Page 173 of Freed
Pain flickers through him, but he answers steadily.
“Then I put you there myself and I spend the rest of my life making sure no one touches you.”
That does it. I close the distance and kiss him. He makes abroken sound against my mouth and pulls me into him like he has been dying not to. His hands frame my face, then slide to my waist with reverent care, stopping there as though even now he can’t quite believe I am choosing this. Choosing us.
When we break apart, both of us are breathing hard.
I whisper, “I don’t want Kansas City.”
His hands tighten. “What do you want?”
I look him in the eyes and give him the one thing he’s been asking for since the beginning. The truth.
“You,” I say. “But this time, I want you with me. Not over me.”
A shuddering breath leaves him.
“Elizabeth,” he says, like my name is the only prayer he’s ever meant.
And because I can’t resist, I add, “The only time I’ll accept you being over me is in our bed.”
He laughs and then he kisses me again, gentler this time, while dawn finally burns through the windows and turns the whole bright penthouse gold.
Outside, the city keeps moving Inside, blood still stains the floor. Nothing is fixed. Not really. Dante is still dead. Francesca still has to be freed. The war Federico started will not end cleanly. But Lorenzo’s hand settles over mine on my stomach, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the future does not look like a prison.
It looks like a choice.
And this time, we are both making it.
EPILOGUE #1
Lorenzo
*** Four Months Later ***
“Come on,cara, you can do it.”
She glares at me like she wants me dead. Fair. Elizabeth is drenched in sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead, one hand crushing mine hard enough to break bone, and somehow she is still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
“If you call mecaraone more time,” she pants, “I will smother you with a pillow.”
One of the nurses makes a choking sound that might be a laugh.
I lean down and kiss Elizabeth’s temple anyway. “That seems dramatic.”
Her eyes flash. “This is your fault.”
That, at least, I am not stupid enough to argue with.
The doctor says something encouraging from the foot of the bed, but I barely hear it. I hear only Elizabeth’s breathing. See only the strain in her face. Feel only the vise of her fingersaround my hand and the helpless, savage panic beating through my chest every time pain takes hold of her again.
I have stood in gunfire and felt less fear than this and I would shoot every man in this city if it would spare her one ounce of this.
Instead I do the only thing she has allowed me to do. I stay.
“That’s it,” I murmur, brushing her damp hair back from her face. “One more. You’ve got him.”
She lets out a furious sound and bears down again. Then the room changes as a cry slices through the air. For one suspended second, everything in me stops.
