We broke apart in unison just a second before a man came striding in.
He was a tall and fit man with silver-streaked hair and keen eyes. His gaze slid to Venezio first, taking in the blood, the cuts, the bruises.
Reaching out, he flicked on the light, then cranked up the thermostat.
“Salvatore,” Venezio said, nodding.
Salvatore.
Salvatore “the Surgeon” Costa.
This was the makeshift doctor that he’d mentioned.
Something like awe flooded my system as I watched him notice me. When his gaze tracked down my body, it felt clinical, not intimate.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said with a sigh.
“What—” Venezio started. But it seemed to click then. His gaze shot to my feet, making my own follow.
I was bleeding through my socks.
“Fuck,” Venezio snapped, reaching for me and scooping me up off my feet in one swift motion, making my belly swoop.
Just then, there was another beep, and then two more men rushed inside the building.
Like Venezio and Salvatore, they were handsome. Unlike Venezio, who was in sweats, and Salvatore, who was in pajamas, these men were in suits. The look made them practically ooze ‘mafia.’
“Venezio,” the man in front with the darker hair said.
“Boss,” Venezio replied. “Just let me get her in an exam room,” he added.
“She okay?” the boss asked, his concerned gaze moving over me.
“For someone who almost died half a dozen times in the past day, yeah. But Sal needs to take care of her feet.”
At that, the boss looked at said feet. Seeing the blood, a muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Should I call in Brio?” he asked, looking at Venezio.
I had no idea what that meant, but Venezio gave his boss a tight nod before he fell behind Salvatore as they led me to an exam room.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” Venezio said, brushing some of my wet hair out of my face. “And don’t you dare say it’s not my fault. We both know it is.”
“It’s okay,” I told him.
“Alright. I got some towels and dry clothes,” Salvatore said, stacking them up on the counter. “Why don’t you two get changed, then I can get to work on her feet? Sweetheart, don’t take the socks off. Let me do that.”
With that, he moved into the hallway.
Venezio made quick work of stripping, drying, and putting on the new set of sweats, this one all in black.
Then he turned to me.
“I think I should cut the pants off so the cuffs don’t pull on the socks.”
“Okay,” I agreed, trusting him.
