Not Mine to Keep (The Costa Family)

Bucharest, Romania—Nine and a Half Hours Later

“He’s awake. What the fuck did that asshole give him?”

“You know how he is with legal drugs. Forget it when it comes to the illegal shit.”

“Why didn’t the meds they gave him here counteract what Rocco gave him?”

There were people talking somewhere. Familiar voices. None a match to Rocco. I don’t think.

“You know him. He’s weird like that.” A pause. Then from what I could tell, the same person kept talking. “But he’s alive; that’s all that matters.”

“Just some bruises and cuts. Starved, from what the doc said.”

“No sign he was . . . violated, either. Thank fuck for that.”

I blinked, trying to get used to the lights. Where was I? My head rolled to the side, and I saw a hand resting on my forearm near an IV. “Constantine?” Narrowing my eyes, I tried to make out the blurry faces. “You made it. You’re alive.” My eyes closed. “Where’s Rocco?”

“I slit his throat and shot him.” That was definitely Constantine.

So that was real. He’d had his revenge. Fucking finally, and he deserved it. Not that I remembered everything that had gone down, especially not the gunshot after the blade to Rocco’s throat, but it was done. Thank God.

“I’m so sorry I let him take you,” my brother apologized, and I forced my eyes open to confirm my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me.

“I’m okay. Rocco only just showed up. He’d been away most of the time.” Fuck, I was still too out of it to focus and remember everything.

“Thank God for that,” Enzo said, and I looked around the room to see two more people there. Hudson and Sebastian Renaud.

“Mom, Dad, Izzy, and your wife will be here any second. They boarded the jet as we hit the house.” Enzo gave me the good news, reaching for my hand, and shit, was he crying? “Everyone’s okay. Armani’s even in prison, too. And Marcello is dead.”

What?

“You know, your wife helped find you, in a matter of speaking, too,” Hudson said, skipping right over the what-the-fuck information that’d been casually tossed my way as he circled the other side of the bed. “Calliope located a historian to help us find the tunnel exits, and we were able to confirm the location of where he shot that video to help narrow our search area.”

Of course she did. Smart girl. “Rocco had us wait it out somewhere in the woods after he dragged me out of the tunnel, and once he got a signal, he called in some people he had on standby, I guess, for help.” The drugs had messed up my perception of time and reality, so I wasn’t 100 percent on the details after that; I only knew I’d woken up in a basement somewhere and had the good fortune not to have to look at Rocco’s face that week.

“Good to see you’re okay,” Sebastian commented, his tone casual.

“Thank you for sticking around.” And I was damn grateful for his help.

“Mission wasn’t over until you were found.” Sebastian’s gaze shot to the hallway, and there was a slight smile there, and it didn’t take long for me to figure out why.

My parents and Izzy came into the room. And just behind them, nervously hanging in the doorway . . . was my wife.Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

I lost sight of her as my mom rushed to my bedside and flung her weight down, hugging me.

“Easy, Ma,” Enzo said as she squeezed me, and Izzy came up alongside Hudson to get to me from the other side of the bed.

I looked over at my dad, and he quietly nodded. But the tears in his eyes . . . fuck.

“Calliope,” I whispered, still unable to see her around Mom blocking the doorway.

“I’m here.” Her voice sounded so small.

Izzy and Mom let me go and stepped to the side. Drugged or not, I’d get myself upright for my girl. I opened my hand, and she took small steps my way, tears spilling over her cheeks.

“Get over here,” I begged, my voice breaking as Constantine gestured for everyone to step out so we had privacy.

As soon as she was close enough, I snatched her wrist and hooked my other arm behind her back, hauling her to me before setting my forehead to hers.

“Hey, you,” I said, hating how drunk I sounded. “Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she was smiling. Giving it her best effort to, at least.

“Tell me those are happy tears, sweetheart,” I rasped, just now realizing I’d called her by a nickname she’d never heard me use before. She probably thought I was drugged out of my mind.

“Very happy.” She gently kissed me, and it was ecstasy having her mouth on mine. “You had us worried, though.”

“What day is it?” I asked.

“The twenty-second.”

“Your birthday . . .” Dammit.

“I never went to bed last night, so it’s still kind of yesterday, and if you dismiss the time change, then really it’s practically still our birthday,” she rambled, and it was the best sound, the best fucking everything I’d heard in a long damn time.

“Happy birthday.” I nearly sighed out the words. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“The best birthday gift is that you’re okay.” The tears and wobbling of her bottom lip started up. “But I did get your gift and note.”

“Do you kind of hate me for not giving it away like I promised?”

She caught a tear on her lip with her tongue. “More like kind of love you.”

I rolled my eyes. And yeah, on purpose that time.

“What’s that for?” She cry-laughed while gently shoving at my chest.

“Only ‘kind of’ love me, huh?” I arched a brow. “I don’t kind of anything.” I stared into her eyes and said, “I love you.” My free hand slipped over my chest.

“X squared.” Eyes flashing to mine, she translated, “Love you more.”

“Like how much more?” I caught her bottom lip between my teeth, doing my best not to actually bite, but given my current state, no promise it wouldn’t happen.

“Way, way more,” she murmured once I freed her lip and she had me forgetting we were in Romania. Forgetting everything that had happened in the last week.

“Not possible.” I kissed her back harder this time. “You’ll never love me more than I love you. Don’t argue with me on this. It’s a fight you won’t win.”

She wedged her hand between our bodies and clasped mine resting over my heart. “So, so bossy.”

“You know you like it.”

“I do,” she returned in a soft voice. “Now tell me about this name . . . Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey.”