.

“Who did this? God, Marianna you’re crying.”

“I’m not.” I swipe the skin under my eyes, gentler this time, though still wincing at the pain. “It just hurts is all. I need some Tylenol.”

“ Who was it ?” he asks again.

“It was my fault,” I say, and start pulling myself away from him, despite wanting to stay a while longer.

I shake him off and stalk into the kitchen toward the cabinet with the low level pain killers.

Maxim gives off increasingly furious, off-putting vibes as he grabs a glass and fills it with water from the fridge.

He trades the bag of carrots still in my hand with the glass, then tosses them in the trash before getting a towel and a gel ice pack from the freezer.

I take the pills and lean back against the counter, too tired to tell him not to fuss about it. Fuss he does, ushering me out of the kitchen and into the living room where he pulls me onto the couch facing him. The cat jumps onto the couch behind me and rubs her tiny head and body against my hip.

“Tilt your head back,” he commands, and I close my eyes, doing as he says. The ice pack pats lightly against my cheek, and it feels nice not having to do it myself. “Tell me what happened.”

There are no pesky tears trying to worm their way out of my eye ducts now, which is a relief. “Kinda seems like you’ll kill him if I tell you, and we really, really need you not to kill him.”

Maxim is silent, and when I crack my left eyelid open, he looks like he’s barely containing his rage, but is making the attempt nonetheless.

“Depends what he did.”

I sigh and lean heavy into the side of the couch.

“I had a weapon drop, but Nate and Leo were taking forever, and I’ve done a million of these, so I thought it would be fine, but the guy they sent has a grudge against me so he was trying to pick a fight when two punks jumped us for the shipment.”

Maxim says nothing, but I swear I feel this creepy, intense energy radiating off of him in waves.

“I killed the one that did this, but the other got away because the guy we were meeting was too chicken shit to fight.” I hoped that Maxim would be calmed by the assurance that death was had for the man who actually hurt me, but if anything he seems to grow even more still with each piece of information.

“If it’s any consolation, no way did the buyer actually want me dead. ”

“It’s not,” he says.

“Right, sure.” I agree. “Leo broke his nose on the way out, so I think we’re even.”

Maxim doesn’t agree or disagree, but he does push my hair behind my ear, such a tender motion for someone radiating murder, death, murder, revenge , etc.

“But I am very, very tired.” And a tad dizzy, but I don’t mention that part. The throbbing in my cheek has radiated through my skull, making for an exceptionally uncomfortable evening.

“Okay,” Maxim whispers. I’m about to push up from the couch when he reaches around me and picks me right up like I weigh nothing, cradle carrying me up the stairs and down the hall to our bedroom.

No use fighting it. Not when he looks so murderous at the thought of me doing my job. Maybe he’s worried about the optics of his wife having a shiner—what reason should a polished little bride have a huge bruise on her face?

When we get to the bedroom, it’s completely dark save for the light coming from the hall. He sets me on the edge of the bed and clicks on the side lamp.

“Thank you,” I mutter, and rub my eye on the safe side of my face.

I should shower, wash my face, but all I can do is take off my boots. I’m about to lie down right on top of the covers when Maxim tuts.

“Arms up.”

I obey, lifting my arms so he can pull my shirt over my head leaving me in just my bralette and tight black jeans. He retreats into the closet and I let my shoulders slump for a breath before I reach for the large t-shirt he slept in last night and left abandoned on his side of the bed.

He reemerges with pajamas for me, and pauses when he sees me in the shirt, but nods and waves for me to stand up. I do as he says and try not to blush as he retrieves my gun and pulls my tight jeans down my legs.

I’m not mistaking the heat that flashes in his eyes when he looks at my bare thighs, but it’s over in a second and he’s on to helping me step into sweat pants. It only sort of makes me feel like a small child.

He stands, my eyes following his up until he’s his usual head above me.

“Nate already yelled at me for being reckless.”

“He cares about you.” Maxim picks up the gold pendant from where it rests on my chest. I take it off to shower and exercise, but otherwise I’ve grown quite attached to it.

It’s shiny, and pretty, and reminds me of my sisters.

I don’t have anything else as delicate as this.

He wears the watch I gave him just as often.

“Rest,” he says while setting the pendant down softly.

He pulls back the comforter and sheets for me and I crawl into the bed. It smells like him.

Maxim rests the ice pack on my face and I roll over so it’s wedged between me and the pillow.

“I’ll come back in twenty minutes to take the ice off.”

“Maxim,” I mutter before he can retreat from the room.

He doesn’t respond, but I feel the bed dip behind me where he sits down on it. “I didn’t do it to embarrass you. It really was my mistake.”

He sighs and one of his hands makes soft circles on my hip.

“Go to sleep, Marianna,” he says, and I can’t help but listen.