Page 109 of Twisted Devotion

I look closer—and I see him.

Nicolas, struggling to get out.

Matteo moves quickly, slipping an arm around him as he steps out. His suit is torn, stained dark with blood. His skin is pale, but his eyes—his eyes—are still sharp.

He’s alive.

The relief is so sudden, so overwhelming, that my knees almost give out. I move toward him, and Matteo steps away. I throw my arms around Nicolas’s waist, pressing myself against him, my whole body shaking. His breath is warm against my hair, his scent wrapping around me—gunpowder, sweat, and something distinctly him.

I don’t mind.

I love it.

I love the scent. I love the hardness of his body. I love the strength of his arms around me.

I… I love him.

I love Nicolas Paolo with everything I have, every part of me. A tear slips down my cheek, and I pull back, my fingers trembling as I touch his face.

“You’re bleeding,” I whisper.

He lets out a low chuckle, though it’s strained. Then, slowly, he reaches up and brushes my tear away.

“It’s not that bad.”

I search his face. He looks exhausted, but that damn smirk is still there—the one that drives me insane.

“I told you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing away the tears I didn’t even realize were falling. “Even if the world falls away, nothing is keeping me from you.”

Something inside me shatters.

It isn’t just relief. It isn’t just gratitude.

It’s love.

Pure, unfiltered, terrifying love.

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate.

I kiss him.

I kiss him because he’s here. Because I almost lost him. Because I love him, and I don’t know how to stop.

His lips crash into mine with the same desperate intensity. His hands slide into my hair, holding me close, his grip firm despite his injuries. He kisses me like I am the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

The pain, the fear, the uncertainty—none of it matters.

Only this.

Only him.

I slide a hand up his arm and he groans. I pull back, my heart twisting at the pain etched on his face—the pain he tries to smile through.

“Come on, let’s get you to a shower,” I say softly. Matteo steps in, steadying him as I guide him inside.

The doctor arrives a few minutes later, tending to his injuries before leaving us alone. And then it’s just me and my husband, curled together in bed, the sharp scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

But I don’t care.

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