I’d never heard Frankie talk about his family. All the time he’d worked for Pa he never mentioned them. I understood why. It must have been that same thing of keeping the people you love out of business.
Two men rushed out of the house too, both looked like him also.
Brothers maybe.
While his mother helped me out, the guys got Xander.
We all went inside. Xander was placed in a room where one of the guys tended to his wounds. He worked like a doctor so I guess he had to be exactly that.
I stayed with him while Frankie went off with his mother.
I learned within minutes that the guy tending to Xander was Alberto, Frankie’s middle brother and the other guy was Zivelle. He was the youngest.
I observed them as they moved around and I could tell they were separate, as in they seemed to exist outside the business. Outside the usual mafia related restraints. It was their mannerisms that gave them away.
Alberto had a lot of work to do on Xander. He had broken ribs and thankfully that seemed to be the worst thing that we could tell just from the physical examination he did on him.
He did advise us to go to the hospital though as soon as we could because there was no telling what damage could have happened internally without more extensive checks.
Of course I definitely agreed. It was just on the basis of a matter of when and how we would get to the hospital.
Xander woke up fully a little while after but he was so weak. We had him propped up on a stack of pillows. I sat next to him with a warm rag placed on his head that seemed to comfort him. He’d complained of a headache earlier.
Every time it went cold I’d warm it up.
I was just about to again when Xander reached for my hand and pulled me back to sit down.
“Baby…” he breathed.
I moved to him, careful to avoid his wounds and kissed him. It was a kiss my body longed for. “Xander…”
“Jia.” He cupped my face and it was a direct contrast to the rough manner in which Armand had handled me earlier.
When Xander touched me it warmed my heart.
“How are you feeling?” I moved my hand over the edge of his jaw.
“Can I just be happy to see you?” His voice was thick with emotion.
“Of course.”
“Stay with me, just stay here. My head feels fine. I don’t need that rag anymore. Just you.”
I cupped his face too, looking over his bruises. I couldn’t believe I was holding him. “Of course. If you need me to warm it again in a little while I will.”
He smoothed his hand up my face.
“I love you,” he told me on the edge of a heartfelt whisper. His words were like a gentle caress on my soul.
I beamed down at him. “I love you too.”
“Thank you.”
I chuckled. “You aren’t supposed to say thanks.”
“Baby… it would only be bad if one of us told the other they loved them and the answer was thanks.” He gave me a weak smile.
“I know, that’s really bad. But I mean you don’t have to thank me for loving you.”
