"Dante—"
"I'm fine." I look past her to Marta. "Can you take Sofia upstairs? Give her a bath. Use the back hallway so she doesn't see the courtyard."
Marta nods and approaches, her arms outstretched.
I'll have to thank her properly for this when dawn comes and the real work begins.
"Come, little one. Let's get you cleaned up."
Sofia tightens her grip on my shirt.
"I don't want to leave Papa."
"I'll be right behind you," I tell her. "I just need to talk to your mama for a moment."
She hesitates, then releases me reluctantly.
Marta takes her hand as I set her down and leads her toward the door.
The guards follow them out, leaving Angelica and me alone in the safe room, and the door closes behind them.
Angelica stares up at me with eyes full of emotion.
"I thought you were dead. When the gunfire stopped, I thought?—"
"I'm here,Bella." I step closer, closing the distance between us. "I kept my promise."
She lets out a sound that's half laugh, half sob, and throws her arms around my neck.
I wince as her weight presses against my injured shoulder, but I don't pull away.
I hold her as tightly as I can, burying my face in her hair.
"I was so scared," she whispers. "I kept listening to the radio, hearing your voice cut out, and I didn't know if you were okay. If you were still alive."
"I'm okay." I pull back slightly so I can see her face. "We're all okay."
Her hands move to my face, cupping my jaw.
Her thumbs brush over my cheekbones as if she's trying to convince herself I'm real.
"You're bleeding everywhere. You need a doctor."
"Silvio's on his way. But right now, I need you… Okay? I just need you."
I stare into her eyes, and she seems to understand I don’t mean just her body or her presence, but all of her.
She searches my eyes for a long moment, then fingers slide from my jaw to the back of my neck, pulling me down until our foreheads touch.
“I need you too,” she whispers in a raw voice that almost verges on tears. “All of you. Right now.”
Her lips crash into mine without warning, and it takes my breath for a moment.
I groan into her mouth, as her tongue slips past my teeth, claiming me with a hunger that feels almost violent.
My good arm bands around her waist, hauling her flush against me; the other hangs heavy at my side, as the wound pulses with every heartbeat.
She’s trembling, the thin cotton of her dress is damp with sweat and tears.
