Page 9 of Finding Love

I want more than anything to be in a dark room but not if it means having him next to me in bed. It doesn’t matter how good he smells.

The house is sprawling, almost obscene, and exactly what I would expect from a mafia family. I don’t remember working on a case involving them, however, anyone who’s watched the local news in the past twenty years knows the name, Santoro. Here I am, about to walk into the home of the family’s leader.

When Luca touches a hand to my back as we climb the broad stone steps, I don’t shrug him off. It’s startling how weak I feel now. I was feeling strong at the hospital, but then I didn’t do much more than cross the room. My legs are trembling by the time we reach the massive front doors flanked by two armed men, and it isn’t the chill in the air that makes me shiver as we pass them on our way inside.

“Let’s sit down.” Luca steers me through the bright entry hall, the light from an overhead chandelier reflecting on the polished marble floors. I look around in both curiosity and wonder. So this is what blood money can buy.

The first room we reach when we’ve passed the sweeping staircase is soft, feminine, and full of roses. They relax me in an instant and somehow give me hope that there are actual human beings living here. Decent people, even if they do condone murder.

I need to stop thinking like this. I’ll end up getting myself killed if I’m not careful.

“I’ll let Mama know we’re here.” Guilia practically skips out of the room once Luca has me settled on a soft, deep sofa. It is such a relief to get off my feet and relax, even if there’s no hope of fully relaxing with Luca hovering over me. And there I was, thinking he might give me a little space to breathe when we were back in his family home instead of the hospital—like he’d feel a little more relaxed away from hospital staff, who might make the mistake of being friendly.

“We can keep this brief,” he tells me. As much as I don’t want to, I hear what sounds a lot like love in his voice. Affection, at least. Intimacy.

“I don’t want to be rude,” I counter. How bizarre this is, trying to be polite to the wife of a mafia don. “This is a nice room,” I add, leaning over a little to sniff the white roses arranged in a beautiful crystal bowl beside the sofa.

“You’ve been in here before,” he tells me as if that’s going to change things somehow.

“I don’t remember anything about it. I’m sorry.” Why do I feel like I should apologize? It’s not like any of this is my fault. He doesn’t look particularly disappointed, either.

Does he not want me to remember being here?

Did something bad happen in this room?

“Can I get you anything?” I’ve barely had time to process his question before he’s on his feet, ready to get something for me. There’s an almost frantic energy coming off him. I can imagine he’s used to taking charge of things, and it’s killing him to be helpless now.

“No, thank you.” I might find this cute if he were anybody else. He’s trying. I think he really means it. If only I could remember how I felt about him. I’m afraid to look at him for too long in case I get used to the habit of indulging in his dark eyes and razor-sharp jaw. What if I get my memory back one day, and I remember this was all part of an operation to infiltrate the family?

There are rapid footsteps in the hall before an older woman bursts into the room with her arms extended. “There she is!” she calls out, almost flying to the sofa.

Her face falls when I flinch away from her before I can help it. Her arms drop to her sides. “No, I’m sorry,” I tell her right away. “My brain is moving too slowly, and I have a little headache.”

“Oh, forgive me.” Her voice is soft now, heavy with concern. “I should have considered that. And you must be feeling overwhelmed, I imagine.”

That’s a word for it. I’m almost too stunned to speak, not knowing where to look or what to pay attention to. I don’t have the first damn clue of how things really are between this family and me. Who do I believe? Who do I trust?

Strangely, I want to trust her. It’s the whole warm, maternal thing she has going on. In the absence of my mother, she’s the next best thing. It shouldn’t surprise me that I’m longing for a little maternal comfort. It’s only natural I would want to believe her. Deep down inside, some part of me could remember her too. It seems like we had a nice relationship. There’s nothing fake about her.

“I am a little tired,” I admit. “I guess I lost some strength lying around all that time. You would think I would be rested and have energy, wouldn’t you?” Why am I trying to comfort this woman? I guess it’s because I sense she’s kind and loving, no matter who she married or gave birth to.

“She needs to rest.” Luca certainly has no problem taking the lead. He wasn’t throwing his weight around in the hospital to look like a big man. He doesn’t hesitate before pulling me to my feet and putting an arm around my waist like he’s going to lead me somewhere, making me stiffen in distaste at his familiar attitude.

His mother’s troubled expression tells me she sees the reaction his touch causes. She understands, and it makes her unhappy.

Could it be everything Luca told me was true? I really lived here. Are there people who care about me? Why? What could have changed in me to make this possible?

“Luca, caro mio, it could be Emilia would be better off staying alone in your house, at least for tonight.” She rises and places a hand on his arm. “Especially if she is not feeling well. She needs quiet after all that time spent in the hospital.” She wears a knowing smile when she turns to me, her kind eyes twinkling. “Just when you’ve finally begun to drift off, someone comes in to take your temperature.”

I could kiss her for this. “It was frustrating,” I agree, without looking at Luca. I don’t need to see the disappointment I’m sure his expression portrays.

“We will double the men at the house,” she assures Luca. “Emilia needs nothing but sleep now, and she won’t get that with you banging around like a bull in a China shop.” I have to give it to her. She’s good at handling him. She knows the right thing to say and how to say it. What might come off as an insult from anyone else is nothing but gentle, playful teasing.

Still, Luca’s dark eyes are full of regret and doubt when I finally get the nerve to meet his gaze. What did he think was going to happen? Was I supposed to beg him to take me home so we could be alone together?

“Triple the men,” he eventually grunts out. “And I am here if you need anything. Your phone is down at the house. My number is programmed in it.”

My phone. There I was, thinking I might never get it back. If he was hoping to score a little credit for keeping his word, I don’t mind giving it to him. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

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