His Wife: A Dark Mafia Romance (Dark Sovereign Book 2)
His Wife: Chapter 7

By the time the last guests left, Mr. and Mrs. Del Rossa had called it a night, and my things had already been moved to Alexius’ room—even my entire closet. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly Alexius can get things done. How, with a simple snap of his fingers and a single order, he could change the color of the moon if he really wanted to.

I’ve walked into his bedroom so many times before, but tonight stepping into his room feels different. It feels…permanent. Like there’s been a shift in the air. A good shift. But the pressure’s mounted, too, as if a commitment has been made—especially now that he’s let me into his space, sharing our privacy with one another. But what does this mean for us? For me? There are so many alarm bells ringing around my heart, cautioning me not to read too much into this. What will a lifetime’s worth of money and security mean to me if I walk out of here with a broken heart?

“I instructed your staff to move your things.”

“I can see that.” I turn to face Alexius leaning against the doorframe, the bow of his tuxedo and top button undone.

“You can rearrange your things as you like. There’s more than enough space.”

“Are you sure?” I twirl my thumbs in front of me.

“Yes, I’m sure there’s enough space for you.”

“No. I mean…are you sure about this? About me moving in here?”

Alexius starts toward me, moving with the grace of a lion—powerful and predatory. His eyes are full of purpose, his jaw set in a determined line, and my heart races when he stands in front of me, so close I can feel the vibration of his presence ripple through me.

“Last night when I came home, sneaking into your bedroom and waking you with my hand between your legs,” he steps up to me, looking down, eyes dark and smoldering, “I realized that I don’t want to fucking sneak around. I need you in my bed every goddamn night so I can fuck you whenever I want, however I want. And I want you to wake up every morning next to me so I can hear every little moan you make because you’re sore, your body aching from the way I fucked you.” Another step and our bodies touch, my husband stealing all the air around me. “I want to see the fatigue on your beautiful face, knowing I drained you of every last drop of energy by making you come over, and over, and over again.”

My thighs clench, heat spreading across my skin and up my neck. The heat of a flush trickles along the back of my neck, and my lips part at the feel of his fingertips on my collarbone.

“I want to smell you on my sheets every day, have your scent linger in this room whenever I walk in, and have your torn panties on my motherfucking couch.”

The words burn my tongue, and I already know how stupid I am for saying it out loud. But I do it anyway. “Is that the only reason you want me here? Sex?”

The half-grin on his face is sexy as hell, his thick lips enticing me for a taste. His fingers travel up the side of my neck, his thumb resting on my chin. “No. That’s not the only reason.”

“What is—”

“Alexius!” Mira’s voice tears through the night, a painful shriek echoing from outside the door, instantly sending ice down my spine.

“Jesus.” Alexius darts to the door and yanks it open only to be met by Mira’s tearstained face.

“It’s your dad.”

He turns to me, and I see it. The grief is already slithering in because he knows. It’s time.

“Go,” I urge. “I’m right behind you.”

Alexius and Mira disappear from the doorway, and I’m frozen. I can’t move. I’m scared. Scared for him, for his mother, his brothers, for everyone.

Death isn’t ugly. It’s brutal. There are no walls strong enough to fight its vicious claws from tearing you apart.

Flashes of my mother’s lifeless body on the filthy couch, the needle on the carpet by her feet—I can still see it like it happened yesterday. I can still feel it. The pain of losing a parent. The relief of being freed from a tormentor. And the guilt for being unable to cry or mourn.

Alexius will mourn. He will grieve. And I need to be there for him.

Rushing out of the room and down the hall, I replace Isaia sitting on the floor around the corner from his parents’ bedroom, roughing his hand across his cropped hair.

“Isaia.” I still in front of him, my heart already splintering. “You should be in there.”

“No.” He presses his lips together, leaning his head back against the wall. “I can’t.”

I crouch in front of him. “You have to say goodbye. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t.”

He scoffs. “You don’t get it.” His dark brown eyes meet mine. “I’ve said goodbye every night for the last year because I never knew if it would be the last time I see him. I’ve said goodbye hundreds of times. I don’t need to do it again.” He sniffs, and his jaw tics, biting back tears. “Tonight, after my parents renewed their vows, I hugged him, and he told me he loved me. And for the first time in so long, I said it back. I told him I loved him, too, and it was this powerful fucking moment, you know?” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, before inhaling deeply, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he looks at me. “I want that to be the last memory I have of him. I don’t want to go in there and have the image of my father taking his last breath steal that moment from me.”

I brush my tears away with my thumb and lean on his knees, reaching out to cup his cheek. “I get that,” I murmur, and Isaia leans deeper into my touch, placing his palm over mine and closing his eyes as a single tear escapes. “You do whatever you need to, to hold on to that memory, you understand? Don’t ever let it slip away.”

A torturous whimper floods from his lips, and he clutches my hand, pressing a kiss in the center of my palm, letting it linger for a desperate moment, and I swear I can feel his pain travel through my veins.

“Isaia—”

“I need to leave,” he mutters and gets on his feet, helping me up, too. There are no more words I can say, and all I can do is watch as he stomps off in the other direction, hands tucked in his jacket pockets.

Shivers wrack through me, and I rub my hands up and down my arms, feeling utterly helpless, knowing nothing I say or do will help take the pain away.

Wiping my own tears from my cheeks, I make my way to the master bedroom. Maximo and Mirabella are both standing by the door, Mira tucked deep under her brother’s arm, her arms wrapped around his waist. All I can do is offer them my unspoken sympathy with a half-smile that’s nothing more than a mere press of my lips.

Mira takes my hand as I settle next to her. “You should go in. He needs you.”

“No. I can’t. It’s not my place.”

“Your place is next to your husband.”

“I’m not sure I can be what he needs me to be right now.”

“Leandra.” Mira pulls away from her brother and grabs my shoulders, determination burning through her tears. “Do you love him?”

I narrow my eyes. “What?”

“Do you love Alexius?”

“It’s not that—”

“Stop. Stop the bullshit for once, and just answer the damn question. Do you. Love him?”

Every wall left standing around my heart crumbles, and I’m naked, exposed, left with nothing but the truth I’ve been trying to ignore for so long. There’s no use in denying it any longer; it’s not something I can change, no matter what the consequences might be. This is my truth.

“Yes,” I whisper, tasting my tears on my lips, my heart raw and bleeding. “I do. I love him.”

“Then you go be with him. You stand by him. And you be whatever the hell he needs you to be for him to get through this.” Mira sniffs, and I nod through my own tears. “Go.”

I’m not sure how I manage to put one foot in front of the other. I’m too busy focusing on taking one breath at a time, trying to get my racing heart under control as I slowly walk into the bedroom. The soft whispers and silent whimpers whisk along my skin. Sadness thickens the air, and I swallow hard, the heavy heartbreak of saying goodbye weighing down my chest.

As I round the corner of the entryway, I see Caelian standing close to his mother, who lies on the bed next to her husband, resting her head on his shoulder, her tears seeping through the fabric of his blue nightwear as he whispers something against her hair. Loving words. Final words. Words that carry the last crackling of a dying fire. A light that will soon be no more.

But it’s not until I see Alexius kneeling next to his father’s bed, clutching his father’s hand between his palms, that my soul fractures. My heart is cut open as I witness my husband on his knees, more vulnerable than I have ever seen him.

Nicoli stands behind him with a gentle hand on Alexius’ shoulder, then looks at me and takes a step back, a silent gesture for me to take his place. The pain, the anguish in the room is almost too much to bear, and I can hardly keep my legs from giving way beneath me as I walk closer. I can feel Alexius’ agony wrap around me, stealing my breath and breaking my heart even more. My tears are my own, but they fall for him. They mourn…for him.

The moment his father’s eyes close, his chest rising and falling for the final time, Alexius presses his lips on his father’s knuckles, whispering something I can’t hear through the deathly silence. It’s too much, even for the angels. The silence of insurmountable sorrow.

Alexius stands, easing his father’s hand down before leaning over and touching his weeping mother’s cheek. God, I can taste it. I can taste death and its bitter aftermath as I stare at Alexius, his expression pained, but hard. It’s the expression of a powerful man fighting, struggling against the grief of a son who just lost his father.

He turns to face me, and the second our eyes meet, I see it. I see his need to break down. I see his strength dissipating as he desperately tries to hold on…just a little longer.

Just a little longer.

Without saying a word, I take his hand, clutching it tight, leading him out of the room. Even the halls don’t feel the same anymore. There’s an emptiness that drifts around us as if the air is grieving, too, the lights no longer shining as bright.

Silently, I enter our bedroom, easing the door closed behind him. He’s standing in the middle of the room, back turned toward me, not saying a single word. And all I can do is wrap my arms around him from behind, leaning my head against his broad shoulders. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “You don’t have to be afraid of breaking. Not with me.”

His muscles strain as he inhales deeply with a shaky breath, right before the veil breaks. A sob tears from his throat, and we both collapse to the ground. I have my arms around his shoulders, holding him as tight as I can while hearing that broken sound come from his tears. Through all my years, I have never felt as powerless as I do now, holding him, rocking back and forth, wishing I can take away his pain, ease his suffering. More than anything, I want to make him whole again, but losing someone you love leaves a hollow in your soul that nothing can fill. It’s always there. Always open. Over time, we just make space for it.