Page 32 of Unruly Protector
“They matter,mia cara,” I tell her with the same determination.“Mattia mattered.His body will return today to his homeland.His parents will handle the funeral and everything else.I’m sorry we won’t be able to attend.”
She curls into me to seek comfort.We fall silent until the limo finally stops in front of a mansion.Arturo gets out along with Donya.I step out for a brief moment to talk some details in private with Arturo—and to make a phone call to my uncle to put things in motion—before I step back inside to let Gian drive us to the other safe house.
And when I say house, I mean apartment.Arturo and Donya are staying at a mansion.Not my choice, and not Arturo’s.This is something Gian decides.Like I mentioned, we have a few scattered over California.Fully decorated and stocked; ready to be used if necessary.
Not that we have situations like this all the time, but we do need a place off grid to keep a person safe every now and then.Gian worked for my uncle and for my father, and it was only natural he kept working for me since he’s been loyal all these years.
He might just be the driver to some, but obviously he’s more than that.He oversees things and acts without one order required.The fact he picked the apartment for me and Rina is also the right choice for now.
It’s a double layer of protection.And right now, there might be a lot of shit I have to deal with, but it’s also our wedding day.I fully trust Leandro to handle things while we regroup and get all the details before we are able to strike back at full force and with eyes wide open.
And we will fucking strike.But my woman has been through enough.First with the assassination attempt—watching Mattia die—and now our wedding getting disturbed.Talk about being thrown into my life headfirst and barely being able to breathe in this sea of havoc.
CHAPTER TEN
You’re going to be the death of me
— CATERINA —
Nerves.They are bouncingall over the place.Not at all about what happened today or in the past few days, but it has everything to do with the man who is currently rummaging through cabinets in the wide-open kitchen.
He ushered me into the apartment a few minutes ago.He then flipped a few switches and the electric fireplace came to life along with some soft music and lighting.And now he’s tapping on his phone.I’m utterly confused and have no clue what to do.
I’m standing in my wedding dress in a lovely apartment which is fully decorated with modern furniture.A large light gray couch, a long white table in front of it and across from that sits the electric fireplace with a huge TV hung above it.It’s all gorgeous as was the view from the floor to ceiling windows—giving a glimpse of the California coastline—before Clemente closed the curtains with one press of a button.
I place a hand on the kitchen island and pull off my white heels, letting them fall to the floor.The wedding dress Gracy helped me pick is quite comfortable but I’d much rather wear something a little less hard to deal with.Without my shoes I’m a few inches shorter and the dress was already dragging over the floor.Which means I have to pull up the front of the dress to move around.
“What are you doing?”I ask tentatively, suspecting he was checking the food stock before looking up a recipe to make us something to eat.
With his jacket slung over one of the bar stools, he’s now removing his cuff links and loosening up a few buttons of his crisp white shirt.
“I’m going to fix us something to eat.”He shoots me a wink and adds, “I have to feed my wife, keep up our strength for what’s to come.”
I roll my eyes at the same time heat starts to flame up between my legs.He’s such an enigma with his ruthless ways.Ways I’ve only heard of since all I’ve seen is this side of him; the thoughtfulness and kindness.And let’s not forget his asshole side.Though, it’s easily forgotten since it hasn’t reared its head as much as it did in the first few weeks since we met.
And when we arrived at the apartment, he surprised me by swooping me off my feet and carrying me over the threshold.Newlyweds.The real deal and not the whole “Show of the bloody blankets,” tradition the mafia holds.The innocent virgin blood on display from an arranged marriage.
