Page 31 of His Tesoro

Dimitri had taught both Mila and me, determined that we needed to know how to protect ourselves. Every time he visited, we all snuck out together to the range to practice shooting. Mila had been hopeless, but Dimi said I was a natural. The last time he visited, six months ago, we’d practiced shooting from my chair.

“Not sure the Boss will go for that,” Angelo said before getting out of the car. I waited for him to get my chair out of the back. I grimaced as I got out, my hips aching. I needed to use a heating pad once we got back.

Angelo pulled open a large glass door with the sign Mobility Center on it, and I rolled into a massive space lined with all sorts of wheelchairs.

“You must be Mrs. Rossi.” A middle-aged woman with pretty eyes and a brown ponytail came out from behind the reception desk to greet us. “I’m Sandra. I’m the physical therapist doing your eval today.” She shook my hand and then Angelo’s before introducing us to two male staff members working with her—Ted and DiMarco.

“We’ll do a variety of assessments today to make sure we have everything we need to get you your custom chair, which is a good thing because I can already see that one is not right for you,” Sandra said with a calculating expression. “The assessment will include asking you a lot of questions about your mobility and what your goals are, and we’ll do some physical evaluations as well. Any questions before we begin?”

I shook my head, still a little dazed that this was happening. It was disorienting to be around people who wanted me to be comfortable in a wheelchair after having to hide the severity of my disability for so long.

And the fact that my husband had set up the appointment made it all the sweeter.

17

MATTEO

Irested my forehead against the shower wall as water ran down my body. Sofiya and Angelo had already left for her appointment by the time I returned. Probably a good thing since my clothes had been drenched in blood.

I watched the last of it wash away down the drain.

One of the Albanian soldiers had died while being transported back to the basement, and the other two had known nothing useful. Their screams still rang in my ears. At least I’d made them suffer for what they’d done to those girls, but we weren’t any closer to finding out if the Albanians had more women and where they might be.

I got dressed and headed to the kitchen. I needed to get something to eat and then go to the office to start figuring this shit out. The sooner Arben was destroyed, the better.

A box of cookies rested on the counter and I snagged one. I took a big bite and stopped in my tracks. It was the best fucking cookie I’d ever had. I usually stayed away from desserts—it didn’t seem right for the Mafia Don to eat sweets—but I needed to figure out where these were from.

I made myself a coffee and then grabbed another cookie to take with me to the office.

I managed to stay in my office for forty-three minutes.

Forty-three minutes of agony, my skin itching knowing that Sofiya wasn’t upstairs. There was no reason for me to feel this way, no reason for me to feel the need to know she was safe and waiting for me.

Sienna told me I couldn’t trap my wife in the apartment.

I didn’t want to trap her. I just needed her to be within reach at all times.

I slipped into the wheelchair store unnoticed by all except Angelo, who lifted his chin at me as I moved behind a tall display.

I didn’t want Sofiya to know I was here. I wasn’t even sure why I was here. The only reason I’d even set up this appointment was because as the Don’s wife, Sofiya needed the best. And I would always give her the best.

I ignored the satisfaction I felt at the thought of providing for her.

Three employees were running Sofiya through a series of muscle tests, using machines to evaluate her strength. Even when she struggled, she kept a smile on her face and joked with the staff. After a while, they moved her into a wheelchair. Sofiya focused intently on what the man in front of her was saying while a woman adjusted the height of the back of the chair. I bristled at how close the man was but forced myself to stay back as Sofiya wheeled back and forth. This wheelchair looked much lighter and better fitting than her stolen one. The back and bottom were cushioned, and my wife’s smile was fucking radiant as she spun around. My chest ached as I watched her.

“Is that seat comfortable? Is it putting too much pressure anywhere?” the woman asked.

Sofiya wiggled a bit. “No, it feels really good.”

“Excellent. As you probably know, with Ehlers-Danlos, you typically have thinner, softer skin that’s easier to bruise and tear. We want to make sure you have a cushioned seat and backrest to keep you comfortable and avoid any pressure wounds.”

“How does it feel on your shoulders?” the male employee asked.

“There’s still a strain when I’m pushing, but it’s not as bad as the other one,” Sofiya answered.

“This one is significantly lighter than your old one, so it should be much better for daily use,” the woman said.

Sofiya bit her lip. “How often should I use it?”

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