He opened one eye. I took that as the equivalent of “What?”
“You’re bleeding!”
He nodded.
“You’re burning up with fever, too!”
“Stop shouting,” he said. “I have a massive fucking headache.”
“I think you have a lot worse than that,” I said, rushing to the bathroom, soaking a washcloth with cool water.
A violent shiver shook his body when I applied it to his head.
“You need help, Aniello,” I said. “Where’s your phone? I’ll call Quentin—”
“No,” he said, turning some with a deep groan. “Look in my pocket.”
A bulging shape outlined his pants pocket, and at first, I thought it was his phone. Then I realized it was a bottle filled with pills. Antibiotics, from what the type said. Prescribed by Dr. Sharon Katz.
I shook the bottle at him, and he opened one eye again. “You know Bambina’s vet?”
“Your hair is wet,” he said. “You need to dry it before you come to bed, or you might get sick.”
My mouth opened and closed, no words coming out, so I shook the bottle at him even harder.
He waved a hand, dismissing me.
This wasn’t Club D, and he wasn’t going to boss me around in my own place. I would have made a fuss about it, but he really did look like shit. I read the directions on the bottle and started getting everything ready for him to take a dose. He needed to eat before he did.
I made him two pieces of toast and a glass of water. He stuffed almost the entire piece of bread in his mouth, refusing to eat the other, before he held his hand out for the pills.
“Is this your first dose?” I asked.
He nodded, so I knew whatever had happened to him had been recent. But why hadn’t he at least taken a dose?
He threw the pills back without water, and then settled the pillows on the bed, getting comfortable. His eyes drooped, like he was about to fall asleep. “Didn’t have time to take them,” he muttered. “Had somewhere I needed to be.”
Had I asked out loud?
Tentatively, I sat on the bed, and slowly, undid the buttons on his shirt. His eyes opened, but he didn’t move or tell me to stop. With a tender touch, I slid the shirt from his shoulder, then sucked in a breath when I realized how much blood had seeped through.
“You were shot,” I said, like I couldn’t believe it. Like whoever did this to him had some balls to try and kill Aniello Assanti.
“Not the first time,” he said.
“Not the point,” I said, forcing myself to breathe through my mouth. That copper smell seemed like it was consuming the air around me. “This one is new. You’re bleeding.”
“I’ll do until morning.”
“And then?”
Our eyes held, but I was the one to break first.
“I’ll call Dr. Sharon and let her know—” I went to get up, but he grabbed my arm, stopping me.
“I’ll do until morning,” he repeated.
I nodded. “All right. Do you want something for the pain? I don’t have much—”
