Page 3 of His to Hold

“Good.” I know I can trust Matteo to handle this efficiently. “Sandro, I want you to help him. You can clean up here, Leo.”

“I was meant to spend the day with my wife,” he grumbles.

“You can take her to the fucking zoo some other time.” I still can’t believe Leo wanted a day off to go gawp at a bunch of caged animals. “Do we need to talk about who the boss of this family is?”

Leo’s jaw clenches. He’s not happy with me calling him out for his attitude, but he just shakes his head. He might enjoy pushing my buttons, but our sibling rivalry will never lead to him challenging me for my position. The bond I share with him, with all my brothers, is too strong for any of them to try to usurp me.

I glance down at Rico again and stifle a sigh. “Make sure this stays between us. Nobody else needs to know about Isabella’s involvement.”

My brothers all murmur their agreement. They know if the Mancini family demands justice, I’ll be faced with an impossible choice. The first option would be to silence them, but there’s a risk that in doing so, I’ll spark a rebellion in the ranks. Paolo and Gianni Mancini are well-liked. People won’t support me getting rid of them to protect the wife I’ve exiled.

My second option would be to hand Isabella over to the Mancinis, but that’s not something I could ever do. It would make me look weak and, besides, I can’t allow anyone to hurt her. While I’d happily wring her neck for what she’s done, I will kill any man who tries to harm her.

Leaving the people I trust most in the world to get on with the tasks I’ve set for them, I go in search of Isabella. As I head upstairs, a twinge of pain grips my right shoulder. It’s so intense, I actually gasp. I raise my hand and try to massage the ache away. The spot where I was injured hasn’t hurt for several months. My doctor and a top-notch physiotherapist saw to that. Why is it flaring up again on the day I’ll come face to face with Isabella? I guess it doesn’t take a psychologist to answer that.

I walk along the corridor to the primary suite, which is where I assume my wife sleeps. Aside from being the largest room, it has a great view of the ocean. It’s a luxury most prisoners wouldn’t be afforded.

When I open the door, I’m surprised to find Isabella isn’t lying on the bed, sobbing in distress. She’s standing with her back to the wall at the right side of the room. The king-sized bed lies between us.

She’s a mess. Blood splatters streak the front of her pale blue dress. Her long black hair is matted and her vivid green eyes glisten with unshed tears. Despite the state she’s in, my wife is still incredibly beautiful. She holds her chin up as she stares straight at me. If it wasn’t for the fact her lips are wobbling, I wouldn’t know she was afraid. Her chest rises and falls slowly. Then she blows out a breath.

“If you’re going to kill me, make it quick.”

Before I can assure my wayward bride I have no intention of hurting her, the strength she’d mustered deserts her. She takes a single step forward, stumbles, and crashes to the floor.

“Fuck!”

Did she hit her head? I go to check on her. Nothing’s bleeding, but she’s out cold. I think she fainted.

“Oh, Isabella,” I whisper as I brush the hair back from her pale, tear-streaked face. “What am I going to do with you?”

CHAPTER 2

Isabella

When I wake, the first thing I experience is a sharp pain shooting down my arm. I’ve been lying on it awkwardly. Sitting up, I rotate my shoulder to tease the tension. It takes a moment but, eventually, the pain fades to a dull ache.

The second thing I register is surprise. I thought when Antonio appeared in my bedroom, looking like an avenging angel, that he was going to kill me. It seems, in fact, he’s taken me to his Manhattan townhouse. Though I only shared this room with him for the few short weeks that our marriage was good, I instantly recognize the warm, earthy tones of the décor. The solid wooden bed I’m lying on is so large and imposing, I’m sure it was originally built for a Viking.

The third thing that grips me is a gut-wrenching twinge of regret. I killed a man. I battered Rico with a cast-iron skillet. Even as he lay helpless on the floor, I carried on hitting him. It was horrific, but what choice did I have? The man has been harassing me for months, cornering me in different parts of the house and touching me against my will. Today, I thought he was going to hurt me. If he’d carried out his threats, he couldn’t have risked leaving me alive to tell the tale. I have to remember that if I’m going to cope with the guilt of ending his life. It was him or me.

When I get up from the bed, I realize I’m wearing a black t-shirt that isn’t mine. It’s several sizes too big and falls to the top of my thighs. At some point, Antonio must have undressed me. How do I feel about that? It’s okay, I guess. He’s seen me naked before and I suppose I should be grateful not to be waking up in blood-soaked clothing. That would have freaked me out. I’d probably have fainted again.

The curtains are open, letting light into the room. It’s obviously daytime, but is it still Wednesday or did I sleep through an entire day? I must have been completely out of it if Antonio was able to move me to his house without waking me, so who knows?

Feeling grimy, I decide to go for a shower. When I push open the bathroom door, I’m hit by the familiar scent of Antonio’s body wash. The citrus notes make me think of long walks on a summer day. I shake my head. Ridiculous. As if Antonio and I ever took the time to go for a romantic stroll.

I strip off Antonio’s t-shirt and my panties, then get into the shower cubicle. The water temperature is preset the way my husband likes it so I don’t mess with the dials, just press the button to get the water flowing. It’s a couple of degrees cooler than I’m comfortable with, but I guess it’s invigorating and I need to wake up a bit.

I tilt my face up toward the water and let it stream over me for a minute before turning to wash my hair. It’s a tangled mess and I have to rake my fingers through it to get the worst of the knots out. I know I got blood in it so I don’t dare look at the floor of the shower in case the water running off me is pink. I shampoo thoroughly, rinse and repeat until I’m finally able to convince myself I’m clean.

Switching off the water, I get out of the shower and grab a towel. I dry myself quickly and put my panties and the t-shirt back on. There might still be some of my clothes in the closet in the bedroom, but I can’t bring myself to look. Though Antonio discarded me a year ago, I don’t think I could bear it if he’s wiped away every last trace of my existence.

Leaving my hair to drip dry, I come back out into the bedroom. As I head for the door, intending to track down Antonio and find out what he plans to do with me, I spot a tray by the fireplace. Curious, I go to check it out. There’s a bottle of water on it, along with a ham and tomato sandwich and a chocolate chip cookie.

I assume the food has been left for me, so I make myself comfortable in the armchair and grab the sandwich. While I eat, enjoying how the saltiness of the ham is tempered by the sweetness of the tomato, I wonder why I’m back here in the home I was banished from. A year ago, when I made the biggest mistake of my life by letting Antonio’s enemies into the house, I thought he’d put a bullet in my head. Though I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, I knew he wouldn’t see things that way. I was surprised he let me live. Now that I’ve killed one of his men, I can’t believe he’ll be merciful again. I know how the mob works—an eye for an eye.

Perhaps my estranged husband has different plans for me. There are worse fates than death. He might intend to send me to a whorehouse or sell me to some monster who’d make my life a living hell. Or perhaps I’m being overly dramatic and he’s finally going to give me a chance to explain my side of the story.

---