Page 46 of Diavolo

"I believe so."

"What about you? How long will you be away?"

Alessandro glanced away. His mouth flattened into a grim line. For a moment, Elyse thought he might not answer her. Her nerves tensed up. She prompted, "Sir?"

Again, she said it. To let him know she cared. And steel herself from caring too much. He turned back and gave her a long, lingering look. Smiling faintly, he answered a few seconds later, "If all goes well, I hope to return later tonight."

Elyse's pulse fluttered as she picked up on what he left unsaid. "What happens if thingsdon'tgo well?"

"Would you miss me?"

Her eyes went wide. Why was he acting as though they might never see each other again? The sense of finality in his voice was deeply concerning. She couldn't help but worry. Her anxiety kicked into overdrive. What was Alessandro planning to do? Not knowing anything about his life was maddening, and Elyse's growing fear for the bastard's safety soon slipped out by accident. Her response sounded sharper than she intended, "Only if you die."

With a strained chuckle, he admitted, "Well, I would certainly miss you.Cazzo.Mi manchi già."

Elyse's heart faltered, clenching with emotion. "Just come back alive, okay?"

The plea in her voice seemed to trigger something in him. Alessandro fell silent for a moment, brown and blue-gray eyes burning with intensity, before stating, "There is something you must know before I go."

"What is it?"

In a slow, steady motion, Alessandro turned his hand to expose his wrist. Elyse caught a glimpse of black feathered wings embracing a deadly sword when he confessed, "This… was also a lie."

"What do you mean?"

"I was sober as fuck when I got it."

His tattoo wasn't a drunken whim? She dared to ask, "Then why did you get it?"

A shadow of a smile emerged as his gaze held hers. "I… was supposed to die in New York. After returning to Europe, enemies have tried to finish what they started a few more times, and I keep disappointing them. By being one impossible motherfucker to kill. But it has not been easy. Staring death in the face, day after day, can fuck with a man's head. I felt a need to keep you with me in some way. I became fixated with the idea that—as long as you were near—no harm could come to me. You kept me alive when I was meant for death, after all. That is why I chose to brand myself. With you.L'angelo che salvò il diavolo."

His Italian mirrored Spanish.

El ángel que salvó al diablo.

The angel who saved the devil.

It was then Elyse noticed the particular positioning of the winged blade. The devil-black ink wasn't centered on Alessandro's wrist. Instead, the tattoo was etched over his pulse point. As though it'd been placed there to shield and safeguard every beat that mirrored his heart. Her breath caught at the realization.

Alessandro stared down at his tattoo. Then, he glanced back at her. "Perhaps, this memento will be enough to bring me back tonight.Alive and well. So that you may continue to hate me as my wife. Instead of my widow."

Before Elyse could reply, Alessandro turned away. He gave Nils a signal to drive away, leaving her alone with Monte. An uncomfortable tightness seized her chest as she watched the car disappear around the corner. Elyse didn't hate the bastard at all, damn it.

Far more than her heart wished to admit.

11

The anguish in Elyselingered long after Alessandro left. To divert her thoughts from the deadly activities he was likely partaking in, she needed to stop obsessing over shit that was out of her control. Elyse focused on resolutions that were within reach, turning to her burly new companion. It'd benefit her to befriend Monte. Over time, she might even earn enough of Monte's trust to glean some insight on how to keep her husband-to-be from killing himself on these suicide missions he kept going on. With a polite smile, she greeted the scary-looking fellow. "Thank you for looking after me, Monte. I appreciate it."

For some reason, the brute refused to make eye contact with her. Keeping his gaze focused straight ahead, Monte grunted back a terse one-word response, "Prego."

"Do you speak English?"

He shook his meaty head. "Mi dispiace, signorina, non parlo inglese.English... no good."

"At least," she offered, "your English is better than my Italian."

Monte grunted again.

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