His Mafia Prince
Chapter 75: Make It Hurt

Chapter 75: Make It Hurt

(TYLER)

I lie in the same position in my hospital bed, day after day, staring at the same city skyline.

Lucia and Jericho alternate shifts at the hospital, sitting in my room. They talk about a lot of things, shifting from subject to subject. I don’t hear a word of what they say.

The plan is to take me home. At least, I know that.

Despite the efforts of many different people, I still haven’t said a word. Lucia. Jericho. The nurses. The doctors. The cops. They even went as far as getting me a trauma counsellor to try and talk to me. Try.

Sasha is the only one who doesn’t hound me. I haven’t seen him nice he promised to kill everyone then left. For all I know, he could be dead, or gone.

"We got your room all set up. We have the family doctor around. He’ll be keeping tabs on you." Lucia says as she wheels me towards the door like the invalid I am now. "I instructed the chefs to make your favourites, but not over the top. The doctor here said you’re on a strict diet."

Jericho elbows her at just about the same time I hid my face behind my palm. Ho mortifying. I’m afraid that they know the details about my surgery even without revealing many details. I feel so weak and humiliated.

Lucia notices Sasha and we stop moving suddenly. He closes the distance between us and takes a knee beside my wheelchair. He doesn’t reach out to touch me, neither does he say a word. He just kneels there, leaning his weight on the knee that is upright staring at me, like a knight waiting for a command from above.

No matter how intense his gaze is, I don’t look at him. I locate a fleck on a giant tile in front of me and latch onto it. I stick my gaze there as though my life depends on it, putting my whole existence on that fleck. For as long as I don’t look away from it, I’ll be alright.

I can pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

"We really should get him home," Lucia says quietly.

Sasha doesn’t budge, however. Defeated, Lucia and Jericho watch him hopelessly.

"Baby" he whispers dipping his head lower just to catch my gaze, "Please."

A breath lodges at the back of my throat. In all the time I’ve spent with Sasha, I’ve never heard him mention the word ’please’. He never says please. Not to me, or anyone. It sounds to me like he is begging me.

With much effort, I force my gaze away from the tile and it lands on his hand, which I notice has a few bruises and is clenched into a fist so tight that it begins to pop beneath his skin.

His chest rises and falls quicker, drawing my attention upward. His throat muscles are tense as much as they were the first time I met him when he was threatening me into our marriage, a sign that I now recognize as restraint.

I finally give him what he wants and look up at him.

He is quiet. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. I can read it all on his face. Despair. Agony. Fury.

He doesn’t look like he pities me.

My world tilts, and my vision blurs until he is nothing more than a wash of colour. I begin to tremble vigorously. I can’t breathe. My body feels stuck.

It’s not until Sasha’s arms wrap around me that I notice I have fallen off my wheelchair. I bury my face deep in the crevice of his neck and try hard to muffle my sobs against his skin to no avail. He gets up and holds me upright, wrapping one arm around my torso and the other alternating between raking his fingers through my hair and holding the back of my head.

Lucia says something, but I can’t hear her amid her own sobs.

I don’t know how long we keep standing. I don’t care even.

After a while, Sasha whispers in my ear that he has to go. I shake my head, clinging to his shirt that I dampened with tears. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want him to leave me. I finally feel safe, and safety is the only thing I crave right now. His long fingers rake through my hair again and he leans back to look at me. "Go with them. I’ll be back when it’s done."

I blink my vision back and look into his dark, cold eyes. When it’s done? When what’s done? What the hell has he been up to?

His eyes soften, and he implores me. "The rest of them die tonight."

Had it been any other moment, I would have talked him down or even baulked at his bluntness. Knowing that he was en route to hurt someone would have baffled me. But now, I don’t care. He can burn down the whole city, I wouldn’t care. Caring hasn’t got me anywhere. Maybe it’s about we tried things Sasha’s way.

His fingers stroke the side of my cheek and his gaze drops to my lips. He wants to kiss me, that I can tell, but he is holding back. The way he relaxes sparks unexpected anger inside me. Before today, he would have kissed me. He’d kiss me regardless of what I wanted. Now he looks at me as though I’m some delicate egg that could shatter at the slightest touch.

I grab his face and pull it down to mine. I press my lips to his.

After what happened between me and Angelo, I need to know if he still feels the same. I need to know if I’m still worthy to him even though his brother took delight in damaging me in the vilest of ways.

For a moment, his body goes rigid but then relaxes again. He returns the kiss with gentleness so unlike him. It is a soft, scared kiss. Even when he pulls away from me, I feel his hesitation. He rests his forehead against mine, exhales a ragged breath then closes his eyes. He swallows hard. "Tyler―"

"It’s okay, Sasha. Go." I cut him off with a sudden surge of confidence that I don’t know where came from. I’d better tell him to leave than wait for him to tell me to leave like I have any say in the situation.

His head snaps up and his eyes go wide. It is the first thing I have said in almost five days and the last thing I expected to say.

"Do what you have to do." I nod curtly and free myself from his arms, taking a slow unsteady step backwards.

Jericho’s arm slides up mine. His fingers curl around my biceps and I lean into him.

Sasha nods to accept what I told him then turns away. Right before he steps out again, I call his name. I notice the corners of his eyes tighten in an emotion that I can’t quite put.

"Make it hurt," I say as my arms ball instinctively into fists. I don’t realize that I’m trembling until Jericho’s fingers squeeze into mine tightly, a steadying pressure against the wave of emotions crashing inside of me.

His lips curve into a sinister smirk. I notice a visible glimmer, unlike anything I have seen in his eyes. His wolf is off the leash. Angelo and his motherfuckers have no idea what the hell is coming for them.

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