Page 103 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

I place my hand over the top of his and squeeze, the gesture replacing the words I can’t seem to find.

In a beat, Kingston scoops me into his arms and starts walking. I let my face rest against his chest, not caring that I’m covered in blood anymore because in that moment, something shifts inside me.

The love I have for this man is real and the vows I made to him mean something to me now. The sight of his wedding ring, the symbol of what we are, what we’ve become, is enough to make my heart swell.

The ride up is quiet, the only sound between us the soft hum of the elevator as it rises to the penthouse.

At the top floor, the doors ping open and he carries me out and into the penthouse. Confident strides eat up the space until we reach the bedroom.

He sets me down on the bed, his fingers brushing through my hair in a quiet gesture of affection when I’m settled.

"I’ll be right back." His gaze meets mine. "Gonna run you a bath. Need me to help you out of those clothes first?"

I shake my head, too tired to speak. After Kingston prowls into the adjoining bathroom, I peel the blood-soaked clothes from my body, painfully aware of the fabric sticking to my skin.

Bone-tired, I collapse back onto the bed, the cool sheets greeting my naked skin. My body aches, bruised and sore from violence, but it’s nothing compared to the turmoil swirling inside my head.

But as I lie here, my eyes tracing the familiar edges of the penthouse ceiling, a little whisper moves through me.

Despite being kidnapped by the man I used to fuck and stabbing him in the chest—never mind the guilt of what I did—I know that this is home.

Because of Kingston.

He enters the room, his damp hair dark against his skin, a towel slung low around his hips. Without a word, he crosses the room and hauls me into his strong arms again.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says.

I don't protest as he carries me into the bathroom, the warm light of the room flickering against the water.

He bends over the tub and lowers me into it, the warm water wrapping around my sore limbs. When he lets go, I sink in deeper, sighing away the tension in my muscles.

He kneels beside the tub, his eyes focused on me with an intensity that makes my heart race.

"I’m so sorry." His voice is rough, low, almost a whisper as his hands begin to massage shampoo into my hair. "I’ll never make that mistake again, Livvie. Never."

He pauses, his breath catching, as if the words hurt to say them. “I shouldn’t have told you to leave. That was… unforgivable.”

His fingers massage my scalp, lathering my hair with a tenderness that should catch me off guard but doesn’t. This man has never physically hurt me.

I offer him a small smile. “And I shouldn’t have left.”

I reach for a washcloth, rubbing it over my face and hands, cleaning away the traces of Roman’s blood. As the water turns brown, guilt lingers and the knots in my chest tighten.

"My father raised me to never trust anyone, especially not the daughter of his enemy," he admits, rinsing my hair under the handheld showerhead. "I didn’t want to push you away. And now I realize that I should’ve fought harder to make you understand that I want you by my side."

He lets out a shaky breath, his hands still working through my hair.

"I’m a fucking idiot," he adds, his voice rough with regret. "You didn’t deserve to end up with a guy like me or be forced into anything. But I swear to you, I’ll never tell you to leave again. I’ll never push you away, Livvie, and I’ll never let you leave me."

He pulls the plug, and the water begins to drain away, a swirling whirlpool of dirty water.

"You believe me, right? You know I’m sorry?" he asks.

His fingers trace the edge of my jaw, and I nod, swallowing back the lump in my throat.

“I believe you,” I say, my voice quiet.

His shoulders seem to relax just a little, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead.