Page 121 of Brutal Vows

With a nod, I open the hotel door, and within minutes, we’ve handed over the cash and have our room key. For all my anxiety, the teenager isn’t bothering to follow procedure and check us in properly. He isn’t sticking around, either. I don’t think he even registered the baby. He’s ‘worked’ overtime and no chance in hell he’s getting paid for it.

When we lock our room door behind us, we both sag with relief. I drop the backpack. Luca unzips his coat and glances down at Zoe, unguarded love in his gaze as he checks in on her. I peel off my gloves and shrug off my coat, then help him with his.

“Let’s not wake her,” he whispers as he unclips her, as if she didn’t just sleep through a noisy and bumpy motorcycle ride.

“She might anyway, when she’s no longer warm and cuddly with her Papa.” I pull off her mittens and cap, then ease her out of the carrier. Zoe pulls her legs up, but she doesn’t make a sound, sleeping on.

There’s a double bed, with worn sheets and flat pillows, and the heating is barely on. Yet nothing has ever looked more inviting for a body that has been on the go for twenty-four hours.

Luca makes Zoe a nest with my coat on the bed, right in the middle. As soon as she’s settled, he glances around. There isn’t much more to the room. A desk in one corner with a chair, a small flatscreen mounted on the wall. He takes the chair and angles it against the door, shoving it under the doorknob to add more security than the lock.

“Won’t help much except for a warning, but this is what we have.”

“Better than nothing.” I’m pulling the baby bag out of the backpack. “Your wounds? Please tell me there’s something in here to help…” I trail off, knowing he needs more urgent medical care than I can give.

“Benedict packed a whole picnic,” he says, squeezing my arm as he comes to stand next to me. “I’ll be all right until we’re in Italy.”

He opens the bag and starts to unzip the interior. Between the lining and the outer shell of the bag, there are passports, cash—at least fifty thousand dollars and some rubles—medications and a few first aid essentials.

Luca takes the pill containers and reads the labels. “Some strong-ass antibiotics and painkillers. Thank fuck. They won’t cure a bullet to the head, but luckily, I didn’t get one of those.”

He smirks at me with a cheeky wink and there he is, my Luca, dropping jokes as always to ease the tension.

God, this man.

I hand him a bottle of water from the nightstand, and he chugs down what he needs. I want to do more. I need to take care of him, this man who risked his life for me and my child.

“I’m going to let Ben know we’re here,” he says as he reaches for the satellite phone. “He has a team on standby to help us get the hell out of here.”

I give him time, looking on as he types on the small device, waiting for a response. Eventually, he heaves a deep sigh.

“Good. He’s on it.” He puts the phone on the nightstand. “Help me get out of these clothes? They smell of fuel and smoke, plus unwashed Russian.”

“Ewww.”

He grunts right on cue, with just the right amount of exaggeration. “See, he’s rubbing off on me already.”

I smile, but I’m teetering between bursting into tears and being so elated I could fly. I need to remind myself we’re not out of Russia yet. “I want to shower. Wash off this day.”

“Good idea.” He pulls off his sweater and curses as the fabric seems glued to his skin in places by blood. I help him and bite my lip to not cry. In the flickering light of the fireplace—the only light we had in the cabin—everything was toned down. In the bright artificial light of this garish hotel room, the damage to his body is vivid.

“Luca…” I whisper. “God. Look at you.” There are bruises developing everywhere. His wrist is bleeding through the bandage he tied around. The branding on his chest is so angry, it looks like a third-degree burn. “Oh my God, what do we do? You need proper care.”

He stares down at his chest. “It hurts like a motherfucker, so that means it isn’t third degree. Borderline, but I can still feel it, and that guy wanted me to feel it. Keep on feeling it. He wanted me to beg. And trust me, he was only getting warmed up.” He shakes his head as he eases onto the bed to take off his boots. “It’s going to be okay. A cold shower will help.”

I’m on my knees, helping him with his boots. Blood has seeped from the bullet wound into the cargo pants. We manage to get everything off, and I’m kneeling in front of him as he unwraps the strips of T-shirt around his thigh. I’m openly crying quiet tears, stupidly wanting to kiss it better, to take his pain away and somehow return him to the perfect physical condition he was in hours ago.

This was all for me and Zoe.

“Luca…I’m so sorry. They hurt you and I- I didn’t know. Didn’t stop them. I⁠—”

“Hey,” he says, a gentle finger sweeping my hair from my face, a calloused hand cradling my cheek, wiping at my tears. “Don’t cry. These are all just stripes, princess. I’ve earned them, and somehow, I’ve earned them in the only way that really matters—protecting you both, and rescuing Zoe.”

I nod and lean into his hand. His fingers quiver against my skin, his thumb stroking the line of my jaw.

“You’re so precious to me, Milana. I see now what Matteo meant about earning my stripes. Like the bullets he took blocking Alex from taking more fire, even if it was too late. Like Dominic taking the torture to protect us younger ones from our dad, making sure his focus was always on him. And Steph, all his rage always taking center stage, in a way demanding attention so my dad wouldn’t notice me. I was always safe as his prop because I’d only go in after the mess, after the bloodshed.”

He stops and swallows, then gives me a crooked grin. “I’ve come into my skin today. Got my battle scars. I’ve become what’s in my blood.”