Page 55 of Stolen Vows
He walks back around to my side of the bed again, sets me down with my legs dangling over the edge, and closes my fist around the hilt of the knife my father tried to kill him with.
Without a word, he conveys a million different things.
My breath hitches as sobs build in my chest.
“Why are you trusting me now?”I manage through the frog in my throat.
The swell of emotions aggravates my bruised vocal cords, but nothing hurts more than the thought of my father betraying the man I’ve loved in so many ways over the years.
“Maybe your comment about miscommunication has merit,” he murmurs as he kneels between my legs.
“This was my father’s knife, right?The one he used to give you those scars?”I ask.
He nods and spans his thick fingers over my thighs.I never expected to see my strong, ruthless husband on his knees for anyone, but he adapts and turns the position intimate when he teases the bottom hem of my shorts with his thumbs.
I clear my throat and wince at the discomfort before asking, “Did you want me to stab my father with his own knife at our wedding?”
He hums and slips his thumbs under the fabric of my shorts.I try to push one of his hands away, but he weaves his fingers through mine and lifts my knuckles to his lips.
“It was an exciting possibility but—”
“I should have.I’m sorry I didn’t.It would’ve been so… tragically satisfying,” I interrupt.“Shouldn’t that have been your epic revenge?”
Mario nips the back of my hand and shakes his head before speaking with his lips brushing against my skin.
“He would’ve died too soon.I’m nowhere near done with him yet.”
My heart lurches in my chest, but not out of concern for Pietro Denaro.I’m afraid my next words will destroy the newfound peace between Mario and me.
I take a chance and drop the knife on the bed beside me before touching his cheek, begging for his full attention and hoping for his understanding.
“I am, though.I’m done.I never want to see him again.I’m sorry if—”
“Hush,paperotta.You don’t have to.You’re mine now.Only mine,” he vows.
The first sob escapes from my chest.
I’m free.Mario believes me.He trusts me.
Maybe one day he will love me.
As I break down into uncontrollable sobs, Mario wraps his arms around me, pulls me closer, and rests his head on my chest.
It’s unlike any hug I’ve ever received.More than comfort, he offers intimacy without expectations, adoration without limits, and support without judgment.
When the worst of my tears cease, he guides me to lie down and slips the blade under my pillow before rising and disappearing into the bathroom.
I sigh.Exhaustion returns with a vengeance.
Mario brings a cool damp washcloth and wipes my face with more gentleness than should be possible from such a brutal man.
Without words, he gathers my hair off the pillow, braids it loosely over my shoulder, and ties it with a band he must have retrieved from the bathroom.
I capture his wrist before he walks away.
“If I have another nightmare, don’t touch me, okay?Either get up and walk around or talk to me or something.Please?”
He drops the washcloth onto the bedside table, crawls over me, and pulls me little spoon style against him in response.
