Matteo and I crashed onto the marble flooring. My butt took the brunt of the fall and his body landing on mine stole the oxygen from my lungs. Dazed, I tried to make sense of the chaos erupting through the lobby, but I couldn’t. My husband was on top of me, his biceps braced on either side of my face with his hands covering the top of my head.
His fierce eyes pierced into mine.
“Matteo,” I whispered.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he growled savagely. He yelled something at Nico.
Screams and the stampede of feet echoed in my ears.
Matteo eased off me slightly, but the tension roiling in his body radiated into mine.
His breath serrated.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He didn’t respond but called out above my head. “Are we clear?”
“Clear,” Nico and one other guy responded.
Matteo’s weight lifted off me, but instead of getting up, he rolled to my side on his back and groaned, “Motherfucker.”
His shoulders partially rose so he could peer down his torso before his whole body collapsed and he groaned again.
“No.” Fear strangled my cry. I scrambled to my knees, my hands not sure where to touch. “Were you hit?”
His eyes were squeezed shut as he gritted his teeth. “Stomach.”
I ripped open his suit and the vest. Blood was rapidly seeping through his white dress shirt. A map of red.
“Flesh wound,” he grunted.
“This is no flesh wound,” I cried, glancing over my shoulder. “Nico!”
His brother crashed to his knees beside us. “Ambulance is on the way.”
This was surreal. Someone produced a towel and Nico put pressure on the area.
“Son of a bitch,” Matteo gritted, squeezing his eyes shut.
I’d never been more helpless in my life. All I could do was hold on to his hand.
“I think it went through,” Nico said.
Matteo emitted a rough chuckle, finally opening his eyes to look at me. Pain glazed in them. “Sorry for the fucked-up wedding night.”
Tears scalded my eyes. “I don’t care about the wedding night. I just want you to be okay.”
He attempted a smile, but a wave of pain must have hit him because his mouth flattened. When he was finally able to speak, he asked, “Galluzo?”
Nico shook his head. “Santiago.”
“Shit.” Matteo winced. This time it didn’t seem to be from the pain. I continued to grip his hand. I’d retreated into my head, praying, blocking out the noise around us.
Please let him be okay. Let him be okay. Please. I’ll give up anything.
Cursing and spewed hatred sliced through the vacuum of my thoughts. The man who shot my husband was getting hauled away by hotel security. “I hope you die, motherfucker. I’ll bury your entire family and spit on your graves.”
A chill went through my spine, not because I was afraid of him, but because my eyes fixated on the holstered gun belted around the waist of the hotel security guard watching over us.
The urge to seize the weapon and shoot the man who hurt my husband was overwhelming.
I guessed I wasn’t as forgiving as St. Rita after all.
Sera
“Here.” Ivy handed me a Styrofoam cup of coffee.
I wouldn’t leave Matteo’s side. After going through six hours of surgery, he was finally out of the recovery room and in a private one. The bullet went through on his right side and lacerated part of his liver. It did not hit any arteries.
De Lucci security was tight. Nico transformed from businessman to underworld boss. Gone was the lazy broodiness and in its place was grim proficiency. I’d caught whispers of conversations around me. I guessed because I was now Matteo’s wife, they could speak freely. They were still careful when Ivy was around. My friend sensed this and did what she could to let them do their jobs while making sure I was comfortable. She brought me a change of clothes, so I could put away my blood-soaked wedding ensemble.
I wondered if we were being punished because we had defied family.
What happened had nothing to do with the Galluzo or our recent troubles with them. I had a feeling it had something to do with the business that involved Ronan and the fringe organization that operated outside the mafia.
I heard Luca talking about this mythical group. One who wasn’t tangential to organized crime, but rose above it. It was whispered about in the underworld. No one confirming or denying.
Before I married Matteo, I didn’t have the right to ask him about the rumor. My eyes took in his sleeping form, his ashen face. I’d never seen him so still. I wasn’t going to be my mother. There would be no secrets between me and Matteo. I needed to know everything that would put my husband in danger.
If I had any doubt that I loved Matteo, I was clear about my feelings for him now. Why else would I throw myself in front of him? Why else would I shield his body with mine? But it was he who put himself between danger and me. Did that mean he loved me too?
“You’ll need that.” Ivy broke through my thoughts, nodding at the cup in my hand. “I heard from Nico. His family has landed.”
That meant Luca was with them. My uncle had been frantic when I spoke to him right after the shooting. He wanted to evacuate me from Vegas. I had to remind him that my place was with my husband.
The doctor said the next twenty-four hours were crucial to monitor for infection and other complications from the surgery.
A groan from the bed called our attention. Matteo stirred. I sprang to his bedside. He’d been awakened earlier but had been extremely groggy from the anesthesia. They pumped him full of painkillers too.
His eyes opened. Barely.
My fingers curled into his. His grip tightened.
“Next time…” He spoke with difficulty. “My wife…does not put herself,” he hissed in a ragged breath. “In front of a bullet.”
“That’s the first thing you say to me?” I cried softly.
“Yes,” he gritted. “We will have words later, baby.” His jaw clenched when he tried to move.
“Stop. You’re going to tear your stitches. What do you need?”
“Thirsty.”
“I’ll go get the nurse,” Ivy said.
We could have used the call button, but I had a feeling my friend wanted to give us privacy.
After a couple of ice chips, his eyes became less hooded, but they were still glazed. He shifted in the bed, clearly uncomfortable.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I am. Don’t worry about me.”
“How can you say that?”
I noticed a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“First night.” He coughed and then a small groan crept up his throat. “As man and wife and you nearly got shot.”
“Maybe you should not speak,” I said.
He glared at me.
“Talking obviously gives you pain,” I said gently.
He grunted.
I lovingly swept the hair away from his face. He tried to avoid my hand, obviously annoyed at me. I sort of understood him. It was a big blow to his pride that he was laid up in the hospital, on our wedding night no less.
The nurse came in followed by the doctor. The bustle of diagnostics began with a very disgruntled male.
When the door opened to let Matteo’s parents in, I was struck by their sheer presence.
I’d heard about the beauty of Matteo’s mother, Ava. Her effortless attire of jeans, sneakers, and a light jacket over a tee was an antithesis of what I expected of the wife of a powerful man, much less a De Lucci. The smattering of freckles on an otherwise unlined skin belied her fifty-two years. Her blue eyes were the exact color of Matteo’s. She had her red hair in a ponytail.
Cesar De Lucci was the opposite of his wife. There was no mistaking where his sons inherited their height and stature. He was in a suit sans tie, but it didn’t look wrinkled at all given the six-hour flight from Manhattan to Vegas.
Understandably, they were both concerned for their son. They gave me a brief nod. Ava squeezed my arm when she quickly passed by me to move behind the doctor who was examining Matteo.
“How’s my son?” Cesar asked.
“Dad,” Matteo mumbled. “Sera is—”
“There are too many people in the room.” The doctor looked at me. “I’m sorry—”
“I’ll go outside.”
“Sera,” Matteo growled. “Don’t leave—”
But I was already exiting the room, closing the door gently. Maybe I was a coward. For the first time since we exchanged our vows, I felt like I didn’t belong. Even if the gunman was after Matteo, he wouldn’t have been in Vegas if I had never entered his life.
“Sera!”
I looked up to see a dear familiar figure in a charcoal-gray suit. As tall as Matteo and just as broad in the shoulders, Luca was as imposing as the De Luccis. He was talking to Nico and another young woman with dark hair that had auburn highlights.
Bianca?
I hadn’t cried since Matteo had gotten shot. I tried to remain strong through his surgery. The floodgates opened at the sight of my uncle.
I ran toward him.
Luca met me halfway and dragged me into his arms.
He cupped my face tightly. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“I was telling Nico that it might be better if I took you home to Chicago.”
“What?” I shrieked. “I already told you. I’m a married woman.”
“And someone just gunned down your husband.”
“I’m not abandoning him.” My voice was shrill. “The duty of a wife is to take care of her husband.” And I love him.
I looked at Nico. “Do you think that too?”
“Hell no,” he growled. “And good luck stopping Matteo from coming after you.”
“I heard it was a gut shot,” Luca said in a tone I didn’t want to hear. There was enough anxiety rattling inside me, but that was my uncle. He didn’t spare feelings and spoke his mind.
“It’s not.” I wasn’t about to discuss my husband’s condition in public. It didn’t matter if De Lucci soldiers were everywhere. I was protective of Matteo’s privacy.
The tug of loyalty threatened to pull me apart, but mine was unequivocally with Matteo.
“Do you know how hard it is to take care of someone with that injury?”
“It didn’t damage anything vital,” Nico said, backing me up. “He shouldn’t tear his stitches, and if you take Sera away, Matteo is going to be a terrible patient.”
“I’ll help,” Bianca said, looking at me warily.
“Thank you.”
Luca didn’t seem appeased. “De Lucci said he would take care of you. You nearly got shot.”
“I wasn’t the target.”
I was losing patience with my uncle. He needed to dial down his protectiveness for me because I was standing in front of him without a scratch while my husband was missing part of his liver and not yet clear of complications.
“I don’t know about the lax security.”
“We’re handling it,” Nico clipped.
Before Luca and Nico devolved into a pissing contest, the door opened. Ava emerged with the doctor and nurse and thanked them.
“They’re limiting visitors—” Ava started.
Disappointment settled in my gut. “I can wait—”
“Sweetie,” Matteo’s mom said. “You’re his wife. It’s your right to be in there. Besides—”
“Where’s Sera?” Matteo’s raspy voice demanded.
Ava rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder. “I’m getting her.” She shook her head at me. “You have to get used to these De Lucci men.”
“Needy.” Luca smiled with derision.
Ava narrowed her eyes at my uncle. “You probably wouldn’t understand. Come, Sera.”
“Mom,” Bianca protested. “Can I see Matteo?”
Ava ducked her head in the hallway and looked in both directions. There was no question about what she was doing. “Come on.” She motioned to her daughter. Obviously, their mom wasn’t a stickler for rules. I heard somewhere the McGraths had a wild side coming from their grandfather who had been a mob enforcer back in the day.
Matteo was blocked from view by the massive physique of his father. They’d raised his bed so he was in a sitting position.
When my husband saw me, a relieved look fell over his worried face. Did he think I was leaving him?
“Sera, come here.” Matteo held out his hand. Cesar stepped aside, but between the two of them, I felt tiny. He clasped my hand, his grip surprisingly strong for someone who’d just come out of surgery. “Dad, Mom, my wife…Sera. And that over there is my sister, Bianca, in case you haven’t figured out the resemblance.”
Cesar grinned and drew me into a hug. “Wish it could have been under better circumstances. Welcome to the family.”
He turned me over to Ava who smiled at me but not before I noticed the tiredness around her eyes. She squeezed my face. “You’re so pretty.” She looked at her son. “You have good taste.”
Matteo said, “She’s amazing, period.”
Ava hugged me while shaking with laughter. She whispered in my ear, “You have him wrapped around your finger.”
When she let me go, I saw Bianca regarding me curiously. Not with hostility, not exactly welcoming either. It was the same look I gave people who I thought had my uncle’s confidence, but I hadn’t figured out if they were trustworthy yet by my standards.
“Bianca.” I gave her a tentative smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Interesting.” This time her face broke into a mischievous smile directed at her brother. “We haven’t heard about you until that famous restaurant date that sent Manhattan into a tizzy.”
“That’s exaggerated.”
“I told Dad we need to let you in on our secret,” Matteo said. His words slurred a bit, so I went to him and took hold of his hand again.
“That can wait.”
He raised his brow, his grin a bit loopy. Yep, time for visitors to go. “Is that so?”
His dad said, “You don’t look surprised?”
“Well, with as much secret conversations your son has had, I was sure something was up.” I shrugged. “It’s nothing new in our world.”
Cesar raised a brow. “My son chose well.”
“Of course I did.”
“I think Matteo needs his rest now,” I said.
“What did the doctor say?” Bianca asked.
“If there was a place in the gut that someone needed to be shot, through the liver is the way to go,” Cesar told his daughter. “It regenerates, as you know.” His jaw clenched. “I’m just glad it wasn’t a twenty-two.”
I was too. It was the preferred caliber of hitmen because of the damage it could do when it bounced inside the body. A larger caliber basically cauterized the flesh as it went through. This was something you learned growing up in the life.
“Sucks to be stuck here a few more days,” Matteo grumbled. It wasn’t often I saw this, but he was every bit a little boy who was told he couldn’t go out and play.
Ava approached the bed. “You know the drill. Check for infection. And like the doctor said, they want to make sure there isn’t going to be any inflammation in your stomach lining.”
Inhaling sharply, I couldn’t believe how lucky Matteo was. If it had passed through his intestines, the road to recovery would have been longer with the threat of sepsis.
“He needs his rest,” I said.
Matteo grinned faintly. “You all heard my wife.”
“What are you doing?”
Matteo was getting dressed. We were supposed to stay one more day in the hospital.
“It’s been four days,” he said tersely, wincing when he put on his suit jacket.
“I should have brought your clothes for tomorrow—tomorrow.” I crossed my arms.
He sat on the couch and scowled at his shoes.
“We are not leaving here, Matteo, and if you try to put on your shoes and you bust your stitches, I swear I’ll have them commit you for another week.”
He was looking pale again under his tan, and sweat beaded his upper lip.
De Lucci men made terrible patients. They weren’t babies, quite the opposite. And it would have been a blessing if he had a cold, but Matteo had a lacerated liver. It would take at least two weeks for him to be able to move and six weeks to resume normal activities.
He glared at me. “Help me put on my shoes.”
I glared at him.
He inhaled, and gritted his teeth, and started to bend forward.
“Stop,” I whisper-yelled and sank to my knees in front of him. Tears welled in my eyes.
“I have nightmares of you getting shot in the heart.” My voice cracked.
He stilled. His eyes searched mine. “You never told me this.”
“I didn’t want to make you feel as bad as it is.”
“Baby,” he whispered, raising his hand to cup my cheek. “Don’t ever hide these things from me.”
“Please stay another night,” I said. “For me?”
“Help me up,” he said.
I stood up and aided him to stand. He started shedding his jacket. Relief hit me and I couldn’t help him remove it fast enough.
The door to our room opened and his parents walked in. Ava was holding a tray of steamed fish and vegetables from the De Lucci-owned hotel. Matteo was in for a very bland diet with no alcohol until a doctor could give him the all clear.
“Where are you going?” Ava shrieked at her son.
“Apparently, nowhere,” Matteo grouched.
Cesar’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his mouth twitched.
Yes, I foresee a very aggravated male in the upcoming weeks, but I considered him agreeing to stay another day a victory.
