Page 107 of Mafia King: Matteo
“No clue. But we have a call into the Irish. I think they want something from me and are trying to leverage nothing into something.” I take Matteo’s hand, and he allows me to hold it.
“Are you going to be okay?” Bianca asks, moving closer to her brother’s bed.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll have a scar.” He shrugs.
“Well, thank God they didn’t have better aim,” she jokes.
“They sent a message. If they wanted him dead, he’d be dead,” Gio speaks at last. “I’m sorry, Alena. I never should have let my guard down. It won’t happen again.”
“I want the person responsible for this!” I yell in frustration. We’re victims. I hate being powerless.
I’m also pissed. I want to scream and shout with the anger that swells inside every cell in my body.
Matteo was shot and could have died. I’d be lost without him. I consoled myself in the fact that he’s alive. However, the situation reminds me how fragile life is.
I’m so in love with him that I can’t focus on anything else. I’ll be by his side as long as he needs me. Sex is no longer fucking—it’s become meaningful. Touch for touch, a caress in return for a caress. He makes love to me, and he’s letting me in.
When we make love, our eyes meet, our souls kiss, and the euphoria is pure joy. So much so that I cry tears of happiness, and I don’t hide the fact that my cheeks are wet. I love this man.
Federico leaves the food on the bureau and leaves the room. Gio and Niccoló excuse themselves, and Bianca kisses her brother on the cheek and tells him she’s relieved he will be okay.
We’re alone. I change into a jogger and crawl into bed with him.
“How are you feeling?”
“The pain pills are working,” he teases.
“You know what I meant.”
“I’m fine. And I’ll get to the bottom of this. It was probably the Irish. I have the Morettis being watched, and it’s been quiet at his house. Did you know his wife hasn’t been seen in months?”
Matteo is wounded, but he still talks about work. That’s my husband. He works nonstop. In his mind, we’ll be safe once he solves the mystery of Luciano and Chiara’s murders. I love him for his dedication. I’ve learned so much from him. I admire the man he is, even though he loves to show the world his rough exterior.
“No, I didn’t know that. Are you sure she’s alive? Her husband is strange. No, that isn’t strong enough of a word. He’s mean and spiteful. He’s powerful, and powerful men can make things happen.”
“Oh, I know that. She wouldn’t be the first to die by suicide.”
“Oh, so that’s how you’d do it?” I tease him as I lean my head on his toned shoulder and lay my arm protectively over him.
“Come here,” he says, wrapping his uninjured arm around me. “I couldn’t wait for you to get home. Did you have fun?”
“Yes, but I missed you.”
“I missed you more.”
“It’s debatable, but since you’re wounded, I’ll let you get away with it this time. But I’m taking care of you.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“You have no choice. We’re camping out in bed until Monday.”
“That means we have all day Sunday to fool around.”
It’s refreshing to see his sense of humor return.
“I was thinking we’d hang out and watch TV and cuddle. You’re supposed to be resting.” I nuzzle his neck and breathe in the smell of the light fragrance from his natural soap.
“That’s not what I have in mind,” he growls. It’s similar to the sound he makes before he tears my underwear off with his teeth.
