Page 35 of The Reaper's Bride
We clean the wound and disinfect it and then I watch in horror as he stitches himself up with no local anesthetic at all. “I don’t see how you can stand to do that.”
“Lots of practice,” he murmurs, finishing. “Pour me another drink.” I’m not sure it’s the best treatment but probably the only one he’ll accept. I go to the small liquor cabinet beside the dresser and pour him a thimbleful of whiskey. “More than that,” he says from the bed.
“How do you know how much I poured?” He’s already laying down and not even looking my way.
“I can hear well enough to know that wasn’t enough.” I roll my eyes and pour another splash before bringing it over.
“Maybe you should sip it slowly.” He slants me with a look as he sits up and downs it in one swallow. I suppose I should’ve expected that.
When he collapses back onto the bed, I find myself unable to resist lying down beside him. Maybe I should be reluctant to be close to him, but all my caregiver instincts are activated with my concern for him. “What happened tonight?” I ask, tentatively. My father and even my brothers kept business out of our discussions, but I hope Alessio won’t be so guarded with me.
“Tonight, the Trio got revenge on the Bratva for what happened at our wedding.”
“Tonight? But, you didn’t say anything at dinner.” He chuckles, amused by my ignorance. I clear my throat and attempt to regain my composure. “So you got your revenge less than a week after it happened. That’s very quick.”
“As it should be. Revenge is a dish best served cold, my ass. We made the fuckers bleed, wiped out every asshole at two drug labs and their favorite little clubhouse near the Strip before we were done. Whoever’s left will be cleaning up the mess for months after tonight.”
I nod as if I share his bloodlust. I knew they’d go after the Bratva. It’s a never-ending, escalating cycle of violence between the two. I hate it but there was no way such an act would go unanswered. Without a second thought, I reach up to gently trail my fingers through his thick brown hair. It’s surprisingly soft for such a hard man. “I wish you’d told me your plans for tonight. You were shot. You might’ve died.”
“Mmm, no one has made a widow of you yet.”
“I don’t want to be a widow.”
He was already still but he somehow grows even more so. “Is this another display of your acting abilities?”
“No, I meant that, Alessio. I don’t wish you dead. Even if you occasionally make me lose my mind.”
His beautiful blue eyes are heavy, but he’s staring intently at me when I tilt my head again to check on him. “I’m tired of sleeping on Armando’s sofa, Caterina.”
Such a simple statement and hardly the apology or explanation regarding the Seconda some wives might expect. But I did hold a knife to his throat, and I want my marriage to have a chance of being at least tolerable. Maybe much more than tolerable. “Sleep here tonight. If the urge to smash my teeth in has finally passed.”
He smiles wryly as I pull the covers back, silently urging him to climb in. “I wouldn’t have done that.”
With the lights turned off, I leave Mr. Whiskers on my bedside table and turn toward my husband instead. I don’t know if he would ever dream of holding me. With his wound perhaps it’s better that he doesn’t. But an instant later, he wraps his arm around my shoulders, tugging me closer. How can that feel so nice? “You smell good. Your hair is like silk.”
His words are garbled from drink, discomfort, and fatigue, but it doesn’t matter to my heart. My heart would ask so very little of him and give so much in return. It’s simply the way I’m made.
“I’m glad you approve,” I say, lightly stroking his bare chest. Muscled, scarred, tough as nails. So very different from my own skin but I admire every inch of him. “Though I am thinking of getting bangs again like when I was sixteen.”
“Don’t make me laugh. It hurts like a motherfucker if I laugh.”
I smile in the darkness, happier than I could’ve pictured being from this quiet exchange. I don’t love him yet, and I know he doesn’t love me but… maybe Mother wasn’t completely wrong about what might develop over time?
“Alessio, do you remember what we did the morning after our wedding before my period arrived?”
“You ask that as if it was in the distant past, Caterina. Of course, I do.”
“What if I wanted to do more of that? Not tonight obviously because I know you’re injured but what if, once you’re better, we-”
He moves so swiftly I yelp as he pins me to the mattress with a wolf’s grin on his handsome face. “Fuck my injury. I was beginning to fear you’d never ask.”
20
Caterina
With him looming dominantly over me, I wonder if I’m meant to feel uneasy. Because I don’t. Not at all. “Just more of what we did that morning though, okay? I don’t wantallof you yet.”
He smirks, and I’m not even sure I’d be upset if he refused my half-hearted plea. “I can make you feel good tonight without hurting you.”