He pressed kisses into her belly, wishing his child already lived there. Grew there. If he didn’t survive, he knew she would always keep their children safe. Emmanuelle, as gentle and as compassionate as she could be, was also a skilled warrior and would fight to the death. She’d come for him, just as he’d known she would.
He’d gone to the lake house because he knew it was loaded with weapons and had a safe room he could stash Giuseppi in and when Dario sent for Emme “against his will” she would come. He also was banking on the fact that she would call her family. That was the biggest risk. Val couldn’t fight Miceli alone.
His uncle had gathered too big of an army against Giuseppi during Greta’s illness with cancer. Val didn’t know how deep the rot in their organization ran. He only knew that some of the captains weren’t taking care of business and some had taken money from Miceli. Either way, that was a breakdown, indicating Giuseppi had lost control, that he’d lost strength. Valentino had to send a message fast that he’d taken that control back and that he was stronger than ever. He’d utilized Emmanuelle’s family at the lake house and then sent messages to the five families that one didn’t fuck with Valentino Saldi and get away with it.
Yeah, Emme gave him peace, and he needed it. He knew she would look at his strategy and feel used—feel he’d used her family. He had. He couldn’t deny that. He would use any means necessary to keep Giuseppi safe and take back their position as one of the strongest, if not the strongest famiglia in Chicago. In the end, he’d do the same to keep her safe and their children. He’d learned to be ruthless at a young age. He wondered if Stefano had done the same. Why were some children allowed to be children and others placed on a path that took them somewhere dark and twisted?
He reached up and took one of Emmanuelle’s hands. He’d always loved her hands. They felt small and delicate next to his large ones. His were callused. His knuckles had been broken and hardened from being in fights. He had scars. So many. He liked to run his thumb over the back of her hand to feel her soft skin and then the pads of his fingers over her palm, memorizing the lines there, that map, some said, of her life.
“I love you so much, Emmanuelle. Never forget that. Did you forget that while you were away from me? Did you let yourself forget that you were my world?” He rolled over the top of her again, fitting his hips between her legs.
He had to use his knees to spread her thighs far enough apart for him to fit and then prop himself up so he wouldn’t mash her sore body where some asshole who needed to be dragged from the very depths of hell just so Val could torture him and send him there all over again had bruised her. He scooted down her body again so he could dip his head to brush kisses on her belly and then swirl his tongue around her belly button. “Need to know, baby. How could you push me out of your head so easily? I talked to you every single night. Told you about my shitty day. All the things I was worried about. How I was so certain Miceli was behind kids disappearing, but I couldn’t find the pipeline. How I felt knowing those kids were scared. Hurt. Trapped. No protection. My fault for not finding them. Needed you, Emme. I fucking needed you.”
He rubbed his face over her stomach, the stubble along his jaw causing abrasions on her soft skin. She’d always had delicate skin, and the sight of his marks on her always aroused him, not that it ever took much.
“I’m sorry, Val. Yes, I heard you whispering. I couldn’t always understand you. I tried to drown you out with music. With anything I could to get your voice out of my head.”
Her honesty was painful even to her; it was there in her voice. Her hands were back in his hair, trying to soothe him with gentle strokes, gentle caresses. He wasn’t certain a lifetime of soothing would ever take away those nights of wondering how many children had been taken from their homes, or off the streets, out of shelters, snatched from a park. How many had been left to a lifetime of sex trafficking because his leads had always ended up in dead ends?
“You cut the ties between us after that first year.” It was an accusation.
“Not entirely. I tried,” she admitted. “It was so painful to love you so much and know I couldn’t have you. I needed to be free if I was going to move on.”