Page 64 of His Tesoro

Her eyes were wide. “Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know, tesoro.” I brushed the hair out of her face. “I’ll find out and they’ll pay.” I didn’t want her to be scared, but it was obvious that the Albanians were targeting her to get to me. This is what I’d always feared when considering marriage. Being too exposed, too vulnerable.

I’d done my best to create distance between us these past few weeks, but now I couldn’t bear the thought of being apart from her. I thought keeping my distance would protect myself from vulnerability, but maybe it had just caused more problems for both of us. Sofiya reached out a tentative hand, and my eyes fell closed as she brushed it along my jaw.

“Noodle was such a good boy,” she said, shifting in my lap so she could pet the dog. “Were you scared, malysh? You were so brave.”

Something hot burned in my chest, and it was definitely not jealousy at whatever pet name she just called the dog.

“He looks fine,” I said dryly. Noodle’s tongue was lolling out of his mouth as he leaned his head into Sofiya’s hand.

We pulled into the apartment’s underground garage and Sofiya stiffened. “Wait, did someone get my wheelchair?”

I met Angelo’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and he shook his head. “Make sure Romeo gets it,” I commanded, and he nodded.

“I’ll carry you inside.” I wasn’t sure I’d be able to let her go even if we did have her chair.

I waited to see if she would protest, but she relaxed into my hold. The feel of her head resting on my chest settled something inside me.

“Angelo,” Sofiya said, reaching out her hand to the guard as we got out of the car. “Thank you for protecting me.” Her voice cracked and she blinked quickly as she took his hand.

The fact that he had saved my wife’s life today was the only thing keeping me from chopping off his fucking hand. I wanted to be the only one she touched.

“Of course, bella,” he responded.

I just grunted and moved towards the elevator with Sofiya in my arms.

“Call the doctor,” I barked out.

“I don’t need a doctor,” Sofiya protested.

“Don’t argue,” I said, giving her a stern look. “You won’t win this one.”

“I’m glad you know I’ll win most of our arguments,” she said primly.

Fuck. I almost felt tempted to smile as the elevator ascended to our apartment.

37

SOFIYA

Matteo wouldn’t stop fussing. I had three blankets layered over me, and he kept bringing me beverages—water, tea, coffee, soda, and a large glass of grappa—a strong Italian liquor. The last one made me cock an eyebrow, but my harried husband hadn’t even noticed.

I was learning Matteo’s subtle tells. He wore a stony expression, his tone stern and serious, but he couldn’t hide how he ran his hand through his hair when stressed, the way his fists clenched with anxiety, and the slight crinkle of his eyes when happy. With every delivered beverage and food, every gruff question asking how I was doing, my chest grew warmer.

I hadn’t gotten the elaborate wedding I’d dreamed of or the smiling groom or the quiet, peaceful life in the countryside, but more and more I was thinking I’d ended up with something better.

“Do you need another blanket?” Matteo loomed over me, messy pieces of hair falling across his forehead and a slightly crazed look in his eyes.

The urge to tease him was strong, but instead, I held out my hand.

“What? What is it?” Matteo asked, staring down at me.

I snorted a giggle and grabbed his hand. “I don’t need any more blankets. Will you sit down with me?”

His eyes were fixed on our joined hands. For a moment, I thought I might have overstepped, but then Matteo gave me a squeeze. I tugged at him and he sat beside me on the couch. His body was stiff as he kept space between us. When we first met, I would have interpreted his behavior as being irritated with me, but I was growing increasingly suspicious that my husband might like me.

Might care for me.

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