Chapter 214: Deeper Than Logic
- RORY -
Luciano comes back into the room, and my eyes flutter his way. I don’t really mean to bat my lashes the way I do, and I feel ridiculous as soon as it happens. But I think it’s automatic at this point. I can’t help it. Hopefully he doesn’t notice.
How many times is this man going to be there when I need him before I just give in and allow myself to... do whatever is next to do without a fight? I’m already relieved now from just his presence alone. The trembling stops. The nerves stop. Everything inside of me seems to just... calm.
There is this intensity to him. I don’t know if it’s the pitch of his eyebrows or the press of his lips, but with that look of his, he’s silently asking if I’m okay. Somehow I’m able to hear him. Or read him.
I offer him a reassuring smile without any of the typical snark or annoyance or avoidance, because what’s the point? I wanted to find him so badly tonight. He was the only one I could imagine. The nightmare helped with that of course, but why would I push him away now?
Just that simple, unrestrained smile of mine sparks something. I see it in his eyes first—the instant it happens. The way they burn back, fierce and deep and full of unspoken things I want to hear him say. I want him to explain those things to me. I need him to, because I don’t understand them.
What does he feel? And why does he feel it for me? And what in the world makes me different from everyone else he’s been with? How is that possible?
My cheeks heat with all of the internal questions, and a tug from the doctor’s stitches gives me an excuse to look away.
For some reason, Luciano is my safety. I’m willing to accept that now. But it’s also so overwhelming when I don’t understand why exactly that is and when I’ve never been the kind to trust someone fully enough to accept this kind of protection before.
I’m giving something fragile over to him in the process. I’m giving him my vulnerability. That’s terrifying for me.
And I still don’t know why these dreams are happening. I don’t know who or what was chasing me. And I don’t know why this mafiosi womanizer is suddenly all about me if I’m not just some prize he’s trying to win.
On top of all of that, I should be completely humiliated by this whole situation. And I am. I cut myself with the knife he gave me. He’s probably going to insist on taking it back now, and that will be even more humiliating. But I can’t fight the deep certainty telling me that I need him right now. Maybe not forever. But I need him now, at the very least.
"How does it look, Burt?" Luci asks, walking closer and bringing that gravity of calm with him. It’s a force that makes all the chaotic questions scatter with their attempt at logic.
Logic doesn’t matter right now. That’s hard, because it’s always mattered to me, it’s always been what I cling to, but the immediate relief of this man’s presence just reaches deeper than my logic can grasp.
I anticipate Luciano’s hand on my shoulder before it comes like I know the rhythm of his movements when I shouldn’t. So when he touches it a moment later, heat floods me everywhere. It’s like he has access to a secret button that no one else has ever touched before.
"Almost done. It should heal well without any trouble," Burt says.
Luciano sighs with relief, like the question of whether that’s the case has been weighing heavily on him. It makes my heart do unfamiliar little leaps in my chest, and I grin to myself with the reminder of the cardiologist in the room. I could ask Burt about this feeling, but then it would be like the Italian phrases translated into English. It would take the poetry out.
"She’s been a great patient," Burt smiles at me.
"Thank you. It was lucky you were here," I tell him.
"Like I said, I don’t think luck has anything to do with it, young lady." He winks at me, finishing up. "Thirteen stitches. Now, that’s a lucky number."
When I lift up my hand, unable to avoid looking at it any longer, the sight is pretty ghastly. It looks like it belongs to Frankenstein’s monster with all the jagged, black stitches sticking out. At least it’s my left hand.
"I tried to make it look as pretty as I could," Burt chuckles like he’s reading my mind. "But my eyes aren’t as sharp as they used to be."
"It’s great, Burt," Luci says, shaking his hand. "Thank you, sir."
"I’m staying here with my lady friend for the week," Burt says, directing his attention to me. "Let me know if you want that echo, eh?"
"Okay," I smile. "Thank you so much. I appreciate all of your help."
"Happy to do it," he says. "Tylenol or ibuprofen should work for pain. And you’ll know when the stitches are ready to come out. Your body will tell you. If there are any problems though, I will be around."
He winks before leaving the room. When Luci and I are alone, I drop my head onto the desk.
"Did all of that really just happen?" I groan. "In reality? Am I actually awake?"
Luci squats beside me. "Let me see you, dolcezza. What else do we need to take care of? Is there more?"
When his hand slides from my shoulder to rub my back like it’s the most natural thing in the world, a shiver rakes over me. If this whole thing was truly some devious plan by my ancestors to get the two of us together, then I need to have a serious conversation with them. This is not the right way.
"Why did Raya get the sex dreams and I got this?" I mumble, lifting my hand off the desk without bothering to lift my head.
"What was that?" Luciano chuckles softly.
"Now that I think about it, Raya was hit by a car," I say, sitting up. "I might have lucked out after all. But we need to figure out these dreams, Luci. I don’t want to have another one. I don’t want to wake up like that again."
"Wake up like what again?" His dark eyes roam over me, still looking for injuries—like there might be something else wrong that I haven’t realized yet.
I bite my lip and hold back the immediate answer that wants to come—that I don’t want to wake up without him. I might have accepted that I need him for some reason, but voicing it is much, much different.
When I’m quiet, his attention returns to my face and whatever stupidly shy or guilty expression I’m probably staring back at him with.
"Wake up like what, dolcezza?" He asks more softly, intent now to hear the answer that I’m so reluctant to give. "Do you think the dreams are responsible for this?"
Thankfully a sharp knock saves me from having to admit that I just want him in my bed. Luci sighs, his head sagging before he smirks back up at me like he knows an opportunity was missed.
"That’s probably the manager. I doubt she’s going to be happy I messed up her office," he chuckles like it’s of no concern at all—like there aren’t literally papers strewn everywhere. "Let’s clean you up and get you something to eat."
"I really have to go back out there? I made a scene, didn’t I?"
When I stand again, I’m surprised to feel my legs steady beneath me. I feel like nothing but a trembling mess of nerves, but my legs still work.
"You don’t want to hear all the people gathered out there, cheering when they see you’re okay?" He asks.
My face feels like it instantly blanches. I stop in my tracks until he chuckles and takes my good hand in his own. Each one of his fingers intertwines with mine before he gives me a little squeeze, and that heat from his touch floods me again. His teasing smile vanishes into a thoughtful one while he holds my gaze. And the sincerity in his eyes is... everything.
"I’m kidding, dolcezza. There were very few people out there when it happened. You were in shock, so you may not have realized it. And that shock is also why we need to get some food in you, okay?"
When I swallow roughly and nod, reassured enough but still reluctant to face literally anyone who was out there, Luci leans closer to whisper.
"You have nothing to worry about, sweetheart. If anyone looks at you the wrong way, I’ll take care of them for you."
