Devoted to the Don (Morelli Family #6)

by Leighton Greene

This is our big mistake: to think we look forward to death. Most of death is already gone. Whatever time has passed is owned by death.

I’m sitting in the most non-denominational hospital chapel I’ve ever seen, my best friend next to me praying harder than I’ve ever heard him, while some surgeon cuts into my husband, and the only thought in my head is how foolish I was to spend my life teasing Death.

And then one day, Luca D’Amato stepped in front of me. Today, he stepped in front of Death. For me.

“But—he’s going to live?” “Yes, he’s going to live,”

Luca has always been paler than me, but never this colorless. He’s disappearing into the sheets except for the spill of black hair across the pillow. But more than that, the man in this bed looks fragile. Empty.

And I think so much about Connie Taylor—who was in this same damn room they’ve put Luca in, to allow for bodyguards out the front and all the Morelli comings and goings—and how Connie never made it out of here alive. My God, I hate hospitals.

Meanwhile, the Feds want to close in on Luca and charge him with anything they think might stick. So I don’t even know what’s going to happen if Luca wakes up. When he wakes up.

“I’m sorry to see you so…unwell.” There’s a pause before the last word, and it makes me give a cynical smile. I’m sorry to see you so full of bullet holes just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

“These guys claim they’re with your sister, Mr. D,” Bobby Tramonto tells me as soon as I arrive in hearing distance. His voice is gruff. Suspicious. All the Morellis are moving in front of me, squaring off against the Donovans.

“Rory here made a hero out of himself just last week saving Ms. Donovan’s life,” Conor says drily, but I don’t miss the look he and Rory exchange. It’s a look that should be kept private, the kind of look Luca and I give each other without thinking sometimes.

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him. I really wish it was, because then I could be angry at someone who’s not myself.

“I’m talking about the fact that if it weren’t for me, if it weren’t for everything I’ve done—everything I am—then he wouldn’t be lying there in that bed.”

Finch owned me, surely and completely, and every time I saw him it only renewed that ownership.

Fucking paranoid.” “It’s not paranoia when they are out to get you.”

“You’re being mean to everyone,” he murmured against my skin. “I’m trying to run a goddamn Mafia empire, here, Finch. I don’t know how else you think—” “You know what I mean.

“That’s the thing,” he said, returning to his desk. “I don’t know that you are, not these days. These days, you could tell me you planned to execute every single guard out there, right in the middle of the dance floor, and Luca?” He sat in his chair, pulled up to the desk and folded his hands together. “I would believe it.”

There was an everlasting inferno inside me that burned only for him; I was as desperate for him that night as I had been that very first night we met.

Luca has never been more vulnerable than he is now, and there are plenty of people all over town who would love to take advantage of that fact. But I will not let them. I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep my husband safe.

“Brother Frank,” I sob into his neck. He gathers me up tight and holds me close. “Ey, Principessa. I missed you.”

“Can’t believe he’s lying there so…” Frank rumbles, trailing off, as he comes to stand next to me. “It’s not him.” It’s exactly what I’ve been thinking the past few days.

But when Finch’s face appeared with fierce, glittering eyes and a thin, straight mouth, my heart did skip a beat. It wasn’t that Finch ever scared me. But marital harmony was important to me, and occasionally tricky to find, given our mutual stubbornness.

Between my insomnia and my work and my watching over Finch, I was surviving on a couple of hours’ sleep a night, and worse, he knew it.

“I’m sorry I called you an asshole before,” he said in a rush. “I’m sorry for every time I called you an asshole, and I’m sorry for fighting with you tonight, because I love you and I’ve always loved you and I—” I silenced him with a kiss.

“How many bullets do you have?” he asked. Not enough for all of the intruders. But enough to keep Finch alive until the cops arrived, or my men did. “Get over to the pantry and wait in there, close to the ground,” I said, instead of answering his question. “I’ll cover you.”

Lights were flashing, strobing in my eyes, and for a moment I saw Finch again as he had been that first night, his pink hair and silver outfit, an angel appearing before me in the middle of the dance floor. I know you. You’re Lucifer fuckin’ Morningstar, cast out of heaven and landed here in the greatest city on earth.

I wanted to. Oh, God, did I want to. I had to, I reminded myself. I had to stay alive for Finch. He’d be so mad if I…

Love you, baby bird. I had to hold back my sob, because he was still trying to speak, and still so faint. He only had strength for one more word. Nick.

“Bullshit. My little bro’s never been scared a day in his life.” “Not for himself. He was scared—” “For you,”

“She’ll come back later to fill you in, but she did say that Luca was doing better. His pupils are responsive, and he’s still reacting to the needle.”

In the corner, the darkest corner of the room, beyond Luca’s bed, I can almost—if I stare hard enough, make my eyes blur just a little—I can almost make out a shadow. A hungry shadow with a patient smile.

“Show him.” Nick’s expression is clear to read; he doesn’t want to escalate. But: “He has a right to know, Nick. Show him.”

Because Luca is squeezing back, his fingers curling around mine. Weak. But unmissable.

There is a hard pressure on my hand.

Screaming

“You gave it to me.” “No.” He reaches over, puts his hand on mine, squeezes it hard. “You earned it, Luciano.”

He stands, and so I have to stand as well, or risk offending. He takes my hand, bends over it, kisses the ring. “Run along, little Don Morelli.” His smile is so kind that my eyes sting and prickle. “Goodbye, sir.”

“What the hell…is he…doing here?” he gasps out when he can talk again. “Well, gee, his little brother got all shot up to hell, so he figured maybe he’d look in, pay a friendly visit, you know?” My sarcasm is returning to me.

“You will never. And I mean never, ever. Do something that stupid again, running out to take on a fucking army on your own. You hear me?” His fingers tighten around my wrist. “I can’t…promise that.”

The first time I saw his face, there in the nightclub in the middle of a crowd of dancers, I pictured it hanging on the wall of some European gallery. He’s still a Renaissance masterpiece to me. He is everything to me.

“Problem is,” Nick says, and hesitates, looking again at Carlo. Carlo gives a nod, and Nick goes on. “Problem is, he’s trying to stir up the troops to get rid of me—so I hear.” “So you hear?” I ask sharply. “Frank’s not a Morelli anymore, and you’re the fucking Acting Boss, Nick. The only one who should be stirring the troops—”

frank you dumb fuck

Tomorrow I’ll deal with Frank, one way or the other. That’ll be the easy job. The much harder thing on the To Do list for tomorrow will be persuading Luca that we need to leave New York City in the dust.

“Listen to me,” he begs, trying to take my hand again. I yank it away, and agony shoots through me, making me gasp. Finch freezes, his eyes wide and afraid.

“Whoever this is, whoever’s coming for me,” I say, clearly and distinctly over the alarm, “they were just waiting for you clowns to clear my friends away from the waiting area. They knew they’d never get past them, not head-on. You’ve killed me yourself, Garcia. I won’t get my day in court, and you’ll get your nice silk blouse soaked with your own blood, instead of that promotion you were hoping for.”

“If you want to stay here, Detective, you’re more than welcome. But if you come with us, we’ll protect you if you protect us. You have my word.”

“I don’t want to die in a fucking box,” I whisper. I’m having flashbacks to the nightmares I had after Tino Morelli’s death. More than one night I dreamt of his demise, the invasion of the cellar of his house where he was holed up, trying to reach his escape tunnel.

The answer occurs to me even though I’d rather not know it: that smear of Luca’s blood that I left on the door when I was pushing it open.

“We should just shoot the place up,” mutters one voice. “We need him alive,” hisses another, and it’s answered by a dissatisfied grunt.

Because I am most definitely going out the door, and I have no other bargaining chips to play except this one: my own life.

Angelo Messina.

Again. Screaming

He’d better be. I want to see his face when he wakes up to see Angelo Messina is back in town.

Her dark eyes flash over to Garcia and size her up. Garcia’s mouth opens, and nothing comes out. “Hi,” Sophia says. “Hi,” Garcia says back after a moment, a slight flush staining across her nose and cheeks. “Uh. I mean—” She breaks off, almost as bewildered as Frank.