Page 119 of The Viper's Wife

He turns, expressionless.

“Fuck you.”

Giovanni shakes his head. “You’re lucky you’re all we have. If your sister was born a man, she would have run circles around you.”

23

VALERIA

A shallow knocksounds at the front door.

I stare at the bedroom wall, not wanting to move from the bed to endure another awful speech from Giovanni.

Get pregnant, or your brother will be taken next.

I can still see Giovanni in the kitchen, my guard standing behind him with apathy. Stefano standing next to the door, eyes wide with animal terror. He wasn’t as scared when he took my phone hours before—he was confident then, but that was before he came back with Giovanni, smelling of gasoline.

Another knock brings me to the present, this one weaker than the first. It doesn’t sound like Giovanni or Stefano.

The mattress groans as I stand and tiptoe to the door.

The next knock is barely more than a whisper.

There’s no one through the peephole. I take a deep breath, grab the handle, and open the door.

I suck in a gasp.

It’s Nico.

He leans heavily against the doorframe, looking like hewas mauled by a bear. His eyes are nearly swollen shut, and he’s covered in bruises and blood.

My brain short-circuits. Did Don Salvatore do this to him like he did my dad?

“Val,” Nico says and crumples to a heap on the ground.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

I look down the hallway to see if anyone’s after him, but it’s completely empty.

I crush the rising tide of panic and squat to drag Nico into the apartment. He doesn’t even groan when the door slips and hits him in the leg. He’s heavy—I’ve never dragged a body like this, and by the time I get most of him into the apartment, I’m sweating. I push his legs to the side and lock the door.

I lean over him on the kitchen floor. He smells like smoke. “Nico.”

He doesn’t respond.

My heart slams against my ribs as I drop my ear down to his chest and listen for breathing.

He rattles an exhale.

Oh, thank god.I bite hard into my lower lip, fighting tears as my hands tremble to slip his shirt up and see the extent of his injuries. It must hurt when I touch his bruises, but he doesn’t react at all. From the little I can see, it’sbad.

“Nico, please wake up.” I need another sign of life from him. Just one, please, before I dissolve into hysteria.

He can’t die. I need him. I need him alive, with me.

“Nico.” I hesitate and then carefully whisper in his ear, “I love you, Nico.”

Nothing.