Chapter 32 Her idiot
Luca slipped from the bed with the careful silence of a man who knew every creak of the mattress could disturb her.
He paused for a moment, watching Elena sleep her dark lashes resting on flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted, bandaged arm cradled protectively against her chest.
The sight of her safe, breathing, his after yesterday’s terror made something fierce and tender twist in his chest.
He pulled on loose black sweatpants, the fabric hanging low on his hips, and padded barefoot down the grand staircase to the kitchen.
The morning light streamed through the tall windows, gilding the marble counters and the sea of stainless steel appliances.
The cooks and servants froze when he entered, bowing instinctively.
“Out,” he said quietly, voice leaving no room for argument.
They vanished like smoke.
Alone, Luca moved with quiet efficiency.
He cracked eggs into a bowl, whisked them with cream and fresh chives from the garden, poured the mixture into a hot pan.
Sliced avocado, toasted sourdough, arranged smoked salmon in neat folds.
All the while, his phone was pressed to his ear low, clipped Italian issuing orders to his men “Tighten the perimeter. No one in or out without my word. And find out who delivered that package.”
The business never stopped, but today it was secondary.
Today, his only priority was her.
When the breakfast was ready healthy, simple, exactly how she liked it he arranged it on a tray with a small vase of fresh jasmine .
He carried it upstairs, set it on the low table by the window, and returned to the bed.
Elena was still curled in the sheets, breathing soft and even.
He sat on the edge, fingers stroking through her hair in gentle, rhythmic passes.
“Get up, butterfly,” he murmured, voice low and warm.
“Eat something, then sleep the rest of the day.”
She stirred, a sleepy hum escaping her.
“Ummm… Luca… give me five minutes…” she mumbled, voice thick with drowsiness, turning her face into the pillow like a baby.
“No,” he said, soft but firm, sliding his arms beneath her.
“You need to eat.”
He lifted her carefully, blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon, cradling her against his chest.
She snuggled deeper into his arms with a contented sigh.
“More…” she whispered, nuzzling his neck.
Luca smiled small, private, full of love and carried her to the sofa by the window.
He sat, settling her in his lap, blanket tucked securely around her.
He reached for the tray, picking up a piece of toast topped with avocado and salmon.
“Just open your mouth,” he said gently, holding it to her lips.
“I’ll feed you.”
Elena’s eyes fluttered open, sleepy and soft.
She looked up at him saw the way he watched her, like she was the most precious thing in his universe, like feeding her breakfast was the most important task he’d ever had.
She opened her mouth.
He fed her slowly, bite by bite, wiping her lips with his thumb when a crumb lingered.
Every glance, every careful touch, was an unspoken vow I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.
And in that quiet morning light,
with the sea singing beyond the balcony and the world waiting outside,
they were simply Luca and Elena
husband and wife,
healing,
loving,
whole.
After breakfast, Elena drifted back to sleep almost immediately.
The combination of painkillers, exhaustion from the fall, and the intense, soul-shaking intimacy they’d shared earlier had pulled her under like a gentle tide.
Luca hadn’t moved a muscle.
He stayed exactly as he was seated on the edge of the bed, one arm cradling her head against his chest, the other wrapped protectively around her waist, holding her close like she might disappear if he let go even an inch.
His back ached from the stillness, but he welcomed the discomfort; it kept him anchored to her, to this moment of fragile peace.
Two hours slipped by in silence.
The sun climbed higher, shifting the golden light across the room, warming the silk sheets and painting soft patterns on her sleeping face.
Elena slept deeply, breath slow and even, her bandaged arm resting trustingly against him, fingers loosely curled into his shirt.
Luca watched her the entire time every flutter of her lashes, every soft sigh that escaped her lips, every tiny shift that told him she was dreaming.
He memorized the way the light caught in her hair, the faint freckles across her nose that only appeared in sunlight, the way her mouth curved slightly even in sleep, as if she knew she was safe.
By early afternoon, when the clock read 1:45 p.m., Elena finally stirred.
Her lashes fluttered, eyes opening slowly to find Luca still there still staring, still holding her, still looking at her like she was the center of his entire universe.
The intensity in his gaze made her breath catch.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked, voice soft and sleepy, a shy smile tugging at her lips.
“Like what, butterfly?” Luca replied, his tone low and warm, thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek.
“Like I’m the only thing in the universe,” she whispered, eyes shining.
Luca’s expression softened even more, if that was possible.
He leaned down, pressing a slow, tender kiss to her forehead, lingering there as if sealing the truth into her skin.
“Because you are the only thing in my universe,” he said quietly, voice thick with emotion.
“There’s nothing else that matters.”
Tears welled in Elena’s eyes sudden, overwhelming, spilling over before she could stop them.
She reached up, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him down to her.
“I love you,” she whispered against his throat, voice breaking with the depth of it.
“So much.”
Luca’s arms tightened around her, careful of her injuries, crushing her to his chest as though he could absorb her tears into his own heart.
“Not more than me,” he murmured, voice rough with feeling, pressing kiss after kiss to her hair.
“Never more than me.”
He held her like that for a long time bodies pressed close, hearts beating together, the world outside forgotten.
The sea whispered against the cliffs below, the sun climbed higher, and the villa remained hushed and still.
In that quiet afternoon light,
with his wife safe in his arms and tears drying on both their faces,
Luca Romeo finally allowed himself to believe
that love could be stronger than any darkness.
Elena lay cradled in Luca’s arms, her bandaged leg carefully propped on a pillow, her head resting against his chest where she could hear the steady, powerful beat of his heart.
She tilted her face up to look at him really look and a small, mischievous smile curved her lips.
“You’re an idiot, mafia,” she said, voice soft but teasing, eyes sparkling despite the faint ache in her body.
Luca’s brows lifted, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face.
“You just called me an idiot,” he murmured, voice low and amused, fingers tightening slightly around her waist..
“Yes,” she replied, poking his chest playfully with her good hand.
“Big, scary mafia king… and total idiot.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and into hers.
“Then you’re the wife who loves this idiot mafia,” he countered, leaning down to brush his nose against hers.
“I’ll take it as a compliment. I’ve heard men become senseless idiots in love… so clearly, I’m deeply in love with you.”
Elena’s smile softened, but she wasn’t done.
She shifted carefully, wincing only a little, and looked up at him with mock exasperation.
“I called you idiot because you’re holding me like I’m made of glass, ignoring your work, ignoring your health, and here you are… romanticizing it.”
Luca’s grin faded into something quieter, deeper something that made her heart stutter.
He cupped her face with one hand, thumb stroking her cheek, eyes locked on hers with an intensity that stole her breath.
“Who said I’m not working?” he asked softly, voice rough with emotion.
“I’m doing the greatest work of my life right now taking care of my wife. Keeping her safe. Making sure she heals. Making sure she knows she’s loved more than anything in this world.”
Tears pricked Elena’s eyes again not from pain, but from the overwhelming weight of his devotion.
She reached up, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him down until their foreheads touched.
“You’re impossible,” she whispered, voice thick.
“I’m yours,” he corrected, kissing her slowly, deeply, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her smile.
To be continued