Page 72 of Worth the Risk

“I worked for a college athletic program, Jefferson. It was my job.”

Jefferson turns me, dragging the tip of the knife against my neck. “It’s moot now. We’re returning to Georgia, and you will not be working outside of my home.”

“Your home?”

“Yes, pet, mine. It’s mine until you show me you deserve to call it yours. With how disgraceful you’ve been, you’ll be lucky if I let you sleep on the floor next to my bed.”

I stare at him incredulously. His eyes are cold. His typically well-kept hair is limp and pallid, not looking like the all-American blonde I remember when we first began dating. His skin is pale and discolored, as if it’s been weeks since he’s washed it. He doesn’t look a thing like the Jefferson I remember. It is acutely obvious how different Jefferson and Luca are. Jefferson is a weasel, and Luca is a lion.

“What happened to you?” I whisper.

Jefferson’s eyes narrow. “You happened to me. You. I wasn’t supposed to actually fall for you, Hannah Ann. You were just a means to an end. Then you left me, and everything fell apart. So you’re coming back with me, and you’re making things right.”

He begins to turn me, obviously with the intent of dragging me out of the apartment, and all hell breaks loose. A loud crash jolts me as Jefferson grunts, falling forward and hitting the floor at my feet. I see Claire behind him, holding the heavy lamp from her room. At the same time, the police run into the apartment, Luca hot on their heels.

“Sir, stay back!” An officer shouts at Luca, but he pushes through and yanks me into his arms.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

I take a stuttering breath before whimpering, “No. I’m not okay.”

Sobs break as my body finally relaxes into Luca’s embrace. “I’ve got you, bella. I’ve got you.”

He picks me up, cradling me against his chest, and moves to the other side of the room, away from where Jefferson has awakened and the police are reading him his rights. Claire looks on sympathetically, still holding the lamp, as she answers questions.

Luca doesn’t speak. One arm holds me tightly in his embrace, while the other rhythmically strokes up and down my spine. His breathing remains steadfast, and I feel my heart rate begin to slow as I focus on him.

“Ms. Beauregard,” a voice says from above me.

“Can this wait? She’s fucking traumatized,” Luca snaps.

“I only have a couple questions that I need to ask now, Mr. Santo. Everything else can wait until after she’s received medical care, or even tomorrow at the station.”

“I don’t need medical care,” I mumble, my voice raspy and stuttering.

“You do, baby. You need stitches,” Luca murmurs against my temple. I jolt, realizing I’m bleeding everywhere.

“Oh, Luca, your suit,” I exclaim. One of his beautiful game day suits is covered in blood.

“I don’t give a fuck about the suit, Pixie. All I care about is you,” he says softly. I sigh, resting my forehead against his, as I struggle to rein in my emotions.

“Why don’t we walk down to the ambulance, and I can ask my questions while they’re getting you situated in the rig?” the officer says.

“Can’t I drive myself?” I ask. Both the officer and Luca laugh.

“No, ma’am, we’d prefer you take a quick ride. Like your husband said, you’ve had some trauma tonight. Let us worry about the drive.”

“He’s not my husband,” I mutter.

“Yet,” Luca says. I look at him, and he smiles lovingly at me. “Yet, baby. I’m not your husband yet.”

Leave it to Luca to make me smile during one of the most traumatic times of my life. This man.

After giving Claire a quick hug, Luca carries me down to the ambulance. Me telling him I was perfectly capable of walking — I think — fell on deaf ears. With it already being a late night, and my adrenaline crashing, I have to fight to keep my eyes open. I only somewhat recognize Luca climbing in the ambulance with me.

When I open my eyes again, bright lights make me squint. It takes me a moment to acclimate, and I realize I’m in a hospital bed. Luca is asleep in a chair he’s pulled up next to the bed, his head resting next to my hip, my uninjured hand clasped tightly in his. I take time to study him. Even after everything, he looks so effortlessly chic and handsome. Only Luca can pull off hair sticking up in every direction. He sighs and moans quietly in his sleep, smacking his lips together and muttering some gibberish. I can’t prevent the giggle that erupts from my lips, causing Luca to stir. When he raises his head to look at me, he gives me a lopsided smile.

“Morning, baby,” he says, his voice deep and scratchy with sleep.

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