Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Saverio

M y wife comes closer.

I can’t see or hear her, but I can feel her presence.

My wife.

Fuck.

She’d been my wife for all of one second before bullets and grenades tore us apart.

But that single second is enough. It has to be.

Her voice comes from the side of the bed, her mere breath on my arm forcing my skin into goosebumps.

“Sav.”

My feisty treasure has always been hard-headed. Trust her not to listen when I tell her to leave things she shouldn’t poke in peace.

“I named her Claire,” she says.

Goddamn.

She chose the name I wanted.

My chest swells with unbearable pride while my lungs simultaneously cave in on me. Can anything hurt and please more at the same time?

Reverence carries on her tone. “She’s beautiful.”

I don’t doubt that for a minute. She’ll look like her mother—a little Claire with red hair and cute freckles. A huge fucking ache bleeds out from the cavity between my ribs. I’m already mourning everything I’m going to miss out on. All because of Raphael Morelli. I’ll make him pay if it’s the last thing I do.

“Luigi and Giorgio are dead,” she says softly. “Along with most of their men.”

Unable to stand the sweet sound of her voice any longer, I say, “I know. Dante informed me.”

The hurt is evident in her words. “So you saw him, but you didn’t want to see me.”

Fuck me if her pain doesn’t stab straight into my gut.

I turn my face to her when I wanted to spare her the sight. What does she see? Gauze and tape. At least they hide the destruction. She doesn’t have to look at the damage. Not yet. If I have my way, she’ll never witness the empty socket in my skull. I can’t let her see that. I don’t have the stomach for it.

She trails her fingers over my forearm. “I’m so sorry.”

Every hair on my skin stands on end.

“I wanted to say thank you—” Her voice cracks. It takes her a moment to speak again. “Thank you for saving us.”

“You don’t have to thank me, tesoro .” I’m careful to keep all those emotions stirring in my chest out of my voice. “I’ll do it all over again.”

“You’re going to be all right,” she says with a sniff and a whole lot of determination.

That little pep talk is more for her benefit than for mine. It comes from guilt, not from love, and I don’t want or need her guilt.

I fix my gaze on a spot behind her, anywhere but on her perfect face. It hurts too much to look at her. Because I know what’s going to happen when I get out of here.

I’m going to war.

I’m going to kill every Morelli and each man working for them. I’m going to eradicate their organization and flatten everything they’ve built to the ground. I’m going to make damn sure not one of those fuckers can come anywhere near Anya or Claire, and I’m going to destroy what’s left of me in doing so. I fought enough battles to know this one is going to take more than Raphael and his whole gang put together as well as what my men and I have inside us to give. We’re all going to be done for when this fight is over, and before that happens, I’ll have to send Anya away.

She bends down and places a tender kiss on my forehead. It takes every ounce of my willpower and then some not to bracket her head between my palms and hold her to me. Smash my mouth on hers. Taste her. Drink in her essence just to convince myself that this isn’t a bitter-sweet dream but that she’s truly standing at the side of my bed in flesh and bone.

Instead, I lie stiff like a piece of wood, the pain of not touching her ripping me apart. The effect is far more potent than a hand grenade blast. It hurts more than the pieces of my body that are torn from the explosion. I’ve always been defective, a man who can’t give a woman the children she craves, but now I’m damaged. Unfit as a husband and a father. Anya was my second chance, my chance at giving parenthood and family a shot. My lucky charm. But my chances are up, and my luck has run out.