Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Saylor

It was the wee hours of the morning when I finally had Anthony sitting on my couch in the living room. The room had started to get cast in shades of yellow and orange as Salvatore laid out a small pharmacy across the coffee table.

"Antibiotics. Three times a day. They're heavy-ass doses. Take ‘em with food," he said, pointing to one bottle. "Pain meds. Self-explanatory," he went on. Then he shook the third bottle. "Iron. Build that blood back up. I will be back to check on you every day," he said as he zipped his bag back up.

"Thanks, Sal," Anthony said. "I really appreciate you coming all that way. Apologize to Whitney for me.

With that, Salvatore said his goodbyes.

It had been an absolutely insane day.

And even riding back to the city with Salvatore hadn't been the end of it.

I'd needed to call Keith, asking him to please take temporary care of Fury for me. An opportunity he'd jumped on, agreeing to meet up with a man named Brio to pick her up. And we'd needed to arrange to get the row house emptied out of my inventory, and have it stored back in my warehouse.

Then, of course, I'd needed to call and calm down my mom, assure her I was okay, promise to fill her in on everything as soon as I'd gotten some rest.

I thought Ant and I might finally have a few minutes of tranquility to just unwind.

But, not two minutes after Salvatore left, there was a frantic banging on the condo door, making Anthony try to shoot up, then break off on a fit of curses.

"Stay," I demanded, reaching for one of my guns, and going to the door myself.

I checked the peephole.

Only to find Anthony's brother, Emilio, waiting there, shuffling his feet, glancing around frantically.

I guess the word had gotten out.

I slid the locks and pulled them open.

Emilio looked ready to rush in, shouldering me out of the way if necessary, but his gaze landed on me.

"Christ," he hissed.

"I'm fine," I insisted for what felt like the millionth time.

I mean, sure, I'd been beaten up.

But Anthony was shot .

I didn't understand all the fuss about my face.

"He's okay," I said, moving out of the way to let him inside.

Emilio's gaze went to my gun for a split second before he found his brother on the couch, still dressed in his torn and bloodstained clothes, looking pale from the blood loss, and a little slumped from the combination of the pain and alcohol.

"Jesus," he said, rushing toward Anthony. "Why the fuck did I hear about this from Venezio?" he asked, yanking Ant's shirt open to look at the wound himself.

Salvatore had opted to leave the entry hole in the back open and covered in gauze, but had stitched up the exit wound because he thought the skin was too tattered to close itself back up again.

"Was a little busy getting shot then poked and prodded," Anthony said, but his tone was apologetic.

But he hadn't been too busy to pick up his phone and call my mother, to tell her I was okay.

That warm, squeezing sensation started in my chest again, and I found myself reaching for the bullet in my pocket, rubbing my thumb across it like a worry stone.

I moved away from the men, letting them have their privacy as I went into my bedroom, grabbing a change of clothes, then making my way into the bathroom.

I turned on the water to almost scalding, then stepped inside of the spray, letting it drown out the sounds of my cries as the whole of what had happened in the course of the past day crashed down on me at once.

What I'd seen.

What I'd done.

What I'd endured.

But, most importantly, what I'd almost lost.

When I felt drained dry of the tears, I quickly scrubbed my body, then climbed out, changed, and brushed out my hair before looking in my closet for something I could loan Anthony.

I found an oversized zip-up hoodie that would let me and Salvatore check his wound easily.

With the bad emotions swirling down the drain, I suddenly felt dead on my feet.

"When did Emilio leave?" I asked, finding Anthony alone.

"Just when we heard you moving around in your room," he said. "You okay?"

"That's my line."

"I'm borrowing it," he said as he sat up, letting me slide him out of his shirt and jacket, then slide him into the hoodie. I zipped it up then worked his belt loose to make him more comfortable. "Are you okay?" he asked again when I was done busying myself.

I sucked in a breath that shook across my chest as I sat down next to him on his good side, leaning my head into his chest, listening to his heartbeat against my ear. The sound of it had my eyes filling up again.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Today was a lot," I added as his arm went around me, holding onto me surprisingly tightly for someone who'd gotten pretty weak already from the blood loss.

He tilted down, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"We're both breathing. Everything else, we can deal with."

Well, that was certainly true.

"Ugh, what now?" I grumbled when my phone started to ring.

Folding up, I grabbed it and swiped the screen without looking. "What?" I asked, hearing the exhaustion in my own voice.

"Just calling to let you know that Fury is snuggled up nice and comfy with her Uncle Keith," Keith said, making a snorting laugh escape me.

"Thank you, Keith. I appreciate it."

"We had a long talk about Mommy and Daddy being a little under the weather," he went on. This time, instead of wanting to roll my eyes at his comments, I felt that warm sensation move across my chest again. "She took the news remarkably well. Though, to be fair, she was eating a treat at the time."

"Keith, you better not be feeding her pizza rolls."

"Don't be silly," he said, as if it was insane to assume such a thing. "She has a cheese and bacon-flavored treat we picked out at the bodega. Which is basically a pizza roll. But for dogs."

"Okay. Good. I'm glad she's content with you. You sure you're okay with her for a day or two?"

"Or five or six," he said, making me shake my head.

"I'll pick her up as soon as things are stable," I told him.

"Sure sure. Or not. Whatever."

"You're not stealing my dog, Keith," I told him.

"She really likes me."

"She really likes me too."

Anthony reached for the phone and set it on speaker. "Keith, as soon as my shoulder heals up a bit, Saylor and I will go with you to the shelter to get your own dog, okay?"

"I mean, those dogs won't be Fury."

"No, they won't," Anthony agreed. "But Fury already has owners. So you can't have her. But there are dozens of other dogs who need someone to love them."

"I guess," Keith agreed. "Did you really get shot?"

"Yep."

"Did it hurt?"

"Didn't feel great."

"Cool," Keith said, making Anthony shake his head. "Well, Fury wants to go to take a nap now," he said, making a little laugh escape me. "I have to go tuck her in. Talk to you later."

With that, he ended the call.

And we finally had some peace and quiet.

"So," I said, snuggling into Anthony who insisted that he was going to need to sleep sitting up for a day or two, so we'd settled on the couch for its proximity to both the bathroom and the kitchen, making short trips for him easy.

Though, my plan was to do all the running around for him.

No, I'd never been put in the position of being a caretaker. And, sure, Anthony was probably right that I could be a bit brusque at times. But I was determined to do a good job, damnit.

"So?" Anthony asked when I got lost in my own thoughts.

"How long do you think we have until your entire family descends upon this place?"

"Oh, we have a solid… two hours at least," he teased, shooting me a small smile. "Keep in mind, though, that they're all going to show up with dishes of food."

"I mean, I wouldn't be opposed to a visit right now in that case," I said, getting a little chuckle out of him.

"You know, you could go catch some sleep in bed. I'm okay, I promise."

"Nope," I said, snuggling in closer still. "I'm staying right here," I told him. "You're not allowed to get shot again," I told him.

"I'll try not to," he said, leaning the side of his face against the top of my head. "Figure if I got you with me, you'll keep me from hurting myself too much."

"Not if," I said, sliding my arm across his stomach.

"No?" he asked.

"I'm right here," I told him. "I don't plan on going anywhere."

It was the closest I could come to a declaration of my feelings. Pathetic, I know. But I had to start somewhere. I figured that the longer I was with Ant, the more comfortable I would get with telling him how I felt, how important he'd become to me in such a short amount of time.

It was almost overwhelming to imagine how those feelings would compound with more time together, how huge a part of me he would become.

"I'm thinking of retiring early," I admitted as we sat in silence listening to the city wake up below and around us.

"Yeah? I gotta admit, I like that idea. What would you do with the warehouse?"

"I don't know. I could sell it. Or I could turn it into some sort of business."

"I could go in with you," he said.

"You're just looking for a way to wash dirty mafia money, aren't you?" I teased.

"Partly," he agreed.

"And the other part?"

"An investment in our future," he said, making my heart swell in my chest.

"I would be a nightmare working with," I told him.

"I… don't doubt that for a minute," he said. "But I wouldn't really need to be an actual part of it. I have my own career to advance. That could be your project."

"Are you going to be in trouble?" I asked.

"What? With Lorenzo?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"No. Or, at least, I don't think so. He might want to know why the Morellis and Miko were involved when I hadn't informed him or my brother about what was going on."

"In your defense, the Morellis were just supposed to be a bridge between us and Matej. It's not your fault shit was more fucked up than we realized. And then, well, things were moving too fast to call and give anyone a debriefing. I mean, isn't this what your boss would want from you? To show you can take initiative, navigate difficult situations, find allies to assist you, all to get a desired ending?"

"Dunno if you kidnapped and tortured and me shot was the desired end."

"I mean, shit happens, though, right? Am I the first woman who was kidnapped in the Family?"

To that, I got a pretty epic snort. "No," he admitted.

"And all the bad guys are dead. So, I mean, it was successful."

"I mean, the job was kind of just to watch the fuckers, not kill them."

"Luckily, I killed them. Well, most of them," I said.

"About that," he said, tone going all serious.

"What about it?" I asked, feeling myself stiffen, worried he was going to be mad about it or something.

"How are you about it? Know it's not easy to take a life. Let alone multiple ones."

"It was, actually," I admitted. "Easy," I clarified. "I know it maybe shouldn't have been. But, at that moment, it was me or them. And I'm always going to choose me in that sort of scenario. Besides, two of them were talking about raping me. So they definitely had it coming. The one who was shot in the dick first, though, that was Jan. I mean, I did the dick-shooting. By accident, kind of. Jan was annoyed by his screaming and shot him."

"He was one vicious fuck," Anthony said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "All said and done, I got off pretty easy." Even if my throat was really starting to get sore thanks to all this talking after being choked multiple times.

"Wouldn't call what he did to you easy."

"Nothing permanent," I said, trying to play down the dark mood that had fallen between us.

"Think I owe you a truckload of gummy fish to thank you for saving my life," he said, voice getting thick with his own exhaustion.

"At least," I agreed.

I was actually starving. But it felt too good to be so close to him, to feel his warmth, to hear his reassuring heartbeat against my ear, to feel his strong arm around me. I didn't want to move. Not even if my stomach was letting out increasingly loud objections to its emptiness.

I expected Anthony to comment on it, to insist I get myself something to eat. When he didn't, I angled my head up, finding his chin tucked to his chest, his eyes closed.

Panic welled up before I remembered I could hear his heartbeat, could feel the rise and fall of his chest.

He was fine.

Just bone-deep tired.

And as much as my stomach had other things in mind, I was just as beat. My eyelids felt impossible to keep open once I knew Anthony was comfortably—or as comfortably as he could be given the gunshot wound and his position—resting.

Before I even knew it, I was drifting off as well.

___

It felt like no time at all had passed when the buzzing noise of the intercom drew me slowly toward consciousness. With a loud grumble. Both for the interruption, and for the screaming crick in my neck from sleeping upright.

"I second that," Anthony said, making me sit up straight, looking at him, checking for sweating or paleness.

Reaching up, I pressed a hand to his forehead, finding it reassuringly cool.

"I'm okay," he said, giving my hip a squeeze. "Just hurts. Shoulder, neck, arm," he added as I moved away, seeing him try to move the arm that had been around me, but it flopped like a dead fish onto the cushion.

"Fell asleep?" I asked.

"Yeah. Go get the door. I'm fine," he said.

"They can wait," I insisted. "Do you want a pain pill?" I asked, reaching for the bottle without waiting for his answer. Of course he wanted a pill. If I was shot in the shoulder, I would want a whole handful of them.

So I slipped the pill into his mouth, then lifted the bottle of water to his lips, since both his arms were currently incapacitated.

I was still slipping the cap onto the bottle when, suddenly, the condo door burst open, making panic surge as I lunged toward my gun.

"It's your mom," Anthony said, tone soothing, seeming to sense my panic.

I turned and, sure enough, there was my mom, her keys still out, bags in her arms, her horrified gaze on my face and throat.

"You have a key, why did you buzz?" I asked.

"In case you two were doing things no innocent mother should have to witness. For a second time," she added, trying to lighten the mood. Then, because she was a mom after all, her voice went low and sad, "Saylor…"

"I'm okay," I told her, blinking back tears that always formed when confronted with my mother's concern. "You should really be asking Anthony if he's alright," I added, waving toward him. "He was shot," I added, watching her eyes go wide enough for the whites to be visible all the way around.

"What?" she asked, her voice a hushed sound as she rushed forward toward him.

"He took a bullet for me."

"That's… an exaggeration," Anthony said.

"She's serious? You're shot?" my mom asked, sitting down next to him on the couch. "Where?"

Having woken it up, he lifted his arm to gesture toward his shoulder. "It's fine, Sam. I'm alright," he assured her, picking up on her motherly anxiety.

"Does your mom know?" she asked, her hand going to her heart.

"By now? Yeah, I imagine she knows." Then, at my mother's look of mortification that her son was shot, and she was not at his side, he added, "This isn't the first time I've been shot. Right now, I imagine she's making a lasagne to bring over with her. I'm sure my brother told her I was up all night and need some rest."

"Oh, no. Did I wake you two up?" she asked.

"It's okay. I think we would need to hire a masseuse to come in for our necks if we stayed that way another minute," I said, still reaching back to rub at my sore muscles. Then, remembering how Ant had been asleep with his chin to his chest, I moved behind him to work at his tight muscles. "Did you bring food?" I asked.

"I sensed something being very… off last night," she said. "I figured that I might bribe the truth out of you with food," she added, reaching for the bags. "Are you guys hungry?"

"Starving," I admitted. "And you need to eat, so you can have your antibiotics," I reminded Anthony.

"Not gonna turn down food. Didn't eat anything yesterday. Figure the moms and aunts are gonna fix that today, though," he said, shooting my mom a smile.

"I'm sure your mom and aunts are going to bring home-cooked deliciousness," my mom said, going into my cabinets for plates. "I brought store-bought egg and cheese on bagels."

"Too much talking. Not enough putting food in front of me," I said, getting the first genuine smile out of her as she reached into the bag, found a foil-wrapped bagel, and chucked it at me. Then carefully plated two bagels for Ant, and brought them over. "Do you have anything to drink in that fridge?" she asked.

"A carton of milk with a questionable expiration date," I admitted.

"Okay. I'm going to run to the store to get you some essentials. Do you have any requests?"

"Gummy fish," I told her.

"Like I'd forget that. Maybe ice pops?" she asked, glancing at my throat.

"Yeah, that'd be good," I agreed. "And coffee creamer," I said. "Brownie batter," I added. "I've, ah, developed a taste for it," I lied.

What's more, this was my mom; she knew it was a lie.

Her lips pressed together. "Is that so?"

"Yep. Love that shit," I said.

"Well, I better hop-to then," she said. "Make sure you two eat and take your meds. I won't be more than an hour."

With that, we shoveled food in our mouths, barely even tasting any of it in an effort to fill our stomachs. My throat hurt with each swallow, but my stomach slowly stopped rumbling.

Anthony had just swallowed down his antibiotics and me my ibuprofen when the buzzer started up again.

"Here we go," Anthony said, wincing.

Really, I think a part of me assumed he'd been exaggerating about his family.

But, nope.

If anything, he'd played it down.

Both of his sisters, Isabella and Mirabella, showed up, each bringing something to stick in the fridge or freezer. The men of the family—Emilio, Santi, Brio, Cesare, Cosimo, and Silvano—along with their wives—Avery, Alessa, Ezmeray, Mere, Halle, and Millie dropped by. As did Salvatore and his wife Whitney, and the Capo dei Capi, Lorenzo Costa, himself and his wife Giana.

Then there were the aunts, cousins, close friends of the Family.

It was a madhouse.

And everyone felt perfectly comfortable with the crush of the crowd save for me and my mother, the two of us standing in the kitchen a little wide-eyed and unsure of ourselves.

We'd always been a small family.

My mother and father lost their parents somewhat young. Then when my father and brother passed away, well, it was just us.

"I'd tell you that you get used to it," Whitney, Salvatore's wife, said, coming over to snatch a mozzarella off a platter that… someone brought.

"But that's not true?" I asked.

"You do and you don't, I guess," she said, smiling at the people gathered all around Anthony, laughing, talking, looking perfectly comfortable with the decibel of the noise while I felt like I was jumpy with each burst of amusement. "The noise is something I've never gotten used to," Whitney admitted. "And the kids aren't even here. But you do get comfortable with the closeness. You're never alone in a family like this," she told us. "There's a lot of comfort in that. I mean, did you see your fridge?" she asked.

"I'm praying no one else shows up, because I don't think I can shove anything else in there."

"Oh, who are you kidding?" Anthony said, making me stiffen as he moved toward us, "you're gonna eat half of that by the end of the day."

"What are you doing? Get your stubborn ass back on that couch before you trip over your shoelaces and bust your face open," I said, getting a chorus of laughter from his family.

"I like her," the man I think named Brio said as he slapped Anthony on his shoulder. His bad shoulder. "Nice place, by the way," he said to me. "Just needs one more thing…"

"She already has a dog," Anthony said.

"Don't see it."

"She's staying with a friend until I feel comfortable leaving Anthony alone to walk her," I told Brio.

"She stole her from drug dealers who kept her outside her whole life," Anthony said.

"Yeah?" Brio asked, something dark crossing his face. "What's their address? Wanna have a little talk with ‘em."

"Okay then," Ezmeray said, walking up behind her husband, wrapping her arm around his waist. "I'm gonna get you out of here before you make more work for poor Silvano," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I can clean up my own messes," Brio said, but he was being pulled away before he could get the address for the drug dealers.

"We have to get going too," Giana said, moving toward us with Lorenzo. "I'm sure the kids have driven Lore up the wall already," she said, both of them saying goodbye to Anthony and me and my mom before heading out.

One by one, the rest of the couples followed.

Then, finally, the aunts and cousins.

And last but not least, Ant's mom, who promised to be by to check on him again tomorrow.

With more food.

"You two look dead on your feet," my mom said when she was the only one left. "Try to get some sleep, okay? I have a feeling you're going to be doing a lot of hosting for the foreseeable future. And your social battery already looks drained. Ant, please rest," she said, walking up to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Do you want anything to eat?" I asked, waving at what was left of the appetizer platter someone had brought.

"God no. I'm so fucking full," he said.

I grabbed the last three mozzarella sticks, then moved toward him. "How about we try to rest in bed?" I suggested. "At least then you have something to lean your head back against."

He had no objections to that as we moved through my mess of a living room, full of cards, flowers, and get-well packages, and made it to the bedroom.

By the time I kicked out of my pants and yanked off my hoodie, Ant was cussing and swearing at his own button and fly.

"Stuck?" I asked, moving toward him to brush his hands away.

"Babe, really don't think that's a good idea right now," he said.

"Why?" I asked, pulling the zipper down, so I could try to pull the caught material free.

"Because you need to turn the heat up."

"What?" I asked, yanking harder, and feeling the material finally give. "Is this an insecure shrinkage thing?" I asked, glancing up at him. "Because I've seen your cock, Anthony," I reminded him.

"Yeah, shrinking is not the problem," he said, voice going thick. His hand raised, brushing across the tank top I had on. With no bra.

And he was right; it was a little cold in the condo.

So my nipples were pebbled up against the light gray material.

"Dude, you were shot last night," I reminded him even as desire coiled in my core as his fingers teased across my nipple.

"Yeah," he agreed, his hooded gaze holding mine. "You could make me feel a lot better," he said.

I would have laughed if I wasn't so distracted by how his hand moved up to yank the top of my tank top down, exposing my entire breast, his fingers touching me again without the barrier.

"These are fucking amazing," he told me, his hand sliding under the swell, lifting, squeezing.

My hands were moving then, working down his pants, then reaching out to rub my palm against his cock that was straining against his boxer briefs.

I moved forward, making him step backward until I had him around to the far side of the bed. Hands on his hips, I pressed him down onto the mattress before lowering myself down between his legs, my head angled up to watch the desire flash across his stupidly handsome face before I reached to free him.

Anthony sucked in a deep breath as my hand slid down his thick length before I ducked my head down and took him into my mouth.

A deep groan escaped him as his hand dropped down on my shoulder, then snuck around to grab the back of my neck as I started to work him. Slow at first, then faster as his breath went shallow, as he made little groans of need that had my own growing.

His hand shifted up, grabbing a fistful of my hair, and yanking hard, making that pain/pleasure sensation course across my scalp in a way that had no right to make my desire grow, but managed to regardless.

"I don't want to come down your throat," he said, eyes molten. "Come up here. I need to be inside of you."

"No," I said, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "You have stitches," I reminded him.

"Either you get up here and ride me, or I'm gonna bust them open fucking you. And I'll tell Salvatore exactly that when he comes over to stitch me back up." I wasn't about to risk pulling his stitches by riding him, either. No matter how badly my body was screaming out to feel him again. "I'm serious," he said, giving my hair another hard yank that had an embarrassingly loud moan escaping me.

Sensing how close he was to having his own way, he pulled harder until I had no choice but to rise up to ease the sting.

And once I was standing in front of him, I was a goner.

His hand moved out, pressing between my thighs, feeling the proof of my desire, then slipping under the material to tease me until I really didn't give a damn about the stitches anymore.

"Come on," he demanded as he pulled down my panties, then patted his leg. "Ride me," he demanded.

On a whimpering sound, I grabbed a condom from my top drawer and handed it to him as I yanked off my tank top, standing bare before him as his gaze slid over me, eyes getting hungrier with each inch he took in.

"Fuck," he said exhaling hard as he reached for my hip, drawing me closer, then leaning up to suck my nipple into his mouth.

My head fell back with a moan as my hand landed on his good shoulder as his lips sucked, tongue traced, and teeth nipped, then moved across my chest to continue the exploration.

Before I finally couldn't take it anymore and planted my knees on either side of him, then moved to straddle him, lowering down until I felt him press against me.

Gaze on him, my hips sank down, taking him deep in one stroke, both of us moaning at the sensation.

Then, well, all thoughts of his injury were all but abandoned as I started to ride him. The events of the past day and a half making me crave the closeness, the release, the unmistakable connection I felt when he was inside of me.

It wasn't long before Ant was rocking up into me as I rolled my hips in delicious circles, using his good shoulder to anchor myself as I leaned back to get the angle just right .

"Fuck, I missed this," Ant groaned, leaning his forehead into my shoulder as my moans grew louder, as I got closer and closer. "That's it," he said, voice rough with his own need for release. "Come for me. Let me feel you squeeze my cock."

Then I was, taking him with me as I cried out.

I leaned my face into his neck afterward, both of us trying to calm the chaos rioting through our systems.

"Saylor," he called, voice soft.

"Fuck. Did I pull your stitches?" I asked, sitting up.

"No," he said, reaching for the back of my neck, and pulling me closer to seal his lips to mine, kissing me until I swear I felt it in my fucking toes. Only then did he release me. "That," he said, then patted my ass. "Hop off."

I did, watching him move to stand. "Let me help—"

"Fuck no," he said, shaking his head at me as he walked into the en suite bathroom, closing the door.

I was still stark naked when he returned, climbing onto the bed, and sitting against the headboard, the pillows positioned to keep his shoulder from touching it.

"How're the stitches?" I asked, eyeing his hoodie.

"Dunno. If we pulled them, it was worth it," he said as I reached to push the material to the side to check for myself.

"They're okay."

"So, what I'm hearing is you can ride me as much as we want while I heal," he said.

"We should probably—"

"If that sentence doesn't end in Fuck as much as we damn well please I don't want to hear it," he said, shooting me a lazy, tired smile.

"We can talk about it after we sleep," I decided, scooting in close to him.

"Saylor?" Anthony asked a while later, when I was sure he must have passed out while I just sat there, listening to his heartbeat.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for carjacking me," he said, making a laugh escape me.

"Thanks for being stupid enough to not have your doors locked," I shot back as his arm curled around me, holding me close.

As we drifted off to sleep, I realized that I'd never been happier that I was, right there, with him.

And, suddenly, that wasn't quite so scary anymore.