Page 68 of Luca

Waking in the hospital, or rather the doctor’s house, was a surprise, to say the least. When people say they don’t remember their accident, I don’t understand how. I remembered every second of it. The fear in my husband’s eyes when he saw me bleeding in the car will forever be ingrained in my memory. As soon as I realized what happened in that car, I was terrified. I was certain that when my eyes closed, they would never open again. And I couldn’t stop it from happening. When I did eventually wake up to Luca sitting beside me, I was so damn thankful. I don’t know how I would’ve possibly handled him lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

The doctor kept me for a few days for observation. Thankfully, the bullet went all the way through, and no major damage was done. He said the shot was one in a million. I’d be good with not testing those odds ever again.

Instead of heading back to the penthouse, Luca and Finn decided to have us stay at Finn’s estate outside of Boston, where we’ve been for the last two weeks. They aren’t sure how the shooter knew where we were, but best guess is they were watching Maeve and Cormac’s house for any signs of us. At least, we’re assuming they were after me and Luca since Eoghan found pictures of the two of us in the hit man’s car.

The one thing I know for certain, deep in my bones, is my brother ordered it. Though no one from the Cataldi organization will touch him with a ten-foot pole now, it’s not as though he couldn’t go out and hire any asshole off the street. Any reservations about what Finn and Luca plan to do to my brother when they find him were wiped away with that bullet. Not that I have any. We all know what being in this life means. My loyalty to my brother ended the day he was willing to give me away to our enemy. Before that, if I really think about it. My allegiance to the Monaghans was solidified the moment Luca told me what Carlo did to Alessia. I had a choice to make in that moment, and I chose my husband and his family. And I don’t regret it for a single second.

Since it’s been nearly three weeks since the shooting, the doctor has cleared me for light duty, not that I have anything to do in the house. Today, I decided to try my hand at baking. I called Isabella, and her mom sent me some of my grandmother’s old recipes. I’m assuming they were the ones my mother used to make with me in the kitchen when I was younger, but I really have no way of knowing. There are so many things I’ll never know about my mother, but Luca was right when he said we can separate the person from their mistakes and love them regardless. Today, the urge to somehow be closer to the woman who died with so many secrets is strong.

While I’m putting the finishing touches on the fiocco di neve, Finn and Alessia come back from their morning run.

“Oh my God,” Finn groans, walking up to the counter as I sprinkle the powdered sugar on the pastries. “Is this what it's like being married to a proper Italian woman who actually cooks?”

I laugh and shake my head. I swear this man loves to goad his wife into an argument any chance he gets.

“Keep it up, husband, and I’ll be sure to have Giada bake these for your funeral next week.” Alessia shoots Finn a sharktooth smile while her eyes stare daggers into him.

“You love me too much to ever kill me,” Finn replies, walking over to give his wife a smacking kiss on her cheek. I’m honestly surprised he has the balls to stand so close to her.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, dear.”

Luca enters the kitchen in a pair of gym shorts with a tight workout shirt stretched across his broad chest. God, he looks edible. It’s been weeks since we’ve been able to have any more intimate moments together. Luca sleeps next to me every night, but he hasn’t touched me since the shooting. Yes, there’re sweet kisses every day and lingering looks, but other than that…nothing. I realize I was just given the okay, but he’s been treating me like a fragile glass figurine, as though if you knock into me, I’ll fall and shatter.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, coming up and giving me another sweet kiss on the mouth. He pops one of the bite-sized pastries in his mouth and lets out a nearly indecent moan. God, what I wouldn’t do to feel that moan on my body. He licks the sugar from his lip, and I’m staring at his mouth so hard Alessia clears her throat and sends me a knowing look.

“What do you say to some target practice?” she asks.

“That sounds like a great idea.” That’s what she does when she’s stressed or is trying to work something out in her head. Seems like I could use some of that.

“Are you sure that’s okay with the doctor?” Luca asks.

I swear, the first time I attempted to brush my damn teeth, he asked if it was “doctor-approved.” I told him yes, that five out of five dentists recommend it. He didn’t find it amusing.

“I spoke with Dr. Simmons two days ago. He said I was fine for light work. I told you that.” Irritation is evident in my tone, but he’s acting like a mother hen at this point.

“Is shooting considered ‘light?’”

“If it aggravates my shoulder too badly, I’ll stop. Deal?”

“I don’t know abo—”

Before he can finish his sentence, I shove a fiocco di neve in his mouth. “I said I’ll be fine.” I turn to Alessia. “Come on. I want to see your present from Finn.”

When we get downstairs to the range that doubles as a safe room, Alessia pulls out the custom 9mm Finn had made for her birthday.

“Isn’t she pretty?” Alessia says when she hands me the gun. I make sure it’s pointed at the ground when I take it from her grip and promptly check if it’s loaded.

“Good girl,” she says with a wide smile.

“I don’t know much about guns.” I look at the engraving. “My heart, my loyalty, and my life,” I read out loud. “That’s sweet.”

Alessia smiles. “My husband can be quite the poet when he wants.”

Handing the gun back to Alessia, I stare at the wall of firearms.

She grabs a .22 and hands it to me. “I think this one is good enough for now. Less kickback.”

I load the gun and grab ear protection while she loads a paper target for me. As soon as I begin firing and my sole focus is on hitting the target, my worries begin to melt away. The only thing I’m focused on is keeping my arm steady and my aim true. Well, as true as it can be for someone who’s only had about a week’s worth of practice. When I press the button to bring the target back to me, I see I hit the paper seven out of ten times.

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