But he doesn’t know that part. All he knows is that I’m desperate, and that makes me easy prey.
Suddenly, the thought of my mom makes me remember where I am. Most importantly, where I’mnot.
“Where’s my phone?” I ask suddenly, panic rising. “My mom—she’ll be worried?—”
“She’s fine.”
I freeze. “Wh-what?”
“I sent someone to her last night.” His voice is calm as always. “A live-in nurse. She’s in good hands until you’re back on your feet.”
It hits me like cold water. “You… sent someone? To my home?”
“Yes.”
My heartbeat stutters again. “But how do you even know where I live? Or that Mom needs…”Help. Care. Someone who knows how to handle a cardiopathic patient.“How?”
His eyes hold mine without flinching. “I find out what I need to.”
The room feels too small. “Mr. Romano, that’s?—”
“Riccardo. Just call me that.”
“Riccardo,” I correct myself, though it feels too intimate. “It’s too much. I can’t pay you back for this.”
He lifts a hand, stopping me without touching me. “You fainted,” he says. “You weren’t breathing right. I wasn’t going to leave your mother alone knowing that.” His green eyes look so earnest. “You don’t owe me anything, kitten. And you won’t have to pay me back. Ever.”
Kitten.The nickname should settle wrong in my chest, but for some reason, it doesn’t.
I sit back on the pillows, stunned. My instinct says I should be screaming about boundaries or privacy or something normal people would care about.
But last night…
If he hadn’t been there…
I don’t even want to finish the thought.
A soft knock breaks the silence. The guy who always hangs around him—Valerio, I’ve heard him being called a few times—pokes his head in, eyebrows raised. “Should I have the breakfast brought in?”
Riccardo nods. “Yes.”
“Right away.” He flashes a small, friendly smile my way, then disappears down the hall.
“You ordered breakfast?” I ask.
“I didn’t know what you’d wake up wanting,” Riccardo says. “So I had them prepare options.”
A minute later, a tray arrives, laid out like something from a luxury hotel: fresh brioche, fruit, eggs, green tea, yogurt parfait, and a small plate of cheeses.
My chest tightens. “These are… all my favorites.”
“I know.”
I stare at the tray, then at him. “Since when have you been watching me?”
He doesn’t look away. “A long time.”
Something inside me wavers. I was half-expecting him to deny it, but he didn’t. I should be afraid. Or angry. Or both.
