Page 32 of Vicious Redemption

Humming blissfully, I roll out of bed, take a shower, and brush my teeth. I get dressed to be ready for the hospital whenever Leo comes to pick me up. Then I head to the kitchen to satisfy my rumbling stomach.

That’s where Luigi finds me a short time later, the remains of a sandwich clasped between my fingers.

“Master Leo is here to take you to the hospital, signora,” he says, his back straight, his shoulders in their customarily stiff position.

“Thank you, Luigi,” I say, hopping up from my bar stool and cramming the last of my sandwich in my mouth before rounding the counter to quickly wash my hands.

Then, I head straight for the grand foyer with its mirrored wall and crystal chandelier. Leo’s waiting for me there, that poised intelligence on his face as he stands nearly in the same spot where I first met him. He still cuts the same daunting figure as he did that night—his demeanor is commanding, powerful, and it makes my pulse quicken with nerves.

But now, I know a hidden side to him, a softer one that’s capable of melting my heart.

“Ready?” he asks, his hazel eyes seeming to catch even the slightest details.

“Mm-hmm,” I say, my heart fluttering as I stop in front of him, and his eyes drop to my lips.

A smile curls the corners of his mouth, and he reaches up to cup my chin. Then his thumb brushes my cheek, and I watch as he draws the digit to his mouth and sucks. “Peanut butter and jelly?” he asks playfully.

Heat radiates through me, and I scrub at the side of my mouth with my palm. “With pickles,” I admit, perfectly aware of how strange the pregnancy craving must sound.

Leo chuckles, reclaiming my chin, and this time, he tips it up to kiss me full on the mouth. “Come on. Let’s get going. The hospital called to tell me my father’s awake. I’m sure he’ll be glad for the company.”

Taking my hand, Leo interlaces our fingers and guides me out into the warm summer sunshine and down to his Ferrari.

“Are you going to drive like a maniac again?” I ask suspiciously, my stomach fluttering as he opens the passenger-side door.

“Do you want me to?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Maybe not.” I press a palm to my stomach protectively, and his eyes capture the gesture before softening.

Wordlessly, he leans in and kisses me again. Then he waits as I slip into the car and closes my door for me.

It’s a quick drive to the hospital, and Leo leads me to the ICU. It doesn’t pass my notice that the name Moretti is printed above several doors leading to various wings of Piovosa General. I hadn’t realized they must have poured a good deal of funding into the hospital, and it warms my chest as I glance surreptitiously up at my husband from the corner of my eye.

Two rather intimidating guards stand outside Don Moretti’s room, and Leo greets them by name before ushering me inside. There, a nurse hovers over Leo’s father, helping him find a more comfortable position.

“Thank you,” he says gruffly, excusing her as his eyes land on us. “Leo, good. You’re here, and I see you’ve brought your lovely wife to visit me.”

“I hope that’s alright,” I say, striding forward as the nurse departs with a polite nod.

My heart squeezes as I settle into the chair beside his bed to take his hand. I’m shocked to see the state Leo’s father is in. Leo had said he got shot, and I knew he was in the hospital, but he’s hooked up to chords and beeping monitors, and he looks rather sickly and wan.

Though roughly the same size as Leo, he looks as though he’s lost weight even in the last few days—likely from the stress of his surgery. His skin hangs loosely from his usually quite handsome face.

And he looks as though he’s aged overnight. With the same Roman nose and angular jaw as his son, I’d always thought he would be a good representation of what Leo might look like twenty years from now. But today, his black hair is far more gray, the lines on his face more prominent, making him look closer to sixty. It troubles me to see the powerful don in such a haggard state.

“How do you feel?” I ask, my concern seeping into my tone as I squeeze his palm and meet his amber gaze.

“Fine, fine,” he growls. “It’ll take more than the bastards you call family to kill me.”

Embarrassment radiates through me, heating my cheeks, but I’m glad to see Don Moretti’s strong enough to throw a punch, and I laugh. “Glad to hear it,” is all I can think to say.

Leo’s hands fall on my shoulders and give a soft yet reinforcing squeeze. “Have you spoken with the doctor?”

“Sounds like they took out all the lead and stitched me up as best they can. Where do things stand with the mayor?”

“Shot to hell after things went sideways at the charity ball. I don’t imagine that relationship can be mended, so we’ll need to change our course of action.”

“Plan B, then?” Leo’s father asks.

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