Page 54 of His to Wed

Alessandro

Fear may be one of the most basic human emotions, but it’s not one I’ve had to grapple with for many years. I didn’t experience it when some asshole wanted to make a name for himself by trying to snatch Livvy, or when Antonio got shot. On both occasions, what pulsed through my veins was pure, unadulterated anger. The need for vengeance helped to focus my mind, giving me absolute clarity about how to act.

The last time I recall being so frightened I couldn’t think straight was when I was eight years old. Mamma got in a car wreck and spent more than a week in the hospital. For the first twenty-four hours, it looked as if she might not make it. The thought of losing Mamma to such a violent death caused me months of nightmares, but eventually, I overcame my anxieties. Fear became alien to me, but the moment I was told Emilia had been hurt, the sensation came rushing back to me.

As I pace back and forth in front of the sofa in Boris Reznov’s office, waiting for her to wake, I slowly get a grip on myemotions. The last thing my wife needs right now is for me to fall apart, and I can’t afford to show weakness in front of witnesses. Piotr Reznov and his tech guy are at the desk on the other side of the room scouring security footage to see if the server and bastard who attacked my wife and sister were working alone.

The door swings open and Antonio storms into the room. He casts a glance at my wife.

“She’s still out of it?”

“As you can see.” I ignore the impatient tone in his voice, knowing he doesn’t actually blame Emilia for still being unconscious. He shows his concern through assholery. “Is Marino on his way?”

“Yeah, he’ll be here in ten minutes.”

Though I’d rather he was here sooner, the fact Emilia is breathing steadily eases my mind.

“What did Livvy say?”

“She was fucking useless.” Once again, he covers his anxiety for her with harshness. “But we identified the man Piotr shot.”

“Who was it?”

“Enzo Cabrini.”

“Cabrini?” Piotr asks from behind his uncle’s desk. “Which family?”

“He was a low-level Bianchi soldier,” Antonio tells him. “What we need to know is if he was working freelance on this.”

Piotr nods. His grim expression tells me we have an ally. The attack against our family happened on his uncle’s territory. He’sgoing to want his pound of flesh for this outrage. If the Bianchis are involved, they will pay.

Hopefully, Leo and Matteo will get some answers. They’re down in the hotel basement interrogating the employee who lured my wife and sister away from the ballroom. None of us enjoys hurting women, but if it comes to it, Leo won’t hesitate to torture her to find out what she knows.

A soft moan draws my attention to the sofa as Emilia stirs. I rush over and crouch by her side. I take her hand and squeeze it as her eyelids flutter. She opens her eyes and stares at me, confusion marring her pretty features.

“Alessandro, it hurts.”

Her distress pierces my heart. If Piotr hadn’t killed the man who hit her, I would take great pleasure in torturing him until he begged for death.

“I know,dolcezza.” I carefully brush a stray strand of hair back from her face, which is red and swollen down the right side. She’s going to have a nasty bruise. “The doctor’s on his way.”

She tries to sit up. Gently, but firmly, I push her back down. Until Dr. Marino clears her, I don’t want her moving around too much. She looks past me as Piotr Reznov approaches. Something flares in her eyes, a strange reverence.

“É un angelo.”

I shake my head, though I get why she made the mistake. Even women who aren’t in a state of shock mistake Piotr for a celestial being. Tall, blond, and muscular, the fucker always looks like he strolled off the cover ofGQ. His boyish features and glittering blue eyes mask the ruthless nature his wardrobe of exclusivelyblack clothing hints at. He’s an angel alright, but a fallen one. His purpose is vengeance and death.

“It’s okay,dolcezza. This is Piotr. He’s Boris Reznov’s nephew.”

Piotr hands me an icepack, a bottle of water, and a couple of small white pills. I look up at him in question, unwilling to give my wife drugs without knowing what they are.

“Just Tylenol.” He reads my concern correctly. “Just to take the edge off.”

If she needs something stronger, the doctor will provide it. I hand Emilia the pills and she swallows them without water.

“You came to my aid twice, Mr. Reznov.” Emilia hisses in pain as I place the icepack against her red, swollen cheek. “Thank you.”

“No thanks are necessary,SignoraVolante.”

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