Page 48 of Devour
In the library, I scan the shelves until I find something light a short romantic comedy, under 200 pages. It’ll be a breeze to get through, I tell myself as I turn on the lamp beside me and sink into the chaise. I’ll be done before he gets back.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Luca
The house is dark, except for the dim light spilling from the hallway. My footsteps echo quietly against the marble floor, and I barely resist the urge to yank off the tie strangling my throat.
It’s past midnight—late, even for me. Business ran long, I tell myself. But deep down, I know the truth. I stayed away because I didn't know how to face her. Not yet. Not when I can’t figure out how to tell her what I feel… or what I really want.
I head down the corridor toward my study, fully intending to crash on the leather couch. I don’t trust myself tonight, not when I’ve had just enough to drink to blur the lines between restraint and need.
I shrug off my suit jacket and fling it over the back of the couch. The tie follows. I’m about to throw myself on the couch when I notice it—A sliver of light. Faint, almost imperceptible light seeps from beneath the crack of the double doors leading to the library.
My instincts snap to life. No one should be awake at this hour. Could it be an intruder? Could it be Romano's men? Vito? Another cartel testing my defenses?
My mind instantly flashes to my wife. My child. Griselda. The guards protecting this house are trained professionals no one should be able to get past them. Still, I’m not taking any chances.
I cross to my desk and quietly punch in the code to the safe. It clicks open, and the cold grip of the gun meets my handlike an old friend. I haven’t carried it on me since Noah arrived. I didn't want his first memory of me to be of a man with a weapon.
Silently, I move toward the library doors. I don’t know how many I might be dealing with, but surprise is my best advantage. I inch the door open, ready to act—And I freeze.
She’s there. Curled up on the chaise, legs folded beneath her, a book resting lightly on her chest. Her head has tilted to the side; lips parted slightly in sleep. She’s wearing a loose pink T-shirt, the hem riding up just enough to reveal matching shorts.
Her legs are bare, lit gently by the warm glow of the reading lamp overhead. She shifts in her sleep, stretching out slowly, one leg sliding free and my gaze follows it, stopping at her feet—small, delicate, her toes painted in soft pink. I swallow. Hard.
What the hell. I never thought I had a thing for feet. But staring at hers, all I can think about is kissing each one.
Maybe sucking on her big toe just to see if it makes her gasp. Fuck. I blink hard and drag a hand down my face, trying to shake the spiral.
I can’t just stand here drooling over my sleeping wife like a creep. She’s clearly not comfortable lying like that. I move to the chaise and place the gun quietly on the side table. Gently, I lift the book from her chest and set it aside.
Then I slip one arm under her knees and the other beneath her back, lifting her into my arms. She mumbles something inaudible as I carry her to our bedroom.
Once there, I lay her down softly, pulling the covers over her. She settles in with a sleepy sigh, oblivious. I linger. Just a few seconds. Watching her. I want to slide in next to her, curl around her warmth. But if I do, sleep won’t be what’s on my mind.
With a low sigh, I turn away and walk back out, not sparing her a backward glance. I head to the study and crash onthe couch for the night. I need to be in my right mind when we take their shipment tomorrow.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Ariel
Amix of different scents assaults my senses. I crinkle my nose, trying to place them as I slowly open my eyes, only to spot a bouquet of flowers on the nightstand.
My eyes widened. Who would give me flowers? I roll my eyes at my own silliness. Who else could it be but Luca, my husband? It still doesn’t feel real, so I stick to calling him by his name.
He must’ve been the one to carry me into the bedroom, because I don’t remember getting here myself. I stretch over and pick up the bouquet, bringing it to my nose and closing my eyes as I inhale deeply.
The scent is intoxicating, soft and sweet, and it pulls a smile from me before I even realize it. When I open my eyes again, my jaw drops. There are more bouquets. All around the bed.
I throw off the covers and step onto the floor, walking toward them. One is a red rose arrangement shaped like a heart. Another—a teddy bear made entirely of white chrysanthemums and baby’s breath.
I spot lilies, tulips, peonies, and delicate sprigs of lavender mixed into the larger bouquets. The whole room smells like a blooming garden in spring. I could practically open a flower shop with the number of flowers in here.
Why is he being so sweet to me? Since we got here, he’s been… kind. Thoughtful. I thought he married me to punish me. But this—this doesn’t feel like punishment.
First, it was jasmine. Then the romance novel. Now flowers. His actions are confusing. It’s making me question everything, even the reason I wanted to leave in the first place.
I have to keep reminding myself, he’s the head of a mob syndicate. They deal in drugs, guns, murder, and a lot of other awful things. I don’t think it’s possible to run something like that without bodies piling up.
