"You're going to make this right, Luca," I firmly assert.
He slowly turns back toward me, but the hardness is gone. Regret, guilt, and sadness fill his expression.
I continue, "From this point forward, she's done hiding. She's as much of a part of this family as anyone. So if you're here, she's allowed here. No one is keeping my wife hidden, including you."
He looks at his hands, his face scrunched.
I wait for him to speak.
He finally looks at me, a shell of the man he entered the room as, and asks, "Why would she even want to be in a room with me?"
"You're her blood, Luca. She remembers you, the uncle who used to love and care for her," I softly tell him.
He closes his eyes, taking deep breaths.
"You get one chance to do this right," I tell him.
He opens his red-rimmed eyes.
I warn, "Make it right, Luca. My wife is mine. She's like a sister to Zara. And she's not going anywhere." I get up and walk out,ignoring the others, and returning to the woman that somehow, in the middle of total chaos, I learned to love.
31
Valentina
My new reality still shocks me in the morning. There's no distant gunfire, echo of ritual chants, or alarms from my phone followed by orders. Only soft daylight pushes against the curtains.
For once, the silence doesn't threaten to swallow me. It just wraps around me, heavy and oddly tender, like a thick blanket still carrying Brax's scent from last night.
Last night.
Heat creeps up my neck as memories surge in an unsteady reel. Brax pinning my wrists above my head and growling against my throat that he wants my belly swollen with his babies. His body taking mine again and again until I lost track of how many times I whispered his name into the dark. The way his voice dropped when he said, "This is our life now."
Ours.
I shift on the mattress and wince. Every muscle between my thighs protests, sore and overused in the best possible way. My legs brushagainst the cool sheets, and a tired little laugh slips past my lips. My husband was on a mission.
My husband.
He didn't want to get divorced.
I smile bigger and turn my head toward the nightstand. The digital clock blinks an accusation. It's almost noon.
I jerk upright, then sway as my body reminds me how little sleep I got. Normally, I'm up hours earlier with my brain wired for threats even when there are none. Today, my limbs carry a pleasant heaviness that says my husband did exactly what he announced he would do and then some.
My gaze lands on a folded piece of paper resting against the lamp base. Brax's messy handwriting stares back at me in dark ink.
Minx,
Went to the gym before I climb on top of you again, and we never leave this bed.
Pancakes for breakfast?
Love you.
B
My lips twitch. My idea of a morning used to be coffee and plotting the downfall of monsters, not domestic sugar bombs. Now, if someone casually mentions pancakes, my stomach turns into a needy traitor.
