Chapter 3: A Spy In the House of Love

Leo POV

I probably shouldn't start a fight with anyone at a hospital, but hey, it would not be the first time. Hospitals are stressful places. H*ll, I donate regularly to this hospital, and no one at the first desk would tell me a thing about Vittorio or his father. Privacy laws.

Marco, my second-in-command, had a tail on Vittorio, and we got here in no time. The mystery deepens. Why in the name of the Father is Vittorio going to a hospital right after he left me? Is his old man Raoul dying? Wounded from a hit?

“You had me followed?” Vittorio says in a defensive tone, standing tall in this bland, cold place. They call it the Cardiac Unit. Well, in that case, the walls should be blood red. Or pink. Or something more passionate, at least.

“You belong to me,” I growl, close enough to smell the hand sanitizer on his beautiful hands. Does he know what his old man’s hands did to me and my family? Nearly killed my father. “Get that through your head. Whatever sick, twisted spy game you and your old man are playing–”

“Raoul Toscanini is my father, but it’s not what you think.”

His admission only makes me see red. “Really? I expected a better excuse from you. But then, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Tell me, what did he want when he sent you to hack me? And what was the million dollars for? Just to see what you could get out of me?”

Red-faced, he steps back. “We should take this somewhere more private.” He nods at the passing nurses and patients and the lady that pushes the lunch cart.

“Oh, we’ll be more private.” I snap my fingers, and Marco appears at my side. “Marco, you and the boys take him to the warehouse. And if he won’t talk, you know what to do.”

Marco’s eyes betray nothing. “You got it, boss.”

“WAIT.” Vittorio trembles, his lip quivering in that appealing way. But he still stands tall, curse him. Why does he have to be so tough? “I can explain.”

A voice intrudes on this conversation. “That’s it. Just a bit further, Ms. Angeli.”

I rotate around and stare down the corridor. What I see shocks me. Renata Toscanini, born Renata Angeli, looking good but like she’s been through the wringer, walking with a physical therapist. She huffs and puffs, and every step looks painful.

Vittorio pushes in front of me and calls out, “That’s it, Mom, you’re doing great. Don’t you think so, Dr. Perry?”

An olive-skinned woman in a lab coat approaches Renata and gives her a lot of encouragement. When she’s finished, she strolls over to us with that busy doctor walk. “Dr. Naomi Perry, Senior Cardiac Surgeon” is sewn on her lab coat.

I’ve heard of this lady. She’s some hotshot doc.

“Your mother is doing very well, considering,” Dr. Perry informs Vittorio. “You were right to catch the change in her medication. That should never have happened.”

Vittorio coughs. “I can pay for it now. Fighting with the insurance company takes forever, and she needs treatment now.”

“Agreed, before it gets to Stage C. Then her quality of life would not be good,” Dr. Perry says. She’s not cold or remote like some asshole doctors, but she doesn’t sugarcoat the situation. “We have to do valve replacement surgery. You came up with the money, or so I hear.”

“When?” Vittorio demands. “When can we do it?”

Dr. Perry pats his arm. “Not now. You go home. You’ve been here for the better part of two days. Go home.Take care of yourself and your sister. She’s going to need both of you.”

My mind fogs while the good doctor rattles off a list of steps that they need to take to make sure Renata is ready for surgery. Tests. Medications. Scheduling. Prep. Anesthesia.

When I called Vittorio into my office for an update on the job he did for me, I demanded he spend the night. I hadn’t heard anything from him for at least two days. Well, barely anything. A text here and there. All the while, he was dealing with this. I’m going to murder Raoul Toscanini. What kind of lowlife abandons his wife like this when she’s got heart disease?

Fresh guilt pricks at me like the needles in this hospital. Who do I think I am, making all these demands on Vittorio? And why didn’t he tell me? That hack he tried to pull off on me would have paid for some of his mother’s medical costs.

That’s the good part of me, the angel on my shoulder. The troublemaker wants to take hm away from all this for a while.

Marco touches my arm and mutters, “So, hacking us was to pay for his mom’s hospital bills because of insurance. What a racket they run. Looks like we misjudged him, boss.”

“Big time. Get the car. We’re going home.”

I turn my attention back to Vittorio while he says goodbye to Renata. I hang back. Given the history, she’s not going to welcome my presence.

Finally, Vittorio approaches me and takes my arm. Without saying a word, he walks with me to the elevator. As he passes, nurses call out encouragement or say hello. With a princely smile, he acknowledges everything.

We don’t get into a deep dive until Marco shuts the door to the gunmetal gray Range Rover and climbs in the front passenger seat. I push a button, and a privacy screen snaps into place, dividing us from the front.

Vittorio has fastened his seatbelt like a Boy Scout, but I pull him as close as the strap will permit. “She needs heart surgery? Your mother?”

Vittorio exhales as though he’s been holding his breath for an eternity. “She developed heart disease after my dad left. I just started college. She was depressed. Literal broken heart syndrome. She had to cut back on heavy foods and do the lean, mean version of the Mediterranean diet. My sister and I lectured her…”

“Hold up. You got a sister?”

Vittorio nods. “We don’t have to worry about her. She’s on a class trip where you can’t use your phone or electronic devices. One of those camping retreats. She’ll be back tomorrow.”

The way he says it makes me think he does nothing but worry about his family.

“Christ. I could strangle you for not telling me all this and making me think–”

“That I was a gold-digger?”

He says that with a cheeky grin, as if he finds the idea amusing.

“You don’t fit the profile,” I growl. “I just thought you were playing hard to get, or that you didn’t take our arrangement seriously. How could you? You’ve been busting your ass for your family.”

He presses a finger to my lips, and it’s all I can do not to suck on it. I can’t help it. Nothing turns me on more than a man who will do whatever’s necessary for his flesh and blood.

“Belonging to you is part of that,” he says in a quiet voice. “I told myself that I didn’t have to give you my nights, that you were fine with casual sex and nothing more.”

“That’s what I wanted you to think.”

He slips his finger into my mouth, and I moan around it. Even with the hand sanitizer, he tastes so good. My body immediately revolts. As in, it wants him right here, right now.

I tear my lips away and press my forehead against his. “Your sacrifice deserves a reward. I’ll keep your secret. You are Vittorio Angeli and you never even heard of Raoul Toscanini. That said, we had a deal. I want you exclusively. I want you to belong to me, body and soul. Move in with me. You, your sister, and your mother when she’s able.”

His eyes go wide. “But you and my father–”

“Don’t worry your gorgeous little head about that. Leave it to me. I’ll handle your mother and sister. What do you say?”

He only hesitates for a second. “Those blackout shades of yours in your bedroom…”

“What about them?”

“I like them. I like the smell of your bedroom,” he confesses. “For the last six weeks, every time I leave to go home or to the hospital, I miss your smell. And I miss those blackout shades, because they shut out the world, just like being with you does.”

F*ck. I cannot fall in love with this man. No matter how warm and heartfelt he is.

“YES. I’ll move in with you.”

“You won’t regret this,” I vow.

His hands trace my scar, feathering over the skin that became numb long ago. Every time he touches it, I have the urge to pull away…because of who gave me that scar. Who nearly left me for dead. But Vittorio’s touch erases the past…and then his lips and tongue travel the same path. How can that simple act arouse me so much?

His hands travel down my front to a certain area that craves his touch. He knows what to do, how to tantalize me, and how to make me feel like a god.

I call out, “Step on it up there, I want to get home.”

Before I lose control and take Vittorio in the back seat.