Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

A s we make our way toward my house, Angelo's phone rings, and he answers it with a quick, "Yo. Yeah, it went fine." There's a long pause, and I strain to listen. Thanks to my heightened senses, I can hear more than humans. He's talking to my lawyer. Not good. Why didn't Federico call me directly?

Angelo's frown deepens. "What? I can't hear you. Hello? Can you hear me?" He pulls the phone away from his ear, staring at the screen before putting it back. "Hello?" Still nothing. The call must have dropped because the phone rings again. "It's Federico," Angelo says, his expression tense. "He wants to know about one of the Carabinieri on your case."

Turning to the front, Angelo lowers the divider. "Paulie, pull over. I need to take this." Paulie glances at me in the rearview mirror, awaiting my approval. I nod, and the car slows to a stop on the side of the road. Angelo gets out, leaving the door wide open as he steps onto the sidewalk, the freezing wind rushing into the car.

Beside me, Mia shivers. I want to reach out, pull her close, and warm her with my body heat, but now is not the time. She's still angry with me for leaving her in the wine cellar. If she knew how close she came to being bitten—and possibly killed—she'd be a lot less angry. I'll make it up to her tonight. I'll make sure she gets the release she deserves, and I'll have my fill of her in every way. Blood rushes south at the thought. Tonight, I will fuck my wife until she forgets everything else. Until she can't walk.

Her scent engulfs me, pulling me into the memory of her skin beneath my hands. I want to squeeze her perfect ass and her soft breasts. I want to press her against the wall and take her hard, my hands on her hips, my mouth on her nipples. I'm already hard, thinking about all the ways I will take her. Mia is more than just a wife; she's a challenge… and I always rise to a challenge.

She shivers again, and I know her nipples are puckered beneath her dress. It would only take a moment to have her soaking wet and ready for me. I've thrown her into the deep end of my world, and she's handled it beautifully.

"You did well back there," I comment. Mia's a force to be reckoned with and I am impressed. She's smart, quick, and unpredictable. I need to be careful with her. The thought only turns me on more. I want to bend her to my will. My pretty little wife.

"Thank you," Mia says in clipped tones. "Paulie, please close the door. I'm cold. I have no interest in sitting here freezing my ass off while Angelo takes his call," she says, her voice dripping with annoyance.

She's pissed, and I can't blame her but now I can't resist her pull.

I put my hand on her thigh and slide my fingers under the hem of her dress. She glares at me, defiant. "You're angry with me, gattina. That's good. I can think of several ways to work off that anger." My fingers trace her inner thigh, and the heat radiating from her sears my fingertips. She clenches her legs shut, but I shake my head.

"Mia, gattina, you will obey me. We both know you want me to touch you, to make you wet." My voice is low and firm.

"Fuck you," she spits, her eyes blazing with anger.

I smile. The flecks of gold in her eyes shine when she's angry. "Yes, you will. And you'll do it exactly how I say. Right now, I say open your legs for me, my little tiger."

Her glare intensifies, but I part her legs and slide my fingers over her clit through her thong. In seconds, I feel her heat and hear the quickening of her pulse.

"Damn you," she grinds out. She's fighting me, but she's also opening up, tilting her hips to give me better access. Her coat slips, revealing hard nipples straining against her dress. I move her thong and stroke her bare pussy.

Meeting her gaze, I try to suppress my amusement. I love it when she's angry, when she fights back. It makes every touch, every moment of dominance, even sweeter. I tweak her nipple hard, relishing her sharp intake of breath. She is already drenched. For me.

Paulie grunts as he steps out to shut the door, but there's another sound—a metallic click. My senses flare, and just as I register the cocking of a gun, the squeal of tires pierces the night. I react instinctively, shielding Mia with my body just as gunfire erupts. Bullets rip into the car, tearing through metal, glass, and flesh.

Pain explodes in my chest, sharp and relentless. I collapse over Mia, my body shielding hers from the barrage. I feel the hot sting of bullets lodging deep inside me. Fuck. This is bad. Dying now would be more than inconvenient; it would be catastrophic. I'm immobilized, my strength draining with each passing second. I can't move, can't speak. My body shuts down, plunging me into a state of forced stasis.

"Renzo? Renzo!" Mia's voice is frantic, and I feel her trying to push me off. She manages to slide out from under me and frantically checks my pulse, but she finds nothing. "Renzo," she cries, her voice breaking.

I'm in stasis already, but that has never affected my hearing. The fright in her voice tears at me, and I curse my helplessness. For the first time, I realize Mia cares. My wife—my human wife—actually cares if I live or die.

Mia struggles to open the car door, her movements frantic. She's been hit. Rage flares through my veins. Someone hurt her. They hurt what's mine. I lose sight of her as she stumbles onto the sidewalk. Moments later, I hear her call out, her voice tinged with desperation. "Paulie!" Paulie must be hurt badly—his breathing is ragged, labored .

"Angelo!" Mia yells. "Angelo?"

Angelo drags himself around the car, his leg twisted unnaturally. He's been shot, too, but he's conscious, at least. His heart beats steadily, though his face is pale with pain. "Call One-One-Two!" Mia demands, her voice trembling. Angelo dials with shaking hands and tells the operator our location.

"Paulie, stay with me," Mia pleads. Her hands are stained with blood, and tears stream down her face as she tries to help. She's alone, terrified, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Sirens wail in the distance and soon, flashing lights fill the street with harsh, cold light. An officer approaches Mia. "What happened?"

"Someone killed my husband," she chokes out, her voice breaking. She's crying, and the anguish in her voice cuts through me like a blade. I can't move but I make a silent vow to make whoever did this suffer a thousand times over.

I suck in a painful breath, my chest burning. The morgue drawer is freezing, the chill seeping into my bones. Three bullets are out, but two are still lodged deep inside me, pulsing with every heartbeat. I can't fully heal while they're in there. I try to remain still, not wanting the attendant to hear me and open the drawer. Surprise. The thought brings a wry smile to my face.

Luca, Nico, I need help . Silence. For fuck's sake. If my brothers are shutting me out because they're off getting laid, I'll kill them myself. Luca, Nico! I project my thoughts louder.

Where the fuck have you been? Nico's voice snaps through my mind.

Someone shot me. I need you here. Now. The bullets are still inside, and they hurt like hell.

Nico's response is clipped. We know. It's been hours. We've been trying to reach you. Luca's with Father in Venezia. The news is out. They've declared you dead. Where the hell have you been?

In the morgue . I grit my teeth. I'm weak, not dead. Not yet.

Wait. You're still shot? Why haven't the bullets come out? Nico's voice is tense, edged with worry.

Five shots. Two in the heart, three in my chest. I've ejected some, but two are stuck. My body isn't healing like it should.

We're coming, brother. Nico goes quiet, and I feel the presence of my father joining the connection. Lorenzo . He uses my full name.

I'm weak. The admission costs me. I hate being weak, especially in front of him. There's something wrong, Father. There's so much pain. This isn't normal.

We need to get those bullets out. My father's voice is stern, controlled. I can sense his worry. I'm sending Esme. Stay put until she arrives.

Stay put? I'm in a fucking morgue drawer. Where the hell am I going to go?

Fine. But after that, I'm going home.

We'll see what she says first . My father's pragmatism grates on me.

Luca's voice cuts in. Did you see who shot you?

No. It was raining and I didn't get a good look. I was…distracted. Stupid of me. I wasn't about to admit that someone got the jump on me because I was finger fucking my human wife. It could be any number of people either in the human world or the magickal one.

The list of people who want me dead is long and goes back centuries. I'm not surprised someone tried to kill me. It's happened a few times before but why, at this moment, did someone want me dead? Whoever it was is in for a hell of a surprise. I have no plans to stay dead. I will claim my place at the head of the family and then track down the asshole who is behind the attack.

The pain is intense, and the close confines of this morgue drawer is making it hard to breathe. Claustrophobia has always been an issue for me.

A thought hits me. Mia? Could my wife have been collateral damage to protect her identity? I restrained myself from killing her the other night, barely. Could I have been this wrong about Mia? No. I can't see my wife getting someone to do a drive-by. Not her style. Not at all. If she stabbed me or tried to smother me, that I could see. She is passionate and her temper can flare, which is sexy as fuck. I love the volatile streak that she tries to keep hidden.

A drive-by is too cold, too calculated for her. It would involve her handing off control to someone else and that she just wouldn't do. I think back to the moments after I was shot. Mia was honestly upset when she thought I was dead. Maybe it's wishful thinking but I just can't picture Mia behind this attempt on my life.

I breathe through a wave of pain. My mind drifts back to the wine cellar. I haven't lost control like that in years, centuries, maybe ever. My hunger for Mia was so intense I forgot she was a virgin. The smell of her blood damn near robbed me of restraint. I'm going to have to be careful around her from now on. Could there be something wrong with me? Almost losing control and now not healing, am I sick?

There was a commotion in the room. The door by my head opens and my drawer is being pulled out. Someone is standing next to my drawer. I close my eyes and slow my breathing and heart rate. Someone pulls the sheet off my head.

"See? Dead. I told you," a man's voice says.

"Yes, I see. Do you mind if I have a few minutes with him?" It's Esme. She arrived quickly. "I just want to say goodbye before the family gets here. You know what I mean."

There are rustling sounds and then the crunch of money being balled up. Esme must be paying the guy.

"Um…sure." The man retreats and I hear a door open and then close.

I open my eyes. "Esme."

"What the fuck have you gotten yourself into now?" She puts her hands on her hips and practically grins at me.

"Fix it," I snap, my patience thin.

Esme flicks her long red hair over one shoulder and nods. "It's gonna hurt." She pushes her leather jacket aside and pulls a knife out of her pocket. Clicking the blade into place she holds it above my chest .

"Do it with magick." There's no way I want Esme digging around in my chest. Her eyes gleam a little too brightly with that knife in her hand.

"Wimp," she mutters as she stashes the knife in her jeans pocket.

"Be very careful, Esme. My brother may be under your spell, but I am not. Don't push me or you won't live long enough to complain to him."

Her face goes blank, but I know she knows I am willing to kill her. She has some weird relationship with Nico, but I don't care. She's a witch, and typically, vampires do not trust witches, no matter what my father and brother think.

She leans over, eyes closed, murmuring incantations under her breath. The bullets shift with a sharp painful tear, the agony blinding. I clench my teeth, my hands fisting at my sides as she works. Slowly, painfully, the bullets are drawn out, clinking onto the metal tray.

I start to sit up, but the world tilts violently, and waves of dizziness surge through me. Esme is at my side in an instant, pushing me back down with surprising force. I bare my fangs, a low growl escaping my throat, and she quickly backs off, her eyes wide but resolute.

"Renzo, I don't know what's going on, but those aren't normal bullets. You need to stay still." She pulls a small plastic baggie from her pocket, slipping her hand inside to pick up one of the bullets, inspecting it closely under the dim, sterile light of the morgue.

"It looks normal to me," I mutter, though my voice sounds weak and thready.

Esme's red hair catches the light when she shakes her head. "It looks normal, but it isn't. Trust me. Someone did something to this—altered it in some way." She meets my eyes, her expression grim. "Someone really wanted to hurt you, Renzo. You have powerful enemies, but this? This is different."

I stare at her, my gaze hard and unyielding, but her words strike a chord deep within me. She's not telling me anything I don't already know, but the ominous tone in her voice sends a chill through my veins. I try to sit up again, pushing past the pain, but my strength falters. Esme slips an arm around my back, helping me to sit upright. I loathe this weakness, this dependency on anyone—especially a witch. My pride burns, but Esme ignores my anger, her focus entirely on my condition.

"I've never seen you—or any other vampire—need this kind of help. Something's seriously wrong." Her voice is tight, edged with a fear she's trying to hide.

I see it in her eyes: the uncertainty, the lines of worry creasing her usually confident face. Esme is the last person I want to see me like this. I've mocked Nico countless times for his association with her, but right now, I don't have a choice.

"There's more to this, isn't there?" I say, my voice strained. I've been avoiding my nightmares, the strange dreams that have plagued me lately, dismissing the warnings from the magickal realm. But no matter how long you live, you can never truly escape that world. It always finds you.

The witch holds my gaze, and a flicker of understanding passes between us. "You feel it too. We all do. There's a shift coming. Everyone's spooked." She holds up the bullet again, her fingers trembling slightly. "But this? This is something altogether different. I'm taking these with me. I need to figure out what's going on." She collects the rest of the bullets, sealing them in the baggie with a quick, practiced motion. "You should go to Venezia. Stay with your father until we can figure this out."

"No," I say, my voice laced with defiance. "I have to stay here. There's too much at stake."

Esme shakes her head and frustration bleeds into her tone. "Renzo, you're weak. Go to your father or cross over into the magickal realm…" her voice fades out.

"If someone from the magickal realm did this to me then hiding there is a stupid idea."

Esme gave a brief nod of agreement. "But you're a target, and the last thing you need is to face whoever did this while you're not at full strength."

I clench my jaw, refusing to let her see how much her words sting. "I didn't come this far to run now. I'm a Valdici. We never back down from a fight. And if you breathe a word of this to anyone…" I let the threat hang in the air.

Esme rolls her eyes, but there's a tightness to her expression. "I always keep your family's secrets. But you know your father's going to agree with me. You can't just show up without a damn good explanation. Stay with him for a few days. By the time you're ready to come back, I'll know more." She lifts the bag of bullets, her gaze flicking to mine, almost pleading.

I glare at her, but she stands her ground, though I can see the faint tremor in her hands. "They'll blame me if anything happens to you," she says quietly.

She's right, but admitting it feels like defeat. "Did you bring clothes?" I snap, eager to change the subject.

Esme nods, picking up a backpack she's left on the floor. "Albert packed everything."

I pull on a fresh shirt, feeling a flicker of strength returning. I strip off the sheet, and Esme squeaks, turning away quickly. It amuses me—after all these years, modesty is a concept I've abandoned, but apparently, Esme still holds on to it. I stand, pulling on underwear, but the world tilts again, and I stagger, catching myself on the table.

Esme steals glances at me, her lips thinning into a tight line, but she says nothing. I take extra time to dress, forcing myself to go slowly to regain my equilibrium. "Okay. Let's go." I straighten, and the ground shifts beneath me once more. I close my eyes, breathing deeply until the dizziness subsides.

Esme watches me closely, with concern written across her face, but she stays silent. She doesn't have to say it—I'm weak as a kitten. It's better to be presumed dead than to be seen as weak.

"What about the morgue attendant?" she asks, her voice hesitant.

I pull my belongings from the drawer, retrieving my phone from the plastic bag. No new messages—not surprising, considering everyone believes I'm dead. They are in for a rude awakening. "Wait for me outside. I'll go to Venezia if I must. We need to find out what's going on." I don't bother telling her she's right; she already knows .

Esme frowns, her expression clouding as she realizes the implications. Her face pales, and she looks suddenly fragile.

"The attendant saw you and me. If I walk out of here, he'll tell the world I've come back. Albert and my brothers will handle things on their end—a fake body, a falsified autopsy. No one will know the truth. But this guy? He knows I'm supposed to be dead."

Esme nods, swallowing hard. "I know. I… just hate it."

"Go. Tell Nico I'm on my way. I'll be out in a minute." I pause, then add, "Thank you for your help."

She hesitates, then gives me a sharp nod. "Take care of yourself, Renzo," she says, her voice softer than I've ever heard it before she slips out the door.

I take a moment, breathing through the lingering pain, collecting my things. I hear the door creak open behind me, and I turn slowly.

"Hey, dude, you're not supposed to be in here," the morgue attendant says, annoyance lacing his voice.

I ignore him, shoving the last of my belongings into the backpack.

"Seriously, man, you gotta go." He takes a step closer.

I turn to face him, and his eyes widen in horror. "You… you were dead."

"Not so much dead," I say, grinning as my fangs flash, "as slightly under the weather."

His mouth opens in a strangled attempt to scream. But I'm on him in an instant, my hand clamping down over his mouth, my fangs sinking into his neck. His blood floods my senses, warm and coppery, and my strength surges back with every swallow.

I let his lifeless body slump to the floor, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. About damn time. Now, to find out who wants me dead.