My chest hitches on a sob, but I don’t deserve to cry, so I push it down and trace my fingers over the worst of his scars.Thicker than the width of my pointer finger and almost as long, the raised, jagged scar must have hurt like hell.
And not just from the wound itself.
My father’s blade made this scar.The knife Mario hid in my skirt as I married him was the same knife my father used to stab him in the back.
I should have stabbed my father after Mario revealed himself.It would’ve been a fitting end for Pietro Denaro to die by the knife he used against his best friend.My wielding it would’ve made the moment even more poignant.
Unnamable emotions barrel through me.I lean forward and press my lips against my husband’s jagged flesh.Silent tears rain down my face as I kiss every scar on his back.
I don’t know exactly what happened between them ten years ago, but it broke both men.
Mario must have felt so betrayed, angry, and alone.
When I kiss the last scar and still have more tears to shed, I begin all over again.
I can’t apologize with words, so I pour my regrets into the kisses.
No one should have to suffer so much in one lifetime.
Especially not the man I love.
Chapter 14
Mario Luciano
My heart twists and Istand frozen in uncertainty as Valentina tries to hide her sniffling as she kisses my scars.She could be acting, but my soul reaches out to hers, wanting to comfort her and downplay my suffering so she’ll stop crying.My doubts grow, but I cling to my need for vengeance.If anyone could tug at my heartstrings, it would be this little liar.
Except she has been brutally honest, even when her safety is at stake.
I snarl, turn off the water, grab her nape, and push her out of the shower in front of me.Afraid I won’t stop if I touch her again, I yank a towel off the warming rack and shove it into her arms before taking my own and drying off.
She towels dry, and although she’s graceful and sexy as hell, there’s no artifice or attempts at seduction in her movements.I toss our towels back onto the rack and guide her toward the sinks.
She gives a long blink as she studies the products on the shelves lining the mirror.When she makes no move to take anything, I select the bottle of lotion that irritates my skin the least and move it to the counter.
“Put it on,” I demand.
She fills her palm with enough lotion to cover her entire body.I take what I need for my arms and step back.Confusion mars her brows when I smear it over my skin.She looks between my arms and her hand several times before laughing.What starts as a giggle morphs into a full-belly laugh, and she braces her arm on the counter.
I never in a million years would have fathomed my stolen bride laughing hysterically while we stand naked together after our first time having sex.I stare at her, dumbfounded and aroused, until concern gives way to fury.
Even when I tangle my hand in her hair and pull her head back, she continues chortling.
“I’m sorry.I thought you meant put the lotion onyou.This—” she lifts the hand full of lotion, “—is enough for two of me.Fucking hell, it’s not funny, but I can’t stop laughing.”She leans her head back against my hand, completely disarming me with her trust, and blinks tortured eyes up at me.“Were we always this terrible at communicating?”
Her question cleaves my soul in two because I don’t have an answer.
I scoop half the lotion out of her palm and straighten her onto her own feet again.When she uses the counter for balance, I note the lines of exhaustion around her eyes and her uncoordinated movements.
After lotioning everywhere I can reach, I take the leave-in hair conditioner, hairbrush, and the hairdryer off the shelves.
“Mario?”
My cock stiffens as she says my name in her soft, sweet voice.
I grunt in acknowledgement.
“Will this irritate your back?”
