Chapter 8

The wound in my stomach got infected, and I spent two full weeks in the hospital.

During those two weeks, Luca was dealing with the fallout from the assassination attempt, caught up in a vicious power struggle with rival families. He hardly ever found time to come see me.

Instead, it was Celeste who came. His "fiancée," the woman who by rights should have seen me as a thorn in her side, showed up at the hospital every day with soup she'd made herself. She even insisted on changing my dressings herself, no matter what the nurses said.

During one of our talks, Celeste happened to find out that I wasn't a sworn member of the Bellandi family. All I had was the small security stipend Don Bellandi paid me, and there was no way I could afford an expensive private hospital room like this.

The next day, I was told that a large sum had been deposited into my medical account. Celeste told me, as if it were nothing, that it came out of the Bellandi family's "security budget" for the year. But I knew better than anyone that the Bellandi family had never once paid the medical bills of anyone who took a bullet for it. She'd paid every cent out of her own pocket and kept it quiet.

I watched her profile as she gently tucked the blanket around me, and I realized in despair that I couldn't even hate her. The better and kinder she was, the more I looked like a joke in this mess between the three of us.

Two weeks later, Luca and Celeste joined forces and secured outright control of the biggest port on the East Coast at the council of families.

I didn't find out until later what happened the night they won the vote. They were celebrating in a penthouse, with champagne and soft, intimate lighting. Luca looked into Celeste's eyes, so full of intelligence and ambition, and before he could stop himself, he leaned down and almost kissed her.

At the very last second, right before their lips met, my face flashed through Luca's mind, and he jerked back.

But he had wavered. Caught between two women, he'd completely lost his way.

Late that same night, Luca quietly pushed open the door to my hospital room, the cold of the night still clinging to him. Maybe he wanted to make up for that guilty moment. Maybe he was looking for something familiar, somewhere he belonged.

Like always, he came to my bedside, bent down, and buried his face against my neck with a tired sigh. "Mara, I'm so tired. It's only when I'm with you that I feel like a real person."

He leaned in to kiss me.

But just before his lips touched mine, I caught a scent.

It wasn't gunpowder, and it wasn't the cigars he usually smoked. It was the Tom Ford white-musk fragrance Celeste wore every day when she came to change my dressings.

The scent clung to the lapel of his suit. That meant they'd been close, very close, close enough that they'd almost been in each other's arms.

My stomach heaved. I jerked my head away. For the first time ever, I flatly refused the kiss he wanted.

Luca froze where he was, still bent over me. He saw the refusal in my eyes, and panic crossed his face. "Mara... what's wrong? Is your wound hurting again?"

I didn't look at him. I just stared at the harsh white light on the ceiling and fought with everything I had to keep my voice from shaking. Then I asked the question I should have asked a long time ago.

"Luca, look me in the eye and tell me." I turned my head and stared hard at him. "If I hadn't always been the one standing between you and the bullets, if we didn't have those ten years behind us... would you be in love with her by now?"