Page 59 of Silent Vows

“Let them try something.” Bianca’s smile is pure DeLuca danger, and for a moment my chest tightens at how much she looks like me. “We protect our own.”

“Speaking of protection.” I guide Bella to my desk chair, ignoring her protests as I examine her injuries. Each mark onher perfect skin makes rage build in my chest. That anyone would dare touch her, hurt her…“You’re hurt.”

“Barely a scratch.” But she doesn’t stop me from gently touching her jaw, her temple where blood has matted in her hair. Her own hand comes up to my chest. “Your shoulder’s bleeding again.”

I glance down to find red seeping through my shirt. “Worth it.”

“Worth what?”

“Getting to hold you.” I cup her face with my good hand, careful of her bruises. My thumb traces her bottom lip, and I feel her breath catch. “Watching you come back to me.”

“Always,” she whispers, leaning into my touch. Her eyes hold mine, full of things we’re still learning to say. “I’ll always come back to you.”

Bianca makes an exaggerated gagging sound. “And that’s my cue to check on Elena. Try not to conceive any siblings while I’m gone.”

She slips out before either of us can respond, but her teasing carries no bite. If anything, there’s affection in it—acceptance of how much has changed in just a week.

Once we’re alone, I pull Bella to her feet, needing her closer. The sight of her injuries makes something primal rise in my chest. “You could have died today.”

“So could you, at the monastery.” Her fingers work at my shirt buttons with practiced grace, checking my wound with careful hands. The brush of her skin against mine sends electricity through my body despite my anger, despite my fear. “So could Bianca. It’s who we are, what this life is.”

“And you’re okay with that? This life you were forced into?”

“I wasn’t forced.” She meets my eyes steadily, and the conviction in her gaze steals my breath. “You gave me a choice that day in your office, remember? I chose this. Chose you.”

“Because of your father’s wishes?—”

“Because something in me recognized something in you.” Her fingers trace my chest above my heart, leaving fire in their wake. “The same something that made you watch over me, that made you choose Bianca over everything, that made you trust me today to handle Johnny myself.”

I catch her hand, pressing it more firmly against my chest so she can feel my heartbeat—the rhythm that exists only for her now. “When did you get so wise,piccola?”

“Somewhere between saying ‘I do’ and throwing your dead wife’s knife into Johnny Calabrese’s shoulder.” Her smile turns wicked, though it pulls at her split lip. “Speaking of which, your daughter gave mequitea wedding gift.”

“Our daughter,” I correct, watching pleasure flash across her face at the words. Despite her injuries, despite the blood still staining her clothes, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “And you’ve more than earned your place in this family.”

“Have I?” She rises on her toes, lips brushing mine with exquisite softness. “Maybe you should show me exactly what that place is.”

A growl escapes me as I pull her flush against me, ignoring the protest from my shoulder. Having her in my arms, alive and fierce and mine, makes every injury worth it. “Careful what you wish for, wife.”

“Why?” Her hands slide into my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp in a way that makes heat pool in my gut. “Afraid you can’t handle me?”

Instead of answering, I capture her mouth with mine. The kiss is different from our others—deep and thorough but achingly tender. She matches me emotion for emotion, her teeth catching my bottom lip in a way that makes me groan. The taste of her—tea and copper and something uniquely Bella—makes my head spin.

“We should check your shoulder,” she gasps when we break for air, but her hands continue mapping my chest.

“Later.” I’m already backing her toward the door that connects my study to our private rooms. Every step feels like coming home. “Right now, I need to show my wife exactly where she belongs.”

“And where’s that?”

I pause, studying her face—flushed with desire but still watching me with those artist’s eyes that see too much, understand too well. Even with her bruised jaw and blood-matted hair, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Here,” I say simply. “With me. With our family. For as long as you’ll have us.”

Her smile is radiant despite her split lip. “Till death do us part?”

“Even longer than that,piccola.” My voice is raw, the words roughened by all the feelings I can’t fully express. I kiss her again, pouring everything I can’t say into it. All the fear of almost losing her, all the pride in her strength, all the love I never thought I’d feel again. My thumb brushes the soft curve of her jaw, careful not to press too hard where her skin is bruised.

She kisses me back just as fiercely, her hands fisting the front of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go. When we part, she leans her forehead against mine, her breath warm against my lips.

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