Page 64 of Queen of Misfortune (Shadows of Redemption)

"Still up,Tesoro?" The voice is laced with amusement, cutting through the tension. Donovan.

Then it reaches my brain.Tesoro. The Italian word for treasure. I want to melt into it, but I resist.

He stands at the foot of the bed, his arms up in surrender. “Are you up because you’re worried about me or waiting to shoot me?”

I realize I’m still holding up the gun. “I haven’t decided yet.” I set the gun on the bedside table.

He steps forward, the smirk clear even in the half-light. "And after I rushed back to our marital bed."

He’s close enough now that I can see his face. He has a black eye.

“What happened?”

He shrugs as he pulls off his tie and tosses it aside. “Just a little initiation. I’m going to shower.” He heads to the bathroom.

Not liking his answer, I leap from bed and follow him in. “What do you mean? Niko did this?”

Donovan turns on the water in the shower. “No. Bratva.”

What the hell? I reach for his hand, and my breath catches at the sight of his knuckles – raw, split open. It's a reminder of the violence that takes up too much space in his life.

"What happened?"

"Occupational hazard," he quips.

“You were shot not that long ago, and now you’re getting into a fight?” I’m sure I sound like a shrew, but seriously, how do men like Donovan stay alive when they’re so reckless with their lives?

He stares down at me, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “I just needed to prove my worth.”

I arch a brow. “Were you successful?”

He grins. “You should see the other guys.”

My mouth drops open. “There was more than one?”

“Five.” He holds up his other hand and beams like a schoolboy who’s just won a trophy. “Three require medical assistance.”

I purse my lips at him, angry that he’s such an idiot and ridiculously happy that he’s okay. “You’re going to get yourself killed someday.”

Donovan takes my chin and looks into my eyes. His expression softens, and he opens his mouth to say something but stops and steps away. He starts to undress, wincing as he removes his shirt.

“Donovan.” My words are a whisper as I take in the cuts and bruises. My chest tightens as I watch Donovan, the way his bodysubtly recoils with each move from the pain he's trying so hard to mask.

He’s about to shove his pants down when I realize he’s nearly naked. I’d like to stay. I’d like to kiss his wounds and help him wash away the violence. But that’s not what this marriage is. I turn to leave.

"You don’t have to go.” His voice is softer. He nods toward the shower. “You could join me, if you wanted.”

"You're hurt."

He chuckles. "I promised I wouldn't expect anything from you, Lucy." His eyes glint with mischief, the smug smirk returning. "But I could ask, right? Joining me in the shower would certainly soothe the pain I'm feeling."

My heartbeat quickens—his playful tone, the promise of sensual delights, it tempts me closer to the edge of reason.

"It would be a nice, wifely thing to do,” he teases.

It would be, except I’m a wife only on paper. "This marriage doesn't mean anything." My words bely the truth. I can feel the wall around my heart strain, threatening to crumble.

For a fleeting moment, his expression shifts. The humor fades, leaving behind something raw and achingly sincere. "I meant the vows I made to you.”