Page 54 of Italian Weddings

She wanted to stay with Salvatore. She wanted to get away from this fundraiser, and escape to the privacy of one of their apartments, or the hotel room at the Plaza.

She wanted to climb back into the little bubble they’d made, exist there, inside, safe from the outside world, far away from anyone or anything that would tear them down.

Travel to the ends of the earth, so long as Salvatore was with her.

Maybe go back to the yacht? But would it be the same, now Leo knew?

She closed her eyes on a wave of desolation. How had they thought they could do this? How had they thought it was realistic to create a world that didn’t include their families—and violate everything those families would want for them.

“Get your bag, Emme.”

“Let her speak.” Salvatore’s voice was level enough, but Emilia heard something beneath it—an emotion she hated, because it sounded a lot like uncertainty. As though he didn’t know for sure that she’d choose him, a thousand times over, always.

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do,” Leandro returned harshly.

In the very back of her mind, the parts of her that were capable of any kind of thought, she knew that Salvatore was muting his first response.

The part of him that would have run into this no holds barred was indeed holding back, respecting Emilia in that one simple choice by acknowledging that this was her family, and her fight.

Even when he might have wanted to protect her, to shield her and absorb any blows Leandro would throw—metaphorically—he knew that she had to be a part of that response.

“Leo, listen,” she said, hating that her voice was so unsteady.

Salvatore squeezed her hand, and she felt it in her core—the courage he was giving her, the unspoken, unwavering support.

And even in that moment of sheer survival and panic, she was aware of the way her heart was tripping over, and stretching, to accommodate Salvatore’s presence in a way she wanted to keep forever.

For always. “This isn’t the time or place?—,”

“Something you should have thought about before you came in here with him and did—Jesus Christ, Emilia. What the hell are you thinking? This is a Santoro. A goddamn Santoro.”

“I’m aware of that,” she murmured, at the same time Salvatore said, soft and low, “Watch it.”

Leandro turned to face Salvatore. “I told you: stop telling me what to do.”

“Then stop acting like such a jackass,” he growled. “Your sister’s right. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Did you seduce her to get back at us? Is that what this is?”

“Leandro,” Emilia’s voice was sharp. “This has nothing to do with you. And he didn’t seduce me.” She glanced at Salvatore, his face harsh, all angles and ruthless disgust. “It was mutual.”

“You don’t know what he’s like.”

“No, you don’t know what he’s like.”

“These people are—the worst of the worst.”

“I said, watch it,” Salvatore said, still measured and contained.

But Leo was looking at Emilia with all the love and concern of an older brother—the older brother who would have run into a burning building if it would have saved her.

The brother who had loved and adored her from birth, who had been at her back in every difficulty she’d faced in life.

He was protecting her—or thought he was.

And he was right. She did need protecting.

But not from Salvatore, so much as the pain of loving someone she could never have.

“Am I wrong?” Leandro’s nostrils flared. “Or are you using my sister for sex?”

“How dare you!” Emilia shouted, drawn back to the present by his totally unreasonable accusation.

“That’s none of your damned business,” Salvatore rebutted, and Emilia pursed her lips in exasperation. Why couldn’t he say what he felt? What they shared?

“She is my sister. My little sister,” Leandro roared, so Emilia flinched, and was distantly aware of the party happening beyond them, wondering if the guests had become aware of the screaming match taking place in the stairwell.

“She is a grown woman?—,”

Her bond with Leandro had been forged over a series of years, and it was unbreakable.

If anything, the recent discovery of Leandro’s adoption had taken something strong and made it impossible to break.

She felt that. She felt it in his look, in his eyes, in the way he held his shoulders, braced to take any weight from hers and carry it himself.

So she wasn’t even really surprised when he lifted his fist and struck Salvatore’s face. Without warning, without apology. Just a single blow that had Salvatore stagger one step backwards before lifting his own hand. Not to return the action but to press to his red cheek.

“Leandro!” Emilia cried out. “Don’t!” But Leandro was already lifting his hand again, and now Salvatore had no choice but to lift his hands and block Leandro’s attack.

In doing so, their arms braced, and they were moving as one.

Emilia lifted her shaking hands to her mouth and pressed them there, breath held.

Her eyes flew to the top of the stairs and the door that led to the party and she contemplated running up to shout for help, but it was all happening so fast–too fast—for her to do anything but cry their names over and over.

Another arm flew: this time, Salvatore was punching Leandro so she was pushing forward and wrenching at their tuxedo-clad arms, trying to separate them, panic surging through her veins.

It all happened so fast. So fast.

She couldn’t even have said how, in the end. All she knew was that she lost her footing and was then tumbling backwards, thrown completely off balance, unable to grab hold of anything.

Distantly, she heard her name from Salvatore’s lips. Torn with passion, just as she’d heard it so many times, and yet not, because this passion had a dark edge. A derangement. It was a passion mingled with the absolute worst kind of all-consuming panic. And then, everything went black.

Salvatore had spent his entire adult life wanting to avoid hurting anyone else. He’d learned his lesson as a teenager. Over and over, and then, finally, with that disastrous break up. He’d learned his lesson.

He wanted to never hurt anyone, and yet, despite that, he now stared down the stairwell, chest heaving, at Emilia. On the landing beneath them, where only minutes earlier they’d been together in the most pleasurable of ways, he stared at her. Unconscious. Pale.

“What have you done?” Leandro screamed, rushing down the stairs towards his sister. Nausea rose inside Salvatore, a horrible, consuming feeling.

“Is she alive?” The words were mangled in his throat. He could barely utter them. He couldn’t speak of a reality that would destroy him. He needed to know. “Damn it, Leandro,” he was moving now, towards her.

But Leandro whirled around. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

Emilia lay there, lifeless. But not lifeless. In many ways, she looked exactly as she did in sleep, so it was easy to imagine stroking her cheek, kissing her lips, having her stir in his arms as she had every morning that followed a night shared.

“Call an ambulance,” Leandro said, his cheek darkening into what would no doubt show a bruise.

Salvatore was already removing his phone from his pocket and pressing in the emergency numbers. And then, she moved. Just a little, turning her head, before blinking her eyes and parting her lips.

Then, her hand. Reaching not for him, but Leandro. “Leo.” Her voice was soft.

Salvatore’s whole chest felt like it was splitting in two, but he stood where he was, staring at her, feeling like his whole world was imploding.

This beautiful precious woman. He prayed then, to God, to everyone and everything who held any kind of power.

He prayed that she would be okay. God, but he needed to know that.

“Don’t move, Emme. Don’t move. Help is on the way,” Leandro replied, stroking her hand.

Salvatore pressed the phone tighter to his ear, and started to move swiftly down the stairs, coming to crouch at her other side, ignoring the way Leandro was shooting daggers at him. Neither of them would be stupid enough to fight now. Not with Emilia in this condition.

“It’s okay,” she said, pressing her fingers to her temple as she went to sit up.

Salvatore moved in quickly, grabbing her behind the shoulders and steadying her. “Don’t move, cara. Don’t move.”

“I’m fine,” she said, flicking her gaze to him, and frowning slightly. Fear curdled in his gut. The fear that he’d hurt her; that she’d hate him.

“Damn it,” he cursed into the phone, at how long it was taking to connect. “There’s no reception in here.”

Leandro looked around. “I’ll drive her.”

“I’m okay,” she insisted.

“You’re going to hospital, Emme,” Leandro’s voice was curt.

Salvatore, crouching beside her, reached for Emilia’s hand, holding it in his. “He’s right, cara mia. You have to see a doctor.”

“No, I just need to go,” she muttered. “Would you get me out of here?”

In his gut, Salvatore felt a burst of relief that she’d asked him. Relief that she’d turned to him rather than Leandro.

“I would prefer not to move you,” he said, though, reluctantly. Torn between his need to give her what she’d asked for, and what he thought to be right.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Please just take me home.”

He could feel Leandro’s response. There was something in the tension of the other man, the way his whole body was radiating an ice like rejection. Rather than risk Leandro saying or doing anything to upset Emilia, Salvatore nodded once. “I’ll take you away,” he promised. “On one condition.”

She glanced at him mutinously, but he barely noticed. All he could see was the pale colour of her skin, and he knew in that moment he would do whatever was necessary to fix this.

“We are going to hospital, before I take you home.”

“Salvatore, please?—,”

“No, Emilia.” He glanced across at Leandro, whose face was stone-like. “This is non-negotiable.” And then, with a look back at Emilia, “I need to know you’re okay.”

She expelled a breath slowly. “But I am. I don’t need a doctor.”

“Then do it because I need it. I need to know.”

She opened her mouth to fight him, to argue, but after a moment, she simply nodded. “Okay. But it’s a fuss about nothing.”