Page 22 of The Mobster’s Nurse

I step out into the afternoon light, back into the ordinary world, back into my actual life — which feels, already, like it's re-arranged itself around me.

Like something has shifted in the foundations, and I'm still learning how to navigate a familiar but different space.

Lucky Charm whinnies softly behind me, as if in commentary.

“Hush,” I whisper toward her.

But I'm smiling. And I don't stop smiling all the way across the yard.

And I don't think about being sensible.

Not even once.

7

LUCA

We lean against the enclosure, watching as one of the trainers runs around with the horse. I’ve got my arm on Ellie’s back. Cradling her as gently as I’m able to when every sinew in me is roaring to claim her again.

She looks at me. A soft smile. Open, accepting eyes. But I can tell she’s afraid too. Probably thinking about what this means for her future. Maybe she knows she’ll never be able to have a normal life now that I’ve made her mine.

I lean down and gently kiss her on the neck. There are people everywhere on the ranch. They’ll see. They’ll know. I want them to.

“I didn’t answer your question,” she murmurs, turning to me. “You asked if I knew. Yesterday, something happened. With Daryl.”

“You were correct. I know he’s behind the sabotage,” I tell her. “Some of it, anyway.”

She nods. “He tried to get me to fake some medical records. I refused. I’m sorry. Please, don’t tell your dad or⁠—”

“Hush,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her into a hug. I kiss the top of her head and breathe in her scent. “Nobody is ever going to hurt you, Ellie. Never. My main job now is to protect you.”

“But why?” she murmurs, her voice muffled against me. “We only met⁠—”

“Hush,” I say again. “We’re not like other people. Clearly. Otherwise, I wouldn’t feel this certain this fast. And you wouldn’t either.”

She looks up. All sass again. “Who says I do, huh?”

I smirk. Claim her lips with mine. With my mouth still close to hers, I whisper, “You don’t have to say, wild thing. We both know it’s true.”

She rolls her eyes, smiles adorably. “I kind of like this whole not being sane thing.”

“You look drunk,” I tell her. “High on pleasure. On … everything else.”

Connection. Belonging. Love?

She presses her body firmer against mine. “What if Daryl

is working with other people here? What if there are more moles?”

“There could be,” I allow. “But like I said, nobody is going to⁠—”

“No,” she cuts in. “I’m not saying I’m scared. I’m saying, I might be able to help.”

“How?” I ask.

“I could draw Daryl out. Make it so it’s easier for you to catch him.”

“Do you understand what this means?” I say darkly.