Nine days. That’s how long I stay in the hospital. They monitor me closely, and my husband hovers like a helicopter. At first, it was endearing to have him so close, but then at some point, I got annoyed.
“I’m not going to break, Matteo.” I scowl at him as I get off the side of the bed. “The doctor has cleared me to go home and you are going to have to stop being so… so… this.” I gesture to his tall stature.
He gives me an incredulous look to which I just bat my eyelashes. It’s crazy how easily we slipped into this new dynamic. And all it took was me being on the brink of death for him to finally give me—us—a chance.
“I just want you to be careful,” he says, offering me his arm, which I take. “I need you to keep on this upward trend of getting better. You were being poisoned and I… I can’t trust anyone near you right now.”
My stomach twists at his words, and I shake my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Matteo, you can’t just go around suspecting everyone. Not everyone is out to hurt me.”
We walk out the door and are greeted by Tony. “Boss, ma’am.”
“Tony, please get my wife’s bag inside. I will take her down to the car and wait for you. I need to head to the eastern side of town.”
My head snaps in his direction. “Well, this is a shock. You haven’t left my side for nine days, and now the moment I’m going home, you’re jumping at the first chance to leave? Unbelievable.”
“Shut up.” He kisses the side of my head and playfully nips at my ear. “I need to attend to the work I have been putting off. I will be home within three hours, not a second later. If I didn’t need to go, you know I would be at your side.”
My heart warms at his words. We walk to the elevator meant to take us down to the parking garage. “Thank you for being here with me.”
We walk inside, arm in arm into the empty elevator. As the doors close, he pulls me into his chest and he holds me there. The silence that surrounds us is thick and filled with emotion. All I can think and feel is him. He surrounds me and consumes me the way a tsunami would a beach.
“You never have to thank me for doing my job, cara mia. I am meant to protect and honor you.” He mutters the words into my hair. A shiver of pleasure runs up and down my spine. Matteo pulls away to look at me. “What’s with the look on your face?”
“Nothing.” I lean into his side and take in his warmth. “Nothing at all.”
Matteo helps me into the car. Once I’m settled, he reaches over to fasten my seatbelt, his movements careful—almost reverent. But then he stills, his face just inches from mine, his breath warm against my skin. His eyes burn through me, cutting straight to the core of my being.
He leans in, his lips capturing mine in a deep, consuming kiss that sends me spiraling into weightlessness. My heart soars, pounding wildly—like a hammer striking metal, relentless and unyielding.
I will never get enough of him. Of this.
He pulls away, his eyes shining with a warmth I’m addicted to now. I want to be able to spark that light in his eyes every single chance I get. For a moment, the world falls away, and all that exists is me and him.
I once read that some people in this world feel like sunshine. That’s what Matteo feels like to me. He is the light in my pit of darkness. It’s ironic, seeing as he has a lot of darkness that surrounds him.
“Get some rest, I instructed Emily to make something light for you.” He smiles and then presses his lips on mine once again. “I will see you at home for dinner in three hours.”
“No more than that,” I repeat his words from earlier. I dare to reach up and cup his cheek. “I will see you later.”
He seems reluctant to leave but he pulls away just as Tony settles into the car after having put my bags in the back. Matteo’s eyes cut to my guard and then back to me.
“Ciao, my love.” He shuts the door before I can say anything, and I watch him leave.
My heart does these little flip-flop motions in my chest, and I have to forcefully push those feelings down. This will take some getting used to.
The ride home is quiet, thankfully. I am in no mood to speak. I reply to a few messages from my mama and Ginny, who have been on my case about communicating. I heard the incident between Ginny and my husband. I know she knows that what happened to me was not her fault, but I can tell from our interactions that a small fraction of her feels guilty.
“Here we are, Mrs. Davacalli.” Tony opens the front door for me. I walk into the foyer and I wait to feel the warmth of being home, but it never comes. “Home sweet home.”
Yeah. Home sweet home.
Emily is already waiting for me in the foyer, her usual polite smile in place. “Welcome home, Mrs. Davacalli,” she says warmly, stepping forward to take my bag from Tony. “I’ve got it.”
“No, no, I’ve got it.” Tony moves his hand from her grasp. “Mrs. Davacalli is your main concern. The boss said we need to keep her off her feet and make sure she eats so she can take her meds.”
Emily stills for half a second, something flickering across her face—surprise, maybe even frustration—but she masks it well. I almost don’t notice it. Almost.
Tony heads upstairs without another word, and I am left with Emily.
“Mrs. Davacalli, please come to the couch. I will make you some tea or soup to help ease.” Emily takes me by the arm and leads me toward the sunken living room. “It’s good to see that you are alive and well.”
“Yeah, thank you. I don’t know what happened. They said I was being poisoned.” I shake my head. “I don’t know where the damn poison could have come from, but thank God I got to the hospital in time.”
Emily helps me to settle on the couch. “Yes, we thank the heavens. I was praying for you. For a moment, I feared you would leave us—just like the first Mrs. Davacalli.”
I didn’t miss the way that she said the word, the first. There was a subtle emphasis to it.
Emily places a blanket on top of my body and my body relaxes into the expensive material. I want to pretend that my body is back to its regular form, but after all the hospital poking and prodding, I am still worn down.
“Thank you, Emily.”
She smiles. “Of course. Shall I bring you your calming tea?”
I shake my head, my mouth already opening to yawn. “No, thank you. I just want to sleep right now. Maybe when I wake up.”
She inclines her head, a gesture she hasn’t done for a while. “Okay, please rest. Mr. Davacalli wants you healed in record time.”
Her voice already fades into a distant echo as the fatigue draws me deeper into her darkness. The last nine days have been nothing short of a blur. The hours bled into each other, but one thing remained constant—my husband.
He’s so attentive and present now. But there is also another thing that still lingers in the back of my mind—Daniele. His words still echo like a resounding gong in the back of my mind. He came out of nowhere with a warning I didn’t understand.
I should let it go. But I am yet to bring it up with my husband. And there is a part of me that doesn’t want to bring it up, for fear of what those answers will reveal. But I know that, eventually, I will need to address what is going on.
I wake up to the flickering glow of the television and the comforting weight of the blanket draped over me. The scent of something warm and rich lingers in the air; it’s spicy and smells just like curry. My stomach immediately responds to the scents.
Food.
I stretch my arms and look out the window to find that the day has melted into the night, and the sun is gone.
“Jesus, how long did I sleep?”
I reach for my phone, which I remember placing on the coffee table, but instead, I find a small white sheet of paper. I pick it up, read the messy writing, and smile.
Join me for dinner?
I stare at the words for a moment, my chest tightening unexpectedly. Matteo. True to his word, he made it home after three hours and not a moment more. When did he get here?
I push the blanket aside and rise to my feet, moving toward the soft light spilling from the dining room. What I find there makes me stop in my tracks. The table is set for two, candles flickering between two plates of steaming curry and what looks to be jasmine rice—my favorite, but how did he know that?
The sight of it—of him—leaves me momentarily speechless. His eyes find mine, and the small smile that comes to his lips makes my heart pound in my chest. The candlelight contours his face, defining his already sharp jaw that much more.
Matteo stands near the table, his hands in his pockets, his posture a little too stiff, like he’s uncertain about how I’ll react. For a man who commands rooms full of killers without hesitation, it’s almost endearing to watch him be nervous.
I step forward slowly, my voice softer than I intended. “What’s all of this?”
His lips twitch slightly as if he wants to smirk but isn’t sure if he should. “If we are going to do this for real, then I want to do it right. I think a first date is long overdue, don’t you?”
“A first date? A little backward, aren’t we?” I chuckle, feeling the blush rise to my cheeks.
“Yes, it kind of is. But I did agree to try.” He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, and I have never seen him look so boyish. “Please join me.”
I hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight before me. The warm glow of the candlelight flickers between us. Slowly, I step closer to the table until I come up to the chair. I reach to pull it out myself but he stops me.
“Allow me,” he whispers right by my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. All the fatigue has left me now.
He helps me into his chair and his hand grazes my neck and I shudder. It’s maddening how easily he unravels me—his touch, his scent, the mere sight of him.
Matteo settles into his own seat and looks at me waiting. “It’s chicken curry and jasmine rice.”
I nod. “I can see that. But how did you know to make this for me? You look like a steak kind of man.”
That nervous laugh of his returns. His eyes shine like a thousand shooting stars as he stares at me. “I am but I wanted you to have some comfort food. Your mother tells me that you love a good chicken curry.”
“You spoke to my mother?”
He nods. “After she scolded me, of course. She made sure to remember her promise to me on the day of our wedding. I told her it would stick with me for life.”
I tilt my head to the side and observe him for a moment. “What promise?”
“She said she would find eighteen different ways to kill me if I didn’t take care of you.” He blinks at me. “She was deathly serious too. I believe her.”
I sputter out a laugh and think of my sweet mother. “Of course she would.”
“Try it—I tried to make it the way that your mother does back home.” He waits for me to try the curry and I have to fight back a smile. This man is just too cute right now.
I pick up my fork and take a bite, and the moment the flavors hit my tongue, I let out a small, surprised hum. “This is actually good. It tastes like home.”
Matteo exhales through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh I’ve ever heard from him. “I’m sure your mother would kill me if it wasn’t. It’s her recipe that I would have botched.”
The tension between us shifts slightly—still present, still heavy, but no longer suffocating. For the first time since our wedding, aren’t caught in a constant push and pull of resistance and surrender.
We’re simply existing together.
The silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it feels… oddly peaceful. Then, without thinking, I ask the one question I know I shouldn’t.
“This is real, right?”
Matteo pauses, his fork hovering just above his bowl. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sets his fork down, leaning back slightly in his chair.
His gaze locks onto mine, something unreadable swimming in the depths of his eyes. “It is more real than it has ever been, Maria.”
I should be relieved by his words. I should let them settle in my chest like a soothing balm, should let them wash away the uncertainty clinging to me like a ghost. But instead, doubt curls around my ribs like a serpent, whispering the cruelest question of all—what if this isn’t real?
What if I’m just another duty he’s committed to out of guilt?
What if, one day, the warmth in his eyes cools, and I’m left alone in the shadows again?
What if this isn’t real? What if I’m just another fleeting moment to him—just a duty he’s committed to out of guilt?
My fingers tighten around the fork, and I lower my gaze to my plate, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. I want to believe him—I need to believe him. But my heart has already learned the cost of trusting too easily.
And yet… he came back for me. He stayed with me.
“I want to believe you,” I murmur, almost too quietly.
Matteo exhales. His voice, when he finally speaks, is quieter—but no less intense.
“I know why you hesitate, Maria. I know I’ve given you every reason to doubt this—to doubt me.” His jaw tightens for a brief moment before he releases a slow breath, his shoulders softening. “But I need you to know this.”
He leans forward, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over the sharp angles of his face. His gaze—steady, unwavering—locks onto mine, and for the first time, I see something in them that wasn’t there before.
“I am here. I am yours. And I am not going anywhere.”
The raw sincerity in his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
“I don’t expect you to trust me overnight. I don’t expect you to believe every word I say just because I’m saying it. But I need you to see that I’m standing right in front of you, choosing you. Every damn time, I will choose you.” He pauses, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “I don’t want to make this work out of duty, or guilt, or obligation—I want to make this work because I need you. Because you, Maria, are the only thing that makes this world feel real to me.”
His words press against something deep inside me, cracking the carefully constructed walls I’ve spent months building.
My breath catches. I swallow hard, feeling the sudden weight of his words settle between us. “I don’t want you to hurt me, Matteo.”
He lifts his eyes to meet mine and the world stills. I forget how to breathe. I can hear the blood gushing past my ears.
“I was unfair to you, and I cannot apologize enough for what I have done to you and your heart.”
I open my mouth to speak but he holds his hand up to allow him to finish.
“I have not loved a woman since Beatrice. When I lost my wife, something inside me snapped. I thought I locked my heart away, convinced myself no one would ever reach it again. But you—”
His breath hitches, his fingers tapping against the table once before stilling.
“You were already inside before I even realized it. And that scared me.”
I hold my breath, my chest tightening as he continues.
“I pushed you away because I thought it was the only way to keep myself from losing again. Because love—real love—makes you weak. It gives someone the power to ruin you.” His voice drops lower, almost hesitant. “And I swore I would never be that vulnerable again.”
He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “But when I saw you lying there in the hospital bed, Maria—when I saw you pale and unconscious, barely breathing—everything I thought I knew shattered. I wasn’t protecting myself. I was punishing myself. I was punishing you for something you never even did. And I was so fucking wrong.”
His voice is raw, thick with a kind of desperation I never thought I’d hear from him. His fingers tighten around his fork for a brief moment before he exhales, his jaw tightening.
“Do you know what it feels like, Maria?” His voice drops lower, barely above a whisper. “To think you’re untouchable—only to realize too late that someone has already burrowed so deep inside of you, you can’t breathe without them?”
He looks at me then, and for the first time, I see it. Not just the love, but the fear.
“That’s what you are to me.”
He finally looks at me, his piercing gaze locking onto mine. “You are the sun I revolve around, Maria. I will never let my fear push you away again.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Because for the first time, I don’t think Matteo is just saying something to manipulate, to control, to assert power. For the first time, I think he means it. I don’t just hear the words—I feel them.
His words linger between us, thick with something I can’t quite name.
“I don’t care how many times you need reassurance I will be right in front of you telling you, that I am here and this is real. I will tell you every morning, noon, and night if I have to.” His words are coated in conviction and truth. “You are my world, Maria. And there is no me without you, not now or ever. Okay?”
My mind is a frenzy of emotion and chaos. I don’t have the right words to say so I simply nod.
“Good.” His body eases and the tension releases from his body.
The rest of dinner passes in a quiet, unexpected calm. Matteo doesn’t push for conversation, and for once, I don’t feel the need to fill the silence.
When I finally set my fork down, I realized just how much I needed this. Not just the food, but this moment. The warmth of a meal shared, the steady presence of this man.
Matteo watches me carefully as if trying to read my thoughts. “You should rest,” he says, voice softer than usual.
I nod, but something in his gaze keeps me locked in place. The candlelight casts sharp shadows across his face. There is a tinge in his pupils, a flicker of heat that simmers just below the surface.
My fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the table. The electricity in the air crackles to life, and that subtle hum that passes between us whenever we collide smashes into us.
I don’t know what comes over me then, whether it’s exhaustion, the warmth of the evening, or the sudden pull between us, but before I can think better of it, I stand from my seat and walk toward him.
Matteo watches me carefully, his expression unreadable, his body as still as stone. The heat in his eyes begins to boil, and the gentle charge in the air intensifies.
“What are you doing, cara?” He looks up at me as I come to a halt by his chair. I stare down at him, trying to make sense of my own intentions.
“Fuck it.” I don’t give myself a chance to second-guess—I just move.
I lean down, brushing my lips against his in a kiss that starts soft but deepens quickly. Matteo doesn’t hesitate. He responds instantly, his hand coming up to cradle the back of my neck, pulling down toward him. He pushes back to give me the room to settle in his seat.
The kiss is slow, sensual—an unspoken promise, a confession in the language of touch. I taste the heat of him, the hunger, the depth of everything he feels but doesn’t say. Fuck, it’s good. Our tongues move together in an intricate dance that only they understand. It’s this gentle push and pull of the tides that leaves my heart pounding ferociously in my chest.
When we finally break apart, my pulse is racing, my breath uneven.
“Take me to bed, Matteo,” I whisper.
