My Husband Called Me Useless, Now a Mafia Don Owes Me His Life novel · Chapter 11 of 24
Chapter 11: What Four Years Was
I turned the phone off and walked out of the study.
I didn't remember crossing the hall.
I only knew that I was standing in the old stillroom behind the kitchen.
Empty jars and copper pans lined the shelves, and both my hands were pressed flat on a worktable.
My breath came in short, hard pulls.
Four years.
He had found me three weeks after the hearing, sitting on the steps of a church with a paper bag of my things.
I had thought it was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me.
It had been a man looking after a witness.
The door opened behind me.
I knew his step.
"Go away," I said.
"No."
"Rocco."
"I heard it," he said. "All of it. You don't have to say anything."
"He sat in my kitchen every night for four years and I made him dinner."
"I know."
"I told him I loved him."
"I know that too."
His voice was very quiet.
I turned around.
He was standing just inside the door, with the light from the kitchen behind him.
He looked tired and worn and entirely sure of where he was.
"Ada," he said.
I crossed the stone floor and took his face in both hands.
He went completely still.
"Don't," he said, hoarse. "Not because of him."
"It isn't because of him."
"You're sure."
"I'm the only person in this house you can't shoot," I said. "You've thought about it. You told me so in the study."
"Many times."
"Then stop thinking."
I kissed him.
It wasn't gentle.
He made a low sound against my mouth.
Then his hands closed on my waist and pulled me in tight against him.
The whole four years went out of me in one long breath.
I pushed him back until he reached the table.
He let me.
He sat on the edge of it, and I stood between his knees.
I pulled at the buttons of his shirt with hands that weren't steady for the first time in my life.
"Slowly," he said.
"No."
He laughed, a short rough sound, and I felt it in his chest.
His hands slid under my sweater and up my bare back.
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