Page 37 of Bellini Bound

My husband took pleasure in actively mangling the flesh of the man’s palm. But all I could focus on was his own wound and the fact that it needed medical attention. Who knew how long it had been since he’d taken that bullet, and the risk of infection heightened with each passing minute.

Stepping closer, I let my fingertips graze over the hand that hung loose by his side. An electric current passed between us, and I couldn’t stifle my gasp.

Enzo’s head swung around, and when his dark eyes landed on me, something flickered in those hazel depths. It almost looked like concern. But that couldn’t be right. He despised me, hated the circumstances that had brought me into his life, and he went out of his way to make sure I knew it.

I couldn’t move, pinned to the spot by his intense gaze. It was nothing short of a miracle that I found the capacity to speak.

“You’re hurt. Let me help you.”

Almost like he’d forgotten, Enzo peeked down at his right arm, and his muscular frame swayed.

“Whoa.” I reached up to steady him, realizing too late that I wasn’t nearly strong enough to support his full weight. Thankfully, someone appeared on Enzo’s other side, positioning my husband’s arm over his shoulder to gain better leverage.

“Where to, Mrs. Bellini?” the man grunted.

There was only one place that came to mind with good enough lighting to examine the wound and that could be easily cleaned. “The bathroom.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Together, we practically dragged Enzo to the powder room located down the hall from the den. Once we eased him onto the closed toilet seat, I turned to the man assisting me and murmured, “Thank you.”

He ducked his head. “I serve at the pleasure of the Bellinis.”

Enzo let out a groan, drawing my attention back to him, but his eyes were locked on what I could only assume was one of his mafia soldiers. “Get the fuck out of here, Mikey.”

“Enzo!” His rudeness caused the sharp reprimand to fly past my lips.

He completely ignored me. “Take Vito to the basement.”

Mere mention of the underground level of the house caused a chill to run down my spine. Nothing good happened down there. And judging by the violence already inflicted upon the man currently serving as a wall decoration, that cold concrete space would be the last thing he ever saw on this earth.

“Consider it done.” Mikey’s gruff words preceded the soft latching of the door.

Exhaling heavily, I allowed my eyes to fall closed. But they sprang open again when I felt my cardigan being dragged down my shoulders.

“What are you doing?” I tried in vain to tug the fabric back into place.

Enzo’s scorching touch brushed over the skin of my arm, where long, finger-shaped bruises were already blooming. “Does this hurt?”

It was the softest he’d ever spoken to me, and suddenly, I was tongue-tied.

Tortured hazel eyes lifted. “Allie,” he rasped my name, using my preferred version of it for the first time in our marriage.

Swallowing, I nodded. “A little, but I’ll survive.”

His jaw clenched so tight that a muscle in his cheek twitched, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

Enzo hummed, muttering, “He left marks on your skin.” While it wasn’t a straight answer, it was as good as a yes.

“Does his death go on your conscience or mine?”

Brow furrowing, my husband shook his head. “It’s not your fault.”

That wasn’t entirely true. “If I’d just stayed away. Ignored when you all came bursting into the house.”

“Hey.” He gripped my chin. “By that logic, he could have just as easily kept his hands to himself and his mouth shut.”