Page 33 of Italian Mafia Boss's Virgin Lover

Fear grips me, twin fists locked around my ribs. I scurry back, press my shoulders to the wall. My head is faint, light, as though full of pulled cotton. It’s the delirium of pain and blood loss, and my arm feels so horribly, horribly heavy, like it’s lead, like it’s not mine. I clutch it to my chest, heart raging.

Please. The word rises to my tongue, and I think of Santo, of Vittorio, of Sabine and all the men who have died here, not just today, but over the years, decades and centuries of battle and war.

No. I won’t beg. And if Gregorio means to hurt me, he can. He can do whatever the hell he wants. I think of Santo, and I am not afraid.

Gregorio flicks something from inside his jacket, and black cold spreads through me. A knife, thick and curved and wicked.

Be brave,I command myself, and I straighten my spine, and look my death in the face.

“A Mafia girl,” hums Gregorio, eyes glittering with anticipation. “Look at you. No wonder Santo wanted you for a wife. You’re good stock. Maybe I won’t end you now. Maybe I’ll cut you up, remind you who’s in charge. Maybe I’ll take you back with me, and make you mine.”

He kneels, and I don’t give him the satisfaction of flinching or looking away. Even as a cruel smile spreads across his face and he slowly leans toward me, pressing the point of the broad knife to my stomach. My heartbeat is an ocean roar in my ears.

“Tell me, little mouse,” croons Gregorio. “Has Santo put a baby in that belly yet? Or should I do it first?”

I’m not here,I tell myself, and I give myself the mercy of closing my eyes.I’m not here. I’m somewhere safe. Somewhere happy.

I’m in the snow, my hand in Santo’s. I’m looking up at the grand mountains, and I am dwarfed by their immensity. I’m smelling cold, wild air, and watching the great green vein of the river pulse through the countryside,hiscountryside,mycountryside. I’m looking up at him, a stranger, a friend, a lover. I’m in his arms, his mouth against mine.

Against all odds, I am falling in love with him.

“Don’t be scared, Dani,” whispers Gregorio, and I feel the cold, unyielding steel of the knife parting my lips. “We are going to have a lot of fun, you and I.”

And then, sudden, final: a single gunshot.

Heat spatters my face, burning and wet. I gasp, tasting blood, slick metal, scalding. I open my eyes.

Gregorio is still looking at me, but his eyes are no longer glittering. They’re entirely, coldly blank, and there is a bullet hole through his cheekbone, another on his opposite temple. A faint trail of smoke dances out of the gory crater, and then the horrible man’s body topples violently sideways. He is utterly still, his face white and blank and eyes unseeing.

And suddenly, Santo is in front of me. His warm hands on my face, his brilliant eyes burning into mine.

“Dani,” he whispers. “My Dani.”

Impossible.“No,” I say back, because this is a dream, isn’t it? A fantasy.Am I dead? Did Gregorio kill me?“You’re not here.”

“You’re hurt,” Santo says, his voice low and rough. He brushes the hair from my eyes. “Dani. Look at me. You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I have you, Dani.”

“No. No, you’re not real.” Tears burn in my eyes, blurring his beautiful, blood-flecked face. “You’re not here. I’m dead.”

“You’re alive. I’m right here. Dani.” His thumb against my lower lip, his eyes, searing into mine. “I love you, and you’re safe.”

Something in me breaks. All of the fight and will and resolve and bravery shatters like glass, and I fold into Santo’s arms. They’re real, and strong. He lifts me delicately, as though I’m as fragile as a flower. My stiff, screaming arm barely protests. I register, peripherally, that this isn’t good. I should feel it. But my fingers are gone, phantoms, and my head is so light. My eyelids weigh a ton, and it seems that the danger was keeping me alive, and now that I’m safe, nothing is.

No. Not nothing.

He said he loves me.

I force my tired eyes to open. Santo is carrying me through the halls. I listen for gunfire. For shouting. But I hear nothing; only his strong, sure footsteps on the flagstones, and the beat of his heart against my cheek.

“I love you,” I whisper.

Santo looks down at me, and his beautiful, fearsome face is brilliant, lit up with something soft and wonderful that fills me with joy. His eyes shine with pride, and he’s giving me that smile, that rare, true smile.

“Rest, my love,” he says, and as though hypnotized, my eyelids droop. “You’re safe with me, Dani. You’re home.”

Chapter 18

Santo