‘Caterina,’ he says my name sharp with concern. ‘Are you okay?’ He gently cups my cheek in his palm, and it doesn’t feel like the hand of a monster or a killer. It feels warm and familiar. ‘You’ve gone very pale.’
I don’t want to be afraid of him, not now, not when I haven’t been before, so I ignore the fear. Instead I say, ‘Those scars on your back. What happened?’
A shadow moves in his eyes, but it’s gone too fast for me to tell what it was. Then as smoothly as a key turning in a lock, the mask of the Wolf settles over his features. The face of the head of the Argenti family.
‘It’s not a pretty story,gattina,’ he says lightly. ‘And definitely not one to share when there are other things we could be doing.’
He’s trying to distract me and if he was a different sort of man, I’d let him. But he’s not a different sort of man. He is who he is and he’s my husband, and I have to keep pushing so he doesn’t walk all over me.
‘Tell me,’ I demand.
His mouth thins. He’s clearly unhappy with this, but doesn’t attempt another distraction. ‘The scars are from a punishment my father gave me. He was from the “spare the rod and spoil the child” school of parenting. So when I didn’t obey his orders, he would whip me with his studded belt.’ The Wolf says the words as if they mean nothing to him, as if they aren’t connected to him at all, but all I feel is cold horror.
I was punished by my father, but he never touched me. All my punishments were psychological, little criticisms here and there, death from a thousand cuts. But this…those terrible, awful, gouges… I can’t imagine the pain he must have been in.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ the Wolf snaps suddenly, anger flickering through his eyes. ‘It was a couple of strikes, nothing more. He did much worse to other people. I got off easy, believe me.’
His anger sparks mine and I say heedlessly, ‘I wasn’t looking at you with pity, Vincenzo. That was horror.’
He stares at me for a long moment and I don’t flinch from his gaze. Then the silver flames in his eyes abruptly die away and he says in a milder tone, ‘It was twenty years ago, a long time. They don’t hurt anymore.’
He’s trying to reassure me, I think, but I’m not in the least bit reassured. ‘What had you done to deserve it?’ I ask. ‘Because that seems excessive.’
‘If I’d been anyone else but his heir, I would have been killed.’ Unexpectedly, he looks down at the white sheet covering him. ‘Stefano did love his little punishments.’
‘You didn’t answer me.’ Suddenly it seems important that I know this. ‘What was it for?’
He doesn’t look up. ‘I think you already know what it was for.’
A wave of ice washes over me. Of course I know.
That was his punishment for letting me live.
‘Vincenzo…’ His name comes out hoarse, and I want to go on, but I don’t know what to say. The only thing that comes to me that I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you had to bear that. I’m so sorry I was the cause. But I don’t think he wants to hear that.
‘No,’ he says softly, a note of warning in the word. ‘That part of my life is over. I ended it myself when I paid him back in kind.’ Abruptly, he looks up from the white sheet, his gaze blazing into mine. ‘But know this, Caterina. I nevereverregretted saving you. Not once.’
My throat closes and there are unexpected tears in my eyes, and I have no idea why. I have no idea why my heart aches or why the thought of the pain he had to endure because of me, hurts me too. I shouldn’t hurt because of what happened to him as a child, not considering all the lives he’s taken and the things he’s done, and yet, he doesn’t seem a monster sitting here beside me in the bed.
He’s only a man who was a boy, a long time ago.
‘I blamed you for their deaths for years,’ I tell him hoarsely, unable to stop myself. ‘You were in my nightmares, always chasing me to kill me. I’m claustrophobic because I spent two days in that closet before anyone thought to check on me. I thought you were a monster.’ I swallow, my throat painful. ‘But I was wrong.’
More shadows chase themselves over his beautiful face. ‘No,’ he says softly. ‘I’m still a monster,gattina.Don’t ever think otherwise.’ He lifts a hand and brushes away a tear that has escaped with a gentle fingertip. ‘But you were so little. No wonder you had nightmares.’
‘But those scars…’ I swallow again, not sure why I’m still crying. ‘What you had to endure because of me—’
‘No,’ he repeats, softly and yet very firmly. ‘I told you. I never regretted saving you and I meant it. I mean it still.’ He pauses a moment, then adds, ‘You changed my life. It’s because of you that I started down this road, to stop the violence. To end the killings. You were the catalyst for all of this, so how could I ever regret it?’
I don’t know what to say to that and I don’t know how to feel. My heart aches for him, but also for myself. Because this path I somehow sent him down, is as bloody as the path he seems to think he’s avoiding. I don’t want to say that, though, not now. I don’t have the energy to keep pushing, and the way he’s looking at me, the way he’s touching me, so gently, makes me crave more of it. I don’t want to fight in this moment. What I want is tenderness, gentleness, all the things I had as a little girl when my mother was still alive. The things I never got from my father.
I turn my cheek against his palm then press a kiss to the centre of it, watching as his gaze flares. He slides his hand into my hair, drawing me in for a kiss, soft and hot.
‘I’ve never had this,’ I whisper against his mouth. ‘I’ve never had gentle or tender, not after Mama died.’
He eases my head back and looks down at me, his gaze searching my face. ‘Then let me give you both, my wife. You can have all of it and more.’
He moves, turning me over onto my back. Then he rains kisses down on me, soft and sweet, my eyelids, my mouth, my neck, my throat. Going lower, kisses over my breasts and down over my stomach, before moving even lower. He kisses me gently, softly, his hands moving over me with light touches and caresses, giving me all the care and tenderness I could ever want.
