Chapter 224: Guardian Angel
- LUCIANO -
All of the feelings I have for Rory have solidified and taken hold, sprouting between us into something beautiful. They’re no longer just on my side.
I can feel the way we’re threaded together. I can feel the path that we’re meant to travel together begin to take shape, unfolding ahead of us into the future, and I sigh contentedly. I’m whole. I’m complete, because I have her. She’s mine.
The shape of her warmth melds perfectly against mine, comfortable and satisfied. We murmured to each other back and forth and laughed together until her breaths grew long and even. Now she’s asleep in my arms, and there’s no way I’m ever letting her go. I will burn the world down first before that ever happens.
Ma used to say there was some kind of guardian angel protecting me. I’ve had more run-ins with trouble than most in the family, but I’ve always managed to walk away mostly unscathed. The injuries I’ve received were never life-threatening.
’Stop tempting fate, Luciano,’ she said once when I came home bloody, making her face blanch with fright at the sight of me. ’Your angel will get tired of protecting you.’
Now, holding Rory against me and realizing the pain she’s encountered may have penetrated deeper than any pain I’ve ever experienced, I think about that angel. Is it true that I have one? Can I give her mine?
"Please watch over her instead of me," I whisper into the dark room. "She’s more important. Keep my girl safe."
My heart constricts with the plea when I allow myself to imagine for the briefest of moments that I won’t always be able to hold Rory in my arms to ensure her safety. I’m going to have to let her go at some point, and then there will always be the chance that someone will get to her.
Short of dressing her in head-to-toe bullet-proof material or locking her away in a highly secured fortress, completely separated from the world, there will always be risks. And they are risks that I’m responsible for. How is that fair?
It might be safer to let Rory go—to pretend that she means nothing more than any other woman I’ve ever had contact with. Maybe that would protect her from those who would use her as a weakness to get to me, but I can’t do it. There’s no chance.
Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t claim to be a selfless person. I’m keeping her, and I’ll just do my damndest to ensure that she’s protected.
This woman is going to be my queen. She’s going to have my children. She’s going to grow older and wiser and fiercer by my side, and all of the shit from her past will grow distant and forgotten, only remaining in the way it’s molded her into the strong, formidable woman she is.
"You’re mine, dolcezza," I whisper, kissing her forehead. In her sleep, she makes a little grunt of agreement, her lips tipping up at the sides.
And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I slip into a sleep unhindered by anger, frustration, or worry. This is heaven. Rory in my arms. This is all I’ve ever needed.
The room is bathed in a golden glow when I hear the knocks on the door. It’s morning.
A quick mental check eases my first thought: where is Rory? She’s still here. Her soft, pliant form is still next to me—curled with her back against my front and my arm draped over her, caging her in.
When the knocking becomes louder and more insistent, I curse under my breath and Rory groans softly, wiggling back against me and making me groan in return. I pull her closer, my forearm across her chest, and kiss her hair, her neck, her shoulder.
"I have to get that, fiore," I tell her, kissing her shoulder again and then biting her playfully, growling as I do when my desire stirs with an insistence to mark her more forcefully.
But that will have to wait. I want to leave marks of my claim all over her—physical indications of the soul connection so no one can mistake that this woman is mine—but someone is determined to get me to come to the damn door.
I slowly untangle myself from her body and cross the room to the closet, pulling a pair of sleep pants out to throw on.
Once I leave the bedroom, it’s Dom’s ugly mug that I see through the glass door. He looks relieved as soon as I appear. I guess it’s unlike me to take this long to respond.
"You didn’t answer your phone," he explains as soon as I open the door.
Raking a hand through my hair and squinting against the direct rays of light filtering in, I back up to allow him entry.
"Is there anything new?"
"Nothing about the intruder, but Dex made us early this morning. He wasn’t happy," Dom says, and his head turns to observe the open bedroom door when he’s walking toward the kitchen.
I look and see Rory’s back exposed amidst the covers, and I bristle, shoving Dom from behind. He chuckles, averting his eyes and raising his hands in submission while I walk over and shut the bedroom door.
"How did Dex make you?" I ask, the irrational anger at Dom for glimpsing Rory in bed subsiding only to be overcome by irritation that he and Sonny failed to stay hidden as I asked. "And if Dex made you, how do we know the fucker from her cabina didn’t?"
"Dex came out on the deck," Dom says, not phased by my cold tone. "It was like he knew we were there. I asked him if everything was alright."
"Unbelievable," I grumble, busying myself with the coffee maker. "What was his reaction?"
"He said everything must not be okay if we were there instead of with you," he chuckles, taking a seat on the stool by the kitchen island. "Oh, speaking of... here he comes."
