We walk to his bedroom in complete silence, and while my thoughts revolve around everything I want to tell him, Riccardo seems to be deep in his mind as well. What is he thinking about? I glance at him from time to time, but Riccardo’s unfocused gaze remains trained on an invisible point in front of him. I can’t read him now, but well, could I ever?
“What happened to it?” I nod at his leg as I help him sit down on his bed. His bedroom hasn’t changed a bit since the last time I was here, and the memories of our wedding night make my heart beat faster. God, my body is such a traitor.
“I had to climb into Matteo’s car on the run.” Riccardo shrugs like it’s not a big deal and rolls his feet to test it. “It’s just a sprained ankle. The doc has already wrapped it up, so it’s gonna be fine in a few days.” I quirk an eyebrow. It doesn’t really look like it but okay.
“Do you need help with it?” I linger in front of him, not knowing what to do. At this point, it just feels like I’m looking for a reason to stay, and…yeah, I guess I am.
“Are you worried about me?” Riccardo looks at me with a teasing smirk, and damn, why do I want to even talk to him? I purse my lips and put my hands on my hips, ignoring the warmth rising to my cheeks.
“No, I hope you slip in the shower and die a miserable death.” I demonstratively turn on my heels to walk away when I hear a soft laugh behind me.
“It’s so easy to rile you up.”
I huff and look at him over my shoulder. “Is that your way of getting my attention?”
Riccardo shrugs, and I see a surprisingly fond smile on his face. “Maybe. I’ve never been good with girls.”
“Are you sure?” I quirk an eyebrow, hinting at the college years Riccardo spent with numerous girlfriends. The seat next to him was rarely empty.
He chuckles, probably catching my hint, but then his expression shifts into something solemn. “Well, I didn’t get the one that I loved, so…”
I swallow and turn back to him despite myself, losing my own teasing smirk. Why is he saying this? What does he mean? My heart immediately picks up its pace, desperately hoping to hear that I was “the one”, but…but it’s stupid, right? Riccardo used to hate me. Of course it would be someone else.
The pause turns long enough for it to feel uncomfortable, so I clear my throat and glance at the door. It’s time for me to leave, I guess-but Riccardo suddenly calls my name. “Elena, could you stay for a bit?”
I look at him in surprise, and Riccardo immediately gestures at his wounded arm. “The doc told me to check the scratch before going to bed, but I’m not…that good with it?”
God, why does that sound like a lie, and why am I so ready to believe it?
“Sure.” Not that I’ve dealt with any serious injuries in the last few years. Max has never gotten himself into trouble-until we came here, at least.
Any thoughts about Max leave my mind just a second later because, goddammit. Without any warning, Riccardo just takes off his shirt-to give me better access to his wound, I guess. It’s not an invitation to have sex with him. It doesn’t mean anything, Elena, so stop staring. It’s nothing-but it’s hard to keep calm when I end up just a few inches away from him.
But I force myself to focus on the bandage, and it does distract me. I unwrap the gauze carefully so as not to disturb the wound, and it takes up so much of my attention that I startle when Riccardo raises his voice.
“Were you the one to send Bratva to our location?”
Oh. I blink and clear my throat in an attempt to hide my awkwardness. Yeah, well, technically… “No.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the disbelief in his eyes without looking up. Damn it. He’s not gonna be mad, right? They saved his life, after all.
“I mean, I texted Irina where we were going, and she might have let others know.” Riccardo hums at that, and for some reason I feel the need to add, “It’s not that I didn’t trust you, I just-I wasn’t sure if you’d be willing to risk it. You know. For Max.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I hear a frown in Riccardo’s voice. Shit. I didn’t mean to offend him!
“I don’t know, he’s just-no one else cares about him, you know?” I finally raise my head to meet Riccardo’s gaze. It sounds harsh, but it’s true. Even my family doesn’t want to accept Max as Pushkov, so I didn’t expect Riccardo to care about him at all…which, apparently, wasn’t fair.
“He is your son.” Riccardo looks into my eyes with genuine confusion as if he can’t understand why I would think so lowly of him, and I feel the burn of shame on my cheeks.
It would be the perfect time to say something like, but not yours. But I can’t bring myself to do it, not when Riccardo is looking right into my heart, so I cast my gaze to his arm instead and murmur, “Thank you.”
We spend the next few moments in silence as I finish unwrapping his bandage and reveal a graze bullet wound underneath. It doesn’t look very bad-more like a very deep scratch-and I breathe out in relief, carefully stroking his elbow. It’s gonna heal soon. He’s gonna be okay.
“Should I change it?” I look up at Riccardo, momentarily forgetting about the tension between us, but the look in his eyes immediately reminds me about our conversation.
There’s something in the intensity of his gaze that makes me freeze. Has Riccardo been watching me all this time? A wave of premonition runs through me, making me shiver from inside, but I don’t feel threatened. I just feel like I don’t want to know what is going through his mind right now.
Something tells me he has questions I don’t want to answer, so I attempt to get away from him before it’s too late. I look around and hastily nod at the bathroom door. “Do you have bandages-”
“Elena.”
I stop in the middle of the sentence, but my gaze remains fixed on the door.
“Eight years ago. Did you have anyone else but me?”
Shit. I purse my lips as if my heart isn’t pounding like crazy. Does he expect me to give him the answer right away?
I sit there for a couple of seconds before getting up and going to the bathroom. Riccardo still needs a fresh bandage, and I need a moment to pull myself together. My fingers are trembling as I search through the cupboards in his bathroom, and I can feel his gaze on me. Riccardo doesn’t say anything, though, and just silently watches me.
“Found it,” I mutter as if nothing is wrong, and reach for the first aid kit in one of his cupboards. It has clean bandages, gauze pads, and an antiseptic cream, so I pick everything up and take it back to the bed.
Riccardo hasn’t moved at all since I left him, and even as I start caring for the wound with as much confidence as I can muster, he remains quiet. But I’m grateful for this surprising expression of patience. It gives me a chance to gather my thoughts without hurry, and figure out if I have enough courage to speak the truth.
I mean…Riccardo will find out sooner or later, right? And if I want to stay here, I can’t lie to him. Not anymore.
“How could I be with anyone else?” I murmur, not daring to look at Riccardo. “I’ve always been so stupidly in love with you that I wouldn’t even think about anyone else.”
I feel more than hear the shaky exhale escaping Riccardo’s lips.
“Does that mean Max is my…?”
“Yeah.” I chuckle joylessly and glance at Riccardo. Ah, I guess I can be proud of myself-it’s the first time I’ve seen such genuine surprise on his face.
“Why did you never tell me?”
“Why would I?” I shrug and pretend to focus on his wound instead.
“My family wouldn’t have let me keep him anyway. Not even Bratva needs a son without a father.”
“I would have claimed him,” he blurts out, and I let out a laugh.
“Do you hear yourself?”
But Riccardo frowns like a petulant child. “I wouldn’t have left you on your own.”
“You were eighteen!”
“And so were you.”
I hum, refusing to look at him. Somehow, I feel lighter now that the secret is out of my heart. “I would have rather died than let my family get rid of him. Would you have done the same for the son of an enemy?”
“I would have done the same for my son.”
“And if they were the same person?” I shake my head and look up at Riccardo, placing my palm on top of the bandage. He looks almost devastated, and I suddenly feel bad for him. I’ve never given him a chance to be Max’s father-but no matter what he says, it would never have worked out.
“If you had told your father that a Pushkova carried your child, what would he have said?”
Riccardo blinks, and it looks like he finally realizes just how serious it was for me. His gaze darts to the side, and I have the privilege of seeing Don Riccardo in disarray, but I can’t say the sight brings me joy. For some reason, I feel almost bitter. Despite everything, the eighteen-year-old me had hoped that Riccardo would chase after her, but…we were never meant to be, huh?
I let out a deep sigh and shake my head. Whatever. It doesn’t change anything now, and it’s time for me to leave anyway. I finish the rather clumsy bandage on Riccardo’s shoulder and force a joyless smile.
“Well, that’s it for tonight. Try not to fall off the bed, okay? I don’t think your doc would-”
My voice trails off into a surprised hum when I feel Riccardo touch my hand. He covers my palm on his shoulder with a gentleness that is so unusual for him that it’s almost clumsy. And I can see that it’s not easy for him to express it. He’s not a gentle person, but he’s trying very hard right now, looking at our hands with a concentrated frown, and I feel something in my chest melt into fondness.
“I’m sorry,” Riccardo murmurs a moment later, slowly looking for the right words. “I’ve ruined your life…in more ways than one. And I’ve never done anything to make it better. I’ve never treated you the way you deserve, and I know that I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but…I am sorry, Elena.” Oh.