For a long moment, he just stares. Then, slowly, he moves toward the kitchen. His jacket gets shrugged off, it’s ruined, blood-soaked. The shoulder holster comes next, gun still nested in leather. His shirt follows, revealing the tattoos covering his torso, Italian script, religious imagery, things that probably mean something in his world.
“Greco’s lieutenant made a move on one of our warehouses,” he says, voice still flat. “He tried to take out six of my men. He thought he could weaken my operation.”
“What did you do?”
“What I always do. I made an example.” He turns on the sink, starts washing his hands. The water runs pink, then red, then pink again. “He won’t be making any more moves.”
“You killed him.”
“Yes.”
The simple affirmation should shock me. Should send me running. Instead, watching him methodically wash blood from his hands, all that exists is concern for the emptiness in his eyes.
“How many others?”
“Three of his men. The rest ran.” The water shuts off. He dries his hands on a towel, movements mechanical. “I wanted them to run. Wanted them to spread the word about what happens when you come after what’s mine.”
“Alessandro—”
“This is what I am, Elena.” He finally looks at me, and the bleakness in his eyes makes my chest ache. “This is what you’re choosing. A man who kills without hesitation. Who uses violence as a tool. Who came home tonight covered in blood and felt nothing except satisfaction that the message was sent.”
The words are meant to scare me. Push me away. Show me the monster he thinks he is.
But all that’s visible is a man trying desperately to protect me from himself. A man who thinks his darkness makes him unworthy of light.
So instead of running, instead of showing fear or disgust or any of the reactions he’s expecting, the distance between us closes. Arms wrap around him despite the blood, despite the violence he represents, despite everything.
“You came back to me,” I speak the words against his chest. “That’s all that matters.”
His entire body goes rigid. “Elena, you shouldn’t—”
“I know what I should and shouldn’t do. And right now, I should hold you. Because you’re shaking and you think you’re a monster and someone needs to remind you, you’re human.”
“Human.” He laughs, bitter and broken. “Human monsters are the worst kind.”
“You’re not a monster. You’re a man doing what he has to do to survive in an impossible world.” I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Now go shower. Then come to bed. And stop trying to scare me away. It’s not working.”
He stares at me like solving an impossible equation. Then, slowly, his hands come up to frame my face. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Or your salvation. I haven’t decided yet.”
The laugh that escapes is more real this time. “Go to my room. Wait for me there. And Elena?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For not running.”
“I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”
His kiss is soft, reverent, tasting of gratitude and wonder and something that might be hope.
Then he’s gone to shower away the blood, and leaving me alone to wait in his bedroom.
Tonight, darkness and light are finally going to stop fighting. Tonight, Alessandro De Luca is going to learn some people are strong enough to love monsters. And maybe that’s exactly what turns monsters back into men.
Chapter Ten
Alessandro
