“I’m fine,” she objects, though her lips are pinched. Her throat works as she swallows. When a seat materializes behind her, she sinks into it, though her hands remain on my chest. “Holy fuck, Raoul! What the hell happened?”
I glance around the room, giving Paolo a quick look. With a nod, he clears the area, then whips the curtains shut to provide us with our privacy.
“Well?” Emma urges, though her voice has softened, and her touch on my skin is gentle. Stroking little circles that are having an effect on me that shouldn’t be possible, considering what I just went through.
Someone tried to kill me, and I’m mad enough to spit bullets. Although having her here now has eased that somewhat.
“It was just an accident,” I try to shrug it off. “Some sort of gas leak that was—”
“Bullshit, Raoul!” Emma cuts me off. “We both know this was no gas leak. Spit it out.” She’s reached for a clean swab and is dabbing at my forehead. A slight sting there reminds me of the shrapnel that sliced through the air as I got Mario out of the blast zone.
“Okay, we were set up,” I acknowledge. “Someone hit one of the warehouses and left us a little…welcome gift.”
“Someone?” she says.
“Probably my uncle,” I mutter, not wanting to dwell on it. I like the way she’s touching me…as if I matter. And I don’t like thinking about what just happened because it’s screwing with the intimacy.
Jesus Christ, Caraldi. Looking for a slot on Dr. Phil?
“Your uncle?” She gnaws her lip, looking doubtful.
“Can’t think of anyone else it could be,” I say. “He’s been on my ass since the wedding. This was a message, plain and simple.”
“A message?” She still has that distant expression. It fades as she turns those sky-eyes toward me. “Tell me what happened. From the beginning.”
“What?” I can’t believe the woman’s interrogating me.
“From the beginning, Raoul,” she repeats. I’m starting to become familiar with the way her jaw sets when she’s got her mind fixed on something; there’ll be no arguing with her about this. So I concede, walking through each step from the moment I met Mario until the sound of that metallic click.
“You heard a click?”
“Two, actually,” I confirm. “One as Mario walked onto the boards near the men, and the second as he shifted his balance.”
It was a miracle we survived, now that I think about it. I’m guessing we slid out beneath the angle of the blast. My ears are still ringing like a bitch, and the gash on my belly could’ve left me gutted, but aside from that, it’s just a few scrapes. Nothing that some well-placed butterfly strips can’t handle. As for Mario, he’ll be picking splinters out of his ass for a week. The man left half an hour ago and is probably sitting in church muttering Hail Marys right this minute. And then he’ll be back at our head office, gathering men. Because come morning, we go to war.
Emma has grown silent. The lines around her lips have turned white with tension.
“Do you know what it means?” I ask.
“No,” she replies, but something flickers in her eyes. I’m beginning to suspect that my wife knows more about this than she’d like to admit.
“Emma?” I press. She shakes her head, her eyes moving over my face as she carefully cleans the minor scratches on my cheeks and jawline. She licks her lips as she focuses on my mouth. It’s a gesture that has my nuts tightening.
Fuck, she’s sexy.
“Nothing,” she murmurs. “It just bothers me; that’s all.”
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about me, Buttercup,” I taunt her, stroking my fingertips along her cheek.
“Don’t be daft,” she responds, although there’s no venom in her words.
Yip. She’s softening to me.
My fingertips trace down her cheek to her chin and then track a path down her throat. A hard swallow has the skin moving, and she sucks in a breath.
“I think we should go home,” I say under my breath.
“But you—!” she starts, but I’m already swinging my legs off the bed. “Raoul! You need to lie down!” She keeps trying to change my mind, then stops at the sight of my bare ass. Those nurses stripped me off before I could object. “And your clothes! I never brought anything to—”
