“You have whips?” I murmur, strangely excited.
“Children, please,” Lorenzo interjects, and I feel Piper moving toward him, her presence shifting from my periphery to his side.
I want to look at her, to see if there’s disappointment or acceptance in her eyes, but I can’t tear my gaze from Matteo’s. Up close, I can see the exhaustion etched into the lines around his eye, the tension still held in his shoulders.
“You’re hurt,” he says, fingers gentle as they brush over the bump on the back of my head.
“So are you,” I counter, lightly touching the bandage on his arm.
“I’ve had worse.”
“So have I,” I dutifully point out.
“Doubtful.”
“Try me.”
“I’ve already tried you, Little Thief.”
The banter feels normal, necessary, like finding solid ground after an earthquake. I trail my fingers down his chest, over the tattoos I’m still memorizing, to rest above his heart. I can feel it beating, strong and steady, proof that he’s alive.
“Don’t do it again,” I whisper, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Don’t push me out of the way.”
His eye narrows. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“Then I hope you like being resurrected, because I meant what I said about killing you myself.”
I’m vaguely aware of movement around us—Lorenzo murmuring something to Piper, one cousin making a comment about finding breakfast, the other grabbing his phone. But none of it matters.
Not when Matteo’s looking at me like I’m the answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking.
“I chose you,” I tell him, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I choose you.”
His hand slides into my pink hair, gripping just tight enough to send sparks down my spine. “I know,” he says simply, and then his mouth is on mine again, claiming, possessing.
Chapter 34
Raven
“Ineed a shower,” I mumble against Matteo’s shoulder as he carries me down another hallway.
My voice sounds distant even to my own ears, exhaustion, and pain medication finally catching up with me now that I’ve verified he’s alive. My fingers trace idle patterns on his chest, reassuring myself with each heartbeat that he’s real.
He insisted on carrying me the moment the cousins started filing out of the kitchen, scooping me up like I weigh nothing despite his injured arm.
“I can do you one better, Little Thief.” His lips brush my temple, oddly gentle from a man who severed fingers less than two days ago. “How about a bath?”
“With bubbles?” I smile.
“With bubbles,” he confirms.
Reaching the bathroom, he sets me on the edge of the counter. His big hands linger on my waist to steady me.
Now that I’m not anxious to go find him, I can really appreciate the luxurious bathroom. It’s all black marble and gleaming fixtures. A shower large enough for an orgy takes up one corner, while a sunken tub that could double as a small swimming pool dominates the opposite wall.
“Can you sit here without falling?” he asks, eye narrowed with concern.
“I’m concussed, not drunk,” I retort, though the room tilts alarmingly when I’m not touching him. “I can sit on a counter without supervision. In fact, I’ve done it successfully since I was five. I think.”
