Page 83 of Let Me Love You

“I’m here,” he murmured in a groggy-sleepy tone. “And I’m glad you slept. You needed it.”

“Sounds like you need it now.”

“All I need is you,” he returned in a low voice without opening his eyes.

I brushed my mouth over his and surrendered to the surprise of his tongue sliding between my lips for a soft but sultry kiss.

“Mmmm. I needed that,” he said a moment later, opening his eyes. “Long night.”

“I’m assuming if you’re cuddling me, everyone is okay. Your brothers and the guys you worked with?” My heart did an unexpected little tap dance against my rib cage when I noticed the slight curl of his lips downward. There was enough light in the room to make out every detail of this handsome man’s face, and I was glad to see it was unmarked by wounds.

“We’re all okay, but things didn’t go as planned.”

I let go of his cheeks and slid one hand into his messy hair.

“A lot of people wanted the man we were after, and we didn’t get to him in time. He was killed before we arrived. We were under heavy fire from more than one enemy. They converged on our location, and things got dicey.”

I snaked my hand around the back of his neck to pull myself even closer, and his tired eyes kept falling shut, clearly fighting like hell to stay awake. “I’m just so glad you’re okay,” was all I managed. “You don’t need to talk now,” I said, noticing his breathing slowing down, his body slipping nearly into sleep. “Get some rest, babe.”

“Babe?” His tone was warm and slid over my skin. “I like that.” And then he went quiet, and I was pretty sure my exhausted man had fallen asleep.

I stayed awake for a little bit with his arm protectively over me and my hand behind his neck, playing out scenarios in my head of the “dicey” situation and what may have happened to him while he’d been gone.

I fell asleep at some point, and when I woke up, I patted the mattress in search of him, finding myself alone. Terror climbed into the walls of my chest at the idea it’d been a dream and he’d never come back.

Soft light filtered through a small opening in the curtains, and when I rolled over to check the clock, I couldn’t believe it was already nine in the morning.

I forced myself to sit and checked my phone on the nightstand to see if Enzo had ever texted last night, still worried I’d made up his homecoming in my head. But there weren’t any notifications.

Once out of bed, I changed into yoga pants, a sports bra, and one of my worn-out tees from my college days.

There was a knock at the door, followed by the question, “Are you decent?” a moment later. I opened up, realizing it was Angela, Enzo’s mom.

We hadn’t spoken since the Pablo fiasco in the dining room last night, and after Enzo had left with his brothers, I’d pretty much hidden in the bedroom.

“Is Enzo home?” Please say yes and I wasn’t dreaming.

“He’s in the study downstairs.”

Thank God. My hand slammed to my chest with relief.

She leaned into the interior doorframe, her dark-brown eyes focused on me, concern still swirling there, and I wasn’t sure why it felt pointed my way. “I know what happened last night.”

About the operation or the fact we made love in the bed behind me? And now my cheeks were probably a shocking shade of red.

I wanted to make a beeline for the study and throw myself into Enzo’s arms. Learn the details of what happened and decide if I was safe to exit panic mode or whether I needed to stay swimming there, fighting the tides, a bit longer.

“My daughter’s killer is still out there, and that’s why the extra security,” she finally spoke, sharing the grave news, and now I understood her face, her posture, her overall everything.

“And I know my sons are trying to find out who did it, and I trust they’ll get to the bottom of it.” She reached for a crucifix atop her dressy black blouse and smoothed it between her fingers. “My husband also shared that my cousin’s men nearly hurt you yesterday, and I’m so sorry for that. Giovanni and his family are coming over in a little bit to offer their apologies, if you’re okay with that?”

Am I okay with meeting a crime boss? Not really. “As long as Enzo is good with that.”

She nodded. “I know it must seem shocking that my family is mafia, but the Sicilians have a very small piece of the organized-crime pie over here in America. Back in Italy, things were different. And the fact your mother never told you—”

“Wait, my mom knows your family is mafia?”

She nodded. “Your mother got mixed up with a man who worked for my father early on in her life. But after she married your father, she ran into him again, and that’s when my husband saved her from him. I felt horrible about it all, and, well, we became close friends.”

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