Page 59 of Marrying the Mobster
“Try not to move too much.”
Elena’s voice draws my eye to my right side, where she’s sitting in a chair. She’s wearing her favorite comfortable pajamas and has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair is a mess, and she has dark circles under her eyes. Judging by that and the orange light stinging my pupils, I assume she’s been sitting here all night. She looks like she hasn’t slept a minute, but she’s also the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Dr. Molena says too much movement could rip the sutures in your shoulder,” she adds, sinking gently onto the edge of the bed.
She starts inspecting my bandage, then presses a hand to my forehead to check for a fever.
“Dr. Molena was here?” I mumble, grabbing her hand and raising it to my lips.
“Jaime sent him … he got here before you did. And he called to warn me before Jovan came rushing in with you … bloody and unconscious.”
I squeeze her fingers, the pain in my chest increasing at the thought of her seeing me that way. “I’m sorry,gatita.Jovan shouldn’t have brought me here.”
She looks at me like I’m insane. “Of course he should have! You were hurt. You should be at home with me so I can take care of you. You almost bled to death!”
I manage a smile, giving her a little tug to bring her closer. Elena moves slowly and doesn’t allow me to pull her to lay against me—like she’s afraid I’ll break.
“I would think you’d be excited to see me near death. All my money goes to you if I die, you know. Well, except for what I set aside for Marcella. You would have been free.”
Her eyes well with tears, and the first one that falls hits me like another bullet. “You crazy fucking bastard,” she sobs, shaking her head at me. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to be free. I thought I did, but when Jovan brought you in here, and I thought you might die …”
She trails off and lowers her head, the tears dropping onto the legs of her pajamas. Her shoulders shake with sobs so gut-wrenching I think I might die from the guilt they cause me. It’s not the first time I’ve made her cry, but it is the first time she’s admitted what I already knew to be true. Elena has had several chances to escape. Security around her has loosened considerably and is now only for her protection. While I’ve been desperate to hold on to her, Elena has been wrestling with wanting to say.
“Shh,” I croon, urging her closer. “Don’t cry,gatita. Fuck … I can’t handle you crying over me. I’m okay. I always wear a vest when I suspect things might get ugly. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Seeming to forget that she doesn’t want to hurt me, Elena curls up close and rests her head on my uninjured shoulder. “You’d better not. I’ll fucking bring you back and kill you again if you do that to me.”
I chuckle. “That’s what Jovan said.”
“I mean it,” she says, her voice hoarse. “That was the most terrifying experience of my life.”
I lift her chin and plant a kiss on her lips, then point down to the puckered scar on my lower left abdomen. “This was my first time taking a bullet … and the last time I went to work without a vest. It hurt like a bitch.”
Elena traces the outline of the scar, then trails her fingertips to a long, narrow scar under my left pec. “This one?”
“Knife fight. This Italian bastard stabbed me. I shot him in the face.”
“Good,” she mutters. “And these?”
She touches a series of small circular scars only partly disguised by the tattoos on my right arm. I glance down at them and wince, remembering that particular pain.
“Glass. Someone tried to shoot up the club, and a bullet shattered some glass and sent it flying. One of my men wasn’t as lucky as me … half his face was embedded with shards.”
“Jesus,” she whispers.
“I won’t pretend my life isn’t dangerous. But I’ve been hurt far worse than this. I’ve had concussions, been shot and stabbed, and I’ve been hit by three cars. Somehow, I’m still here. I figure that means I haven’t fulfilled my purpose yet. Or maybe I was supposed to live so I could find you.”
Elena nuzzles her nose into the side of my neck, then plants a kiss right over my pulse. “How do you do that?”
“Do what,gatita?”
“Make me forget what an asshole you are,” she replies, sounding genuinely surprised.
I bite back a laugh to keep from passing out from the pain. Reaching down her body, I deliver a sharp slap to her ass. “Simple. You love me. That’s how.”
She goes still against me, and her breathing stops for several seconds. I squeeze and stroke the ass cheek I just punished, then kiss the top of her head.
“It’s okay if you’re not ready to say it. You show me in your own way.”
