Page 143 of Sin & Sapphire

Delighted to have her fuss over me, my chest overflowing with warmth, I allowed her to direct me while she searched for a first aid kit.

“Voilà,” Valentin said, handing her the duffle bag he kept under the kitchen sink.

Ana’s bright green eyes wavered as she pulled supplies from the bag.

“Do you even know how to dress a wound?” I teased, only for a broken sob to burst out of her. She ignored me as she doused gauze with alcohol.

“So fucking stupid,” she said, slapping her hand on my chest. “You got shot protecting me!” A tear streaked down her face, then another, and this gorgeous, composed, beautiful angel broke down in tears over a flesh wound.

I grabbed her arms so roughly she winced. “It’s just a scratch.”

“I’m not worth it,” she said softly. “Not worth getting hurt over.”

My heart cracked wide open at the pain in her voice. “Angel, I would sacrifice myself a thousand times over to keep you and Valentin safe.”

Her green eyes shone bright with tears when I pinched her chin and forced her gaze to mine.

“You belong to me, Ana Costa. I own your body. I own your soul. I own your delectable cunt. And that means that I will lay down my life to protect yours. Do you understand that?”

Ana searched my eyes, as if she didn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.

“Who do you belong to, Ana?”

“You,” she answered, her voice thick with emotion. She pushed up on her toes to brush her lips against mine. “You,” she said again, more confidently. “And you belong to me,” she added.

Warmth flowed through me like molten gold, filling in the cracks in my soul. “Sì, angel. I belong to you too.”

Ana nodded firmly, then stepped out of my arms so she could clean the cut on my bicep. The sting of the antiseptic barely registered against the delight of her delicate fingers cleaning my wound, moments after she’d claimed me as completely as I’d claimed her.

When I looked up to find Valentin watching us, I expected to find amusement in his gaze, gentle mockery of our sentiment, but instead, his head was tilted quizzically.

“You belong to me too,stronzo,” I muttered.

“You need stitches,” Ana said softly. “This is more than a simple flesh wound.”

“Then stitch me up,” I told her.

“I’ve never?—”

Valentin wrapped his arms around her, propping his chin on her shoulder. She nuzzled her cheek against his, and that odd warmth in my chest returned.

“I’ve stitched him up more times than I can count,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

Ana nodded shakily. “I don’t want to leave a scar.”

“Oh, angel, haven’t you figured it out yet? I’d like nothing more than for you to leave your mark on me.”

Ana didn’t dignify that with a response.

I kept my gaze on her face as she carefully stitched me up, following Valentin’s instructions with intense concentration. She hadn’t flinched at the blood. She didn’t care about plunging a needle into my flesh. She just didn’t want to hurt me.

Just as she tied off the thread, a harsh knock sounded at the door.

“Enzo Accardi,” my bodyguard announced.

I hopped off the barstool and grabbed my shoulder holster, shrugging it back on over my bare chest.

Ana darted over to the kitchen to wash her hands while Valentin packed up the first aid kit.

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