Page 33 of His Tesoro

“Yes, Boss.”

Sofiya took my offered arm to get into the armored BMW, and it filled me with a sense of satisfaction.

Almost as much satisfaction as seeing her in my passenger seat when I rounded the car, her cheeks pink and lips smiling like she was happy to be with me.

18

SOFIYA

“Did you say we’re going to a clinic?” I asked a silent Matteo as he wove in and out of traffic. The radio was off and I wasn’t brave enough to turn it on.

“Yes.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at his short response.

“Are you being charged by the word? Because I was under the impression you’d be able to afford some sort of unlimited speaking plan.”

Matteo glanced at me, brow furrowed. “What?”

“That probably cost you another ten cents,” I muttered.

I didn’t know why I was being so bratty, why I cared so much about talking to this man, about him liking me. I could blame it on the pain—the wheelchair assessment had pushed my already hurting body—but if I was honest, it was the thought of spending the rest of my life in a cold, loveless marriage that was too much to bear.

Matteo cleared his throat. “Last night, Romeo and I went to an Albanian safe house. We found two young women there, and we suspect they’ve been trafficked. But they don’t speak English. It sounded like they were speaking Russian, so I was wondering if you could see if you understand them.”

I stared at him, lips parted. Not only had he spoken multiple sentences in a row, he was letting me get involved in Mafia business. But the part I was most fixated on was the fact that last night, he was at a safe house, not with a mistress. The ugly, jealous monster that had been festering inside of me pumped its fist in victory.

“That paragraph probably cost me a dollar fifty,” Matteo said.

“Oh. My. God.” Did he just make a joke? I stared at my husband in befuddled awe, which only grew as his expression transformed into a smirk. It was almost a real smile.

“We’re here,” he said, pulling into an underground garage.

“Are we close to the apartment?”

He nodded. “Just around the block. The clinic used to be in my building until Dr. Amato insisted on a larger space.”

“Are the girls injured? Is that why you brought them here?”

“Stay there,” Matteo said, getting out of the car and rounding to my side. He opened the passenger door and leaned in toward me. His large frame caged me in, imposing but somehow comforting.

“They had some injuries, yes, but mainly, we needed a safe place for them.”

I stared up at him, this cold, hard Don who showed more kindness than I’d ever expected of a Made Man. My eyes traced over his strong, square jaw, his lips that looked impossibly soft, the little scar under his eye I’d never noticed. We seemed to both be taking the other in, and then our eyes met. Were we leaning in closer to each other? A little spark fluttered in my stomach, and I looked back at his lips. Would he kiss me? Our kiss at the ceremony had been too brief, and I wanted another.

Matteo straightened abruptly. “I’ll get your chair.”

My heart sank and I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before opening them again. I was being stupid.

I eased my way out of the car, forcing myself to breathe slowly as pain shot through me. Everything hurt. I wished I could lie down with a heating pad and my meds and sleep until the pain went away, but there were more important things to do right now.

And it’s not like the pain ever fully went away, anyway.

I sat down heavily, wishing I had my new cushioned chair already. And then a wave of resentment hit me all at once. Resentment that I needed a wheelchair at all. Why couldn’t I just be normal?

I went to push, but Matteo beat me to it, grabbing the wheelchair handles and propelling me forward.

“Oh, umm, wait,” I said, twisting around. “Can you not do that?”

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