Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 51

Chapter 51

VALENTINA

I tried to wait up for Adrian. I really did.

The fire had burned low, throwing lazy shadows across the living room, and I’d curled up awkwardly in the armchair facing the fireplace. I told myself I’d close my eyes just for a minute, but exhaustion won out, and the warmth of the fire pulled me under.

I woke to the ghost of a touch.

Cold fingers brushed my arm, and I startled upright, disoriented and heavy with sleep. The room was dark except for the faint, flickering glow of dying embers. Adrian stood over me, a shadow among shadows, smelling of smoke, gunpowder, and whisky.

“I told you not to wait for me,” he said quietly. His voice carried that tight, clipped edge he used when he didn’t want me asking questions.

“What time is it?” I mumbled, my voice rough with sleep.

“It’s late.”

I blinked against the dim light, trying to make out his face, to read the tension I could hear but not see. Reaching for him, my fingers brushed his arm only to find the fabric stiff and rough under my touch. His shirt was crusted with something.

Adrian pulled away, recoiling sharply.

My drowsiness immediately evaporated. “Adrian?”

He took a single step back, just enough to place distance between us. “Go to bed, Valentina. Now.”

The command snapped something inside me. I stood, ignoring the exhaustion dragging at my limbs. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Valentina.” His voice hardened. “To bed.”

“No.” My heart was hammering now. “I’m not a child, and I’m not one of your men. I’m your wife. And I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay.”

For a heartbeat, he just stared at me. Then a quiet, almost amused sigh escaped him. “Your insolence is driving me to the brink.”

I crossed my arms. “I think

you

like my

insolence.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something between exasperation and reluctant fondness, but he turned and walked away without another word.

I followed him.

The house was dark, silent except for the faint echo of our footsteps. The smell of smoke lingered faintly on him, and the sight of his darkened sleeve made my stomach twist. My worry grew with every step and with every moment he refused to speak.

When we reached the bedroom, I flipped on the light.

The breath left my lungs. Blood–dried in thick patches- stained his once pristine white shirt. Only a small area on his forearm still looked wet.

Adrian kept walking, as if the sight meant nothing. He went straight into the bathroom.

“Adrian…” I followed him in, ignoring the look of disapproval that crossed his face. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer. He simply began unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off until one sleeve stuck fast to his arm. When he tried to pull it free, I winced.

“Stop,” I said, already reaching for a towel. I ran it under warm water and pressed it gently to the fabric, softening the dried blood so it would loosen without reopening the wound.

Adrian stood still, watching me. His expression was unreadable- curiosity, maybe, or surprise. Not a single sign of pain crossed his face, though his arm looked like someone had taken a knife to it.

I carefully peeled the shirt away, trying to keep my voice calm. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

His lips twitched. “Hardly.”

I forced a light laugh, though my heart was still racing. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t bleed out on the marble floors. I don’t think Sybil would forgive me for the mess.”

“It’s just a shallow cut,” he said evenly. “I’ll survive.”

“Mm–hm,” I murmured, unconvinced, watching as he dropped the ruined shirt to the tiles.

He crouched to grab a first–aid kit from beneath the sink. “I can handle this.”

“Won’t you at least tell me what happened?”

Adrian’s silence stretched as he cleaned the wound. I didn’t look away.

Finally, he sighed, a deep, tired sound. “I’m not sure you should know the details of my business.”

“I’m part of your life,” I said softly. “Let me be part of that too.”

For a moment, his eyes softened. Then he looked down at me. “Rico’s been dealing with traitors. And a motorcycle club causing trouble on our territory.”

I frowned. “Motorcycle club?”

“MC,” he clarified. “They’re stronger in the south… Texas, New Mexico, Florida, but they’ve started creeping this way.

Rico wanted me to check what our local chapter’s been up to. We caught one of them. He had a

knife.”

I bit my lip. “You went yourself?”

He gave a humorless smile. “That’s why your father will never be more than a cautious man. If you want loyalty, you don’t sit on the sidelines. You bleed along with your men.”

“That’s how people die,” I whispered.

He glanced at me, and for a moment, something vulnerable passed between us. “Are you worried about me?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against. his chest. His skin was warm under mine, his heartbeat steady but heavy.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” I murmured.

“I’m always careful.”

“The wound says otherwise.”

His low chuckle rumbled through me, but before he could reply, a sharp cry cut through the baby monitor on the nightstand.

Sofia.

Adrian exhaled, the sound closer to a sigh than a breath. “No bed for you,” I said softly, half teasing.

He pressed his palm to my lower back, guiding me toward the bed. “You go to sleep. I’ll handle her.”

“You need to rest-”

“No.” His tone was gentle now, quiet but certain. “Let me handle her.”

I hesitated, then nodded. I knew what he needed. It wasn’t sleep or space. He needed to hold his little girl, to remind himself that there was still something innocent in his world.

“All right,” I whispered.

He leaned down and kissed me briefly, softly, before turning toward the door.

I sank onto the bed, feeling the exhaustion return tenfold.

I’d grown up surrounded by the mafia’s shadow. Death and violence were as common as dinner parties, but my father had never once come home bleeding. He let others fight for him.

Adrian wasn’t like that. He faced danger head–on. I admired him for it.

But as I lay there in the dim light, listening to Sofia’s cries fade as he soothed her, I wished, just once, that he were a little more like my father. A little more cowardly.

Because bravery, in our world, was what got men killed.

And I wasn’t ready to lose him.