Page 30 of Wounded King
"Going out and getting yourself shot, that's what you did. Scaring an old woman half to death," she tsks. She raises her hands, and I flinch back, expecting another slap.
"Hey, I just had skull surgery," I remind her.
"I was so worried, caro." She throws her two-hundred-pound, four-foot-eight-inch frame at me and nearly topples my precarious balance on the crutches. Her soft body presses into mine. Her smell of garlic, cinnamon, and vanilla is so contradictory and so familiar, an ache spreads through my chest.
"I'm sorry?" Awkwardly, I pull her into me around my crutches.
"You better be." A kitchen towel hits me over the head. "And you," her wrath turns on Luciano, causing a grin to spread over my face.
"Idiota!" The towel hits Luciano rapidly, and he raises his arms. "Sending an old lady a text, bah." She spits on the ground in front of his feet.
"Youtextedher that I was shot?" I ask, shooting an eyebrow up at him.
"I was kind of busy, okay? Ouch, Zia Rosa, stop, ouch." Luciano curses, holding his arms up to protect himself. A chuckle turns my attention to Kurt. One icy glare, and his chuckle dies.
"You haven't been home in weeks." Zia Rosa's usually olive skin turns red with anger.
"I'm sorry, Zia Rosa." Luciano looks it, too, amusing me even more.
"The only reason I'm forgiving you is because the dragon lady is finally leaving," Zia Rosa huffs, waving us inside. She clings to my arm, making walking harder, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
"Mina is still here?" I ask, and dread fills me. My hand reaches for my neck to massage it as my head begins to pound harder.
"How are you, amore mio?" She squeezes my bandaged bicep. I suppress a whimper, not wanting to make her feel bad.
"Better now that I'm home. The food was terrible," I try to change the topic to her favorite.
"If that idiota had come home," she gives Luciano the evil eye and another slap with the feared dishtowel, "I would have sent good food to the hospital. Food to make you strong. Look at how much weight you lost."
She finally lets go of my arm, waving hers through the air to underline her words, and points out my frame. She's right; the clothes one of the bodyguards brought are a little too big on me now. I have lost a few pounds.
"Ah, but your ravioli will make it all better," I say, bending to kiss her flour-spotted face.
"Ah, amore mio, I can't be mad at you. I'm so glad you're?—"
The sound of grunting interrupts her, and our eyes move to Mina as she sashays out of my bedroom. I narrow my eyes at her entourage of three men carrying bags. I've never allowed Mina to sleep over or move in with me. There is no way she has three bags full of shit in my penthouse.
"Oh, Marcello," she cries, rushing toward me, but Luciano stops her with one hand before she can collide with me. "I'm sorry, Marcello. Please don't make me go."
The private elevator door opens, and Alejandro chooses this moment to appear with Violet in tow. She walks in like a storm I didn't see coming. That soft voice, that steady gaze—it cuts through everything: even the pain and the fury. One look from her makes me forget everything.
"Oh my fucking God!" Mina spits. "Is she why I'm moving out?" She points a manicured finger at Violet. "Hah, I should have known, you little whore." She takes two steps forward, but I grab her arm.
"Mina," I hiss warningly.
Violet stares from Mina to me, her eyes wide. The tip of a very sexy pink tongue flicks over her lips as she tries to keep her composure.
"I'm sorry. I can come back…"
"I'm sure you can," Mina pushes her fists into her hips.
"Mina was just leaving," I say, my voice ice-cold, leaving no room for argument.
Huffing, Mina waves at the three men.
"Is that your watch?" Luciano points at one of the men's wrists.
"Probably," I sigh. "The bags are probably full of my stuff."
