Page 77 of Scorned Obsession

Chapter

Twenty

Sandro

I studied Bianca carefully as I recounted the events that led up to her being covered in blood.

Her adrenaline withdrawal was brutal. Her hand tremors had progressed to full-body shudders. I needed to get the blood and brains off her.

“What will you do with Gian?” she asked unexpectedly. The fire in her eyes that sparked when she went after Griselda morphed into blank slates.

My jaw hardened. “If he knows what’s best for him, he’ll stay away until I’m ready to deal with him.”

She gave a series of nods and transfixed her attention on the body in the foyer as if seeing it for the first time. Then she untangled herself from me. I fought against yanking her back. She was processing the massacre. Witnessing the brutal killer that was her husband.

“Baby, let’s get you cleaned up.”

It was as if she didn’t hear me. She wandered to where the broken sunflowers lay on the floor and knelt beside them. Her fingers feathered the mangled petals.

Then she rose and stared at the mirror above the console and gasped.

That’s it.

I stalked to where she was, swept her into my arms, and headed up the stairs. She didn’t fight me. Seeing her reflection in the mirror had drained her of remaining strength.

“Take care of this mess,” I threw behind my shoulder. “I need to see to my wife.”

“I can shower myself,” Bianca whispered.

“Let me do this for you, baby.”

I carried her into the hallway bathroom. No way was she going to remember this day each time she entered my room.

I started the shower and stripped her clothes as fast as possible. I discarded mine in a heap beside hers but kept on my boxer briefs. I put her into the shower and got in behind her. Blood turned the water into a swirl of crimson. Her body was cold. So, so cold.

“Bianca.” I cupped her face. Her beautiful brown eyes were flat. I combed my fingers through her hair, thankful she didn’t seem aware of the gruesome bits falling off her head. “You’re all right, baby. I got you.”

“I know you do,” she answered, and a weak smile tried to form.

I pressed a brief kiss to her mouth.

When the water ran clear, I grabbed the shampoo and lathered her hair. While I let that soak, I picked up the soap and did the same to her skin.

“I really can do this, Sandro,” she protested. “I’m okay.”

No, she wasn’t. She was in delayed shock. I doubted she’d ever seen a man’s head explode in her life, and if she continuedto be in my life, I doubted that would be the last time, either. Despite the warmth of the water, goose bumps rose on her flesh and that was when I noticed more bruises on her arms. The marks of rough fingers.

I was torn between taking care of Bianca and wanting to resurrect Raffa’s men and run them through a wood chipper, alive and screaming. I blinked away my murderous thoughts before Bianca sensed my roiling rage.

How could I let this happen?

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” I pressed my lips against hers again. Her cold, pale lips. The anguish of my failures overwhelmed me and sent me to my knees. Resting my head on her womb, I begged for forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Sandro.” Her voice washed over me. Still soft, but there was a resoluteness threading her tone. “It’s not your fault.” She ran her fingers through my hair as if she was the one comforting me. “We’ll be okay.”

The logical thing to do was return her to the De Luccis and not give a shit what happened to me. Let the Rossi crime family self-destruct. But the truth was, I was so tired of holding back. I’d been holding back for four fucking years, trying to let her go. Hiding the crazy inside me. Hiding the blood of the monster that ran through my veins. The violence I was capable of.

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