Chapter 128: The Don’s Personal Passenger Princess

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I woke up to Lorenzo staring at me. It had become a bit unnerving, considering how often I’d opened my eyes lately to find him watching me like I was some valuable artifact he was assigned to keep safe.

"Good morning, Dracula." I mumbled, shifting around on the pillows.

Lorenzo quickly reached for my hand, his other hand pressing against my forehead to check my temperature.

He looked like he hadn’t slept much, but his black shirt was perfectly clean, and his long blond hair was neatly tied back.

"Does anything hurt?"

"My ribs, my head, my arm...and maybe my pride, though that’s probably a permanent condition at this rate."

He didn’t laugh, which was a letdown because I thought it was a clever response for someone who had just survived an explosion.

"My head feels clearer than it did last night," I added, taking the water he offered me. "I’m still tired, but I think I’ll manage this whole being awake thing."

"Alex."

"I’m fine, Lorenzo."

His face told me he’d rather consult three doctors and maybe an exorcist rather than believe me, but he let me drink my water without pressing me further.

When I tried to place the glass on the bedside table, he took it from my hand and did it for me, his hand settling on my waist like he expected me to bolt.

I glanced from his hand to his face. "Are you planning to keep me hostage here until lunch?"

"If needed."

"That’s a terrible way to treat your husband."

"You seem comfortable enough."

The annoying part? He was right. His scent was familiar and comforting, and the warmth of his hand made the strange room feel a bit less intimidating.

But I hadn’t forgotten that I was a grown man capable of handling my own affairs, and I intended to maintain that notion whenever I regained my strength.

A doctor showed up shortly after and confirmed I was stable enough to be moved, as long as I took it easy and kept up with my meds.

When the doctor finally left, Lorenzo turned to me and declared we’d be heading back to the estate right away.

"Today?" I asked, glancing at the window. "I was kind of hoping to spend another day in Paris, maybe hit another bakery for something that costs less than a small house."

"Paris isn’t safe anymore."

"Oh...I understand." I said disappointed.

Thanks to those morons, my trip in Paris was cut short.

And I truly did understand, which is why I didn’t argue further, even though disappointment settled heavily in my chest.

I had grown attached to Paris in less than two days, with its bookshops, stunning streets, historic landmarks, and those bakeries that had convinced me it was totally acceptable to eat pastries for breakfast.

But now, I was heading back to a heavily secured estate where discussions about murder were as casual as families typically discussed the weather.

While Lorenzo arranged our departure, I turned on the television and found a news report about the bombing at the gala.

The reporter stood outside the damaged hotel, detailing how around two dozen guests had died, while authorities considered both terrorism and the possibility of a gas leak as contributing factors.

Several people were still in the hospital, and the investigation was ongoing.

I sat there, staring at the screen, remembering the smoke, the screams, and the terrified people desperately looking for their loved ones.

Just thinking about it made my stomach knot, while the reporter’s calm tone made the tragedy all feel surreal.

The public narrative was incomplete, and I knew it.

Those attendees had come for a party, expecting a normal evening, and they paid the price for a conflict that wasn’t even theirs.

"Tesoro mio," Lorenzo said softly, pulling my focus away from the television. "You don’t have to watch this."

"I know, but I can’t help thinking about how many people didn’t get out."

"You did everything you could."

"It just doesn’t feel like enough."

He took my hand and pressed a kiss against my knuckles, his face softening in a way that made it hard for me to keep up my usual sarcastic demeanor.

"You can mourn for them without blaming yourself."

I finally switched off the TV, though the images lingered in my mind long after the screen had gone dark.

Lorenzo watched me for a moment before asking what I wanted to eat.

When I jokingly said I wanted an entire bakery, he took me far too seriously.

A few hours later, a group of men arrived with boxes filled with fancy Parisian desserts...fruit-shaped pastries, éclairs, macarons, and little chocolate tarts arranged so beautifully I felt guilty about eating them.

Timothy told me that Lorenzo had bought about a thousand dollars’ worth of sweets from a few patisseries, which was his idea of a modest gesture.

I stared at the boxes in disbelief.

"Dracula, did you rob a bakery?"

"No."

"Then why does it look like you’re preparing to feed the entire estate for a month?"

"You said you wanted pastries."

"Yeah, when I said I wanted a whole bakery, I was mostly joking but thanks!"

He brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. "You’re welcome, my love."

Despite the heaviness in my heart, a smile crept onto my face. He really was terrible at comforting me in an ordinary way, but he had noticed my sadness and tried to do something to fix it.

"You know I can’t eat all of these before they spoil, right?"

I knew I was a big back with no self control when it came to food, but I wasn’t that bad.

"Then share them."

"With whom?"

"Anyone you want."

I picked up a fruit-shaped pastry and took a bite, discovering a sweet cream filling under its delicate outer layer.

For the first time since the attack, I actually found myself feeling hungry, and I devoured another pastry before reluctantly putting the rest aside for the journey.

Maybe it was the sugar, or the realization that Lorenzo had been paying attention to more than just security reports, but I felt a bit better.

When we arrived at the airport, the private jet was waiting for us, and the security was so intense that I started to think Lorenzo was moving a priceless national treasure rather than his injured husband.

Guards checked the area before letting us board, Timothy stayed close, and Lorenzo looked thoroughly displeased whenever someone approached me without notice.

Once inside, I expected him to sit next to me, but he plopped down and pulled me onto his lap instead.

"Um excuse the fuck out of me?" I stared at him.

"You should rest."

"I can rest in my own seat."

"You can rest here."

"Dracula, I’m a grown man, not a decorative cushion!"

He adjusted the pillow behind my back, careful not to press against my bruised ribs, and wrapped his arm around my waist with the kind of confidence that made it clear he thought the discussion was over.

"You’re also injured."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the plane started moving, and the warmth of his chest was way too comfortable.

Eventually, I settled in against him, convincing myself it was just because my ribs hurt, which was a perfectly reasonable explanation that didn’t need any further probing.

For most of the flight, Lorenzo kept me close, his hand resting on my waist, enveloping me in his scent.

Whenever a crew member came over, he kept a watchful eye on them, and when Timothy leaned over to ask if I needed anything, Lorenzo spoke before I could say a word.

"He has water."

Timothy glanced at the bottle beside me. "I...I was just asking the Donna, sir."

"And I answered."

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing as Timothy leaned back with the tired expression of a man who’d survived dangerous situations only to discover his employer’s husband was now a no-access area.

"You’re being pretty clingy today," I said once Timothy went back to his seat.

"Am I?"

"You’ve barely let me move without supervising."

"You went missing yesterday, the one time I allowed you to have your freedom to roam around. You almost got kidnapped."

His voice was quiet, which quickly wiped the smile off my face.

Looking at him, I noticed the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion around his eyes, and how his fingers slightly tightened on my waist.

I could see that experience had scared him more than he wanted to show.

"I came back," I said softly.

"I know."

He pressed a kiss to my temple, and I leaned my head against his shoulder, letting the silence hang between us.

Eventually, our chat turned to Dante.

Lorenzo had been going over a report when he shared his latest theory: his older brother probably wanted him dead because he’d inherited the title of Don.

Dante had spent years thinking he’d lead the family, and when their father picked Lorenzo instead, he couldn’t seem to accept it.

Lorenzo basically, with my help as his husband, stole the title of Don from Dante...right under his nose.

"I get why he might resent you and I," I replied after mulling it over, "but I don’t think sibling rivalry alone explains a bombing that killed dozens and would have killed more."

Lorenzo looked down at me. "Why not?"

I put my finger on my chin as thought about it.