“Luca and Matteo have been doing this for a long time. They are the best, and so are the men with them.”
“And instead of being in on the fun, you have to babysit me.”
Romero gave a shrug, then he smiled. “It’s an honor.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’d like to go jogging in Central Park.”
“Will you try to run away again?”
“Why would I? There’s nowhere I can run. And I doubt you’ll let me escape again. You look fit enough.”
Romero straightened. “Okay.” I could tell that he was still suspicious of my motives.
I put on my shorts, a tank top and my running shoes, then went back out. Romero had changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt. He kept a stash of clothes in one of our guest bedrooms, but he lived in an apartment about ten minutes from here. “Where have you hidden your guns?”
“That’s my secret,” he said with a rare grin, then he caught himself and put on his professional face.
Romero was fit and could easily keep up with me as we jogged through the many pathways in Central Park for the next hour. It felt wonderful to actually run outside for once instead of always being limited to the treadmill. I felt free and almost as if I belonged among all the people doing ordinary things, like walking their dogs or playing baseball. Maybe Luca would run with me one day, when the Russians weren’t giving him so much trouble anymore. But when would that ever be?
* * *
Later that day I sat on the roof terrace, watching the sunset, my legs pulled up against my body. Romero was checking his phone. “Luca will have more time for you soon.”
I looked at him. Had I appeared lonely to him? “Did he tell you when he’d be home today?”
“He hasn’t written yet,” he said slowly.
“That’s a bad sign, right?”
Romero didn’t say anything, only frowned down at his phone.
I went inside when it became too cold, put on my nightgown and curled up on the couch, turning on the TV. I couldn’t help but get more worried as the clock edged closer to midnight, but eventually I drifted off.
* * *
I woke when I was lifted off the couch. My eyes fluttered open and I peered up into Luca’s face. It was too dark to make out much. Romero must have extinguished the lights at some point. “Luca?” I murmured.
He didn’t say anything. I put a hand against his chest. His shirt was slick with something—water? Blood?
His breathing was even, steps measured. His heartbeat was calm under my palm. But I couldn’t read his mood. It was strange. He carried me up the stairs as if I weighed nothing. We reached our bedroom and he put me down on the bed. I could only see his tall shape looming above me. Why wasn’t he saying anything?
I stretched and fumbled for the main switch beside the bed. I brushed it with my fingertips and the lights came on, and I gasped. Luca’s shirt was covered in blood. Soaked in it. There was a small cut at Luca’s throat and if the rips in his shirt were any indication, he probably had more wounds. Then my eyes found his face and I became very still, like a fawn trying to blend in so as not to attract the attention of the wolf. I’d thought I’d seen Luca’s darkness on a few occasions, had thought I’d glimpsed the monster beneath the civil mask before. Now I realized I hadn’t. His expression was void of emotion, but his eyes made the hairs on my neck rise.
I licked my lips. “Luca?”
He started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing small cuts and a longer wound below his ribs. His skin was covered with blood. But it couldn’t all have come from him, especially not all the blood on the shirt. It worried me that he still hadn’t spoken. He shed his shirt and dropped it on the ground. Then he unbuckled his belt.
“Luca,” I said. “You’re scaring me. What happened?”
He pushed his pants down and stepped out of them. He was barefoot and now only in his briefs as he knelt on the bed and brought one knee between my legs. I began to regret wearing only a nightgown. He slowly moved up until his head hovered over me. Terror gripped my throat, turned my heartbeat into a flutter.
His eyes made me want to bolt, to cry and scream, to escape. Instead I lifted my hand and cupped his cheek. His expression shifted, a chink in the monstrous mask. He leaned into the touch, then he lowered his face and pressed it into the crook of my neck. He breathed in deeply and didn’t move for a long time. I tried not to panic. My hand was shaking against his cheek.
“Luca?” I said softly.
He raised his head again. I could see a flicker of the Luca I knew. He slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom. When he was out of sight, I let out a deep breath. Whatever had gone down today must have been horrible. I sat up as I listened to the running shower. In what kind of mood would Luca return into the bedroom? The monster in check, or almost unleashed like a moment ago?
The water stopped and I quickly lay down on my side of the bed and pulled the covers up. A few minutes later, the door opened and Luca walked in with a towel around his waist. It was white, but a few droplets of blood had dripped from his wound and stained the fabric. He didn’t walk toward the cupboard to grab boxer shorts as he usually did; instead he came directly toward the bed. When he reached for the towel, I averted my eyes and turned on my other side, my back toward him. He lifted the blanket and the mattress shifted under his weight. He pressed up against me, his hand curled over my hip in an almost bruising grip before he turned me toward him.
My mind screamed at me to stop him. He was completely naked and in a terrifying mood. He’d spent the day picking up the pieces of one of his men and the remainder of it killing his enemies. He grabbed the hem of my nightgown and began pulling it up. I put my hand over his.
“Luca,” I whispered.
His eyes met mine. I relaxed slightly. There was still darkness in them, but it was more contained. “I want to feel your body against mine tonight. I want to hold you.”
I could almost hear the unspoken words: I need you. I swallowed. “Only hold me?”
“I swear.” His voice was gruff, as if he’d spent hours screaming orders.
I lowered my hand and let him pull my nightgown off. He released a low breath as he gazed at my naked breasts. I had to fight the urge to cover myself. His fingertips brushed the hem of my panties, but when I tensed they retreated, and he rolled onto his back and lifted me on top of him. I straddled his stomach, my knees on either side of him, my breasts pressed against his chest. I tried to keep my weight off him because I didn’t want to hurt his wounds, but he wrapped one arm around my back and pressed me tightly against him. His other hand touched my butt, making me jump. He began moving his thumb across my lower back and ass, and I relaxed slowly. The entire time his eyes were boring into mine, and with every passing moment, another tiny piece of the darkness dissipated.
“Doesn’t your cut need stitches?”
He bent forward and kissed me sweetly. “Tomorrow.” He kept stroking my backside and kissing me slowly, as if he wanted to savor every moment. I was completely overwhelmed but it felt good. I loved that he was suddenly so gentle. If he was like that when he took my virginity, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. My eyelids felt heavy, but I couldn’t look away from Luca. I touched his throat, an inch below the cut. I wasn’t sure why, but I leaned forward and pressed a featherlight kiss against the wound. It was small and wouldn’t need stitches, not like the one below his ribs. When I drew back, Luca looked almost surprised. His hand moved lower, cupping my ass cheek. His little finger was almost touching me there. He squeezed my cheek, and for a moment his finger brushed my opening through the fabric.