“Not even a little.” He hesitated. “Although—I did pray when you were…I mean, I figured it’d do no harm. And, well, here you are.”
“Here I am.”
“Listen, I need to tell you something,” he said in a rush.
“Okay?”
“I—”
But whatever it was that he’d planned to say was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” I called, as Baxter looked alternately relieved and frustrated.
Finch D’Amato appeared in the doorway. “I just came to see if—oh! Good to see you awake, Angelo. Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.” He gave a wide, knowing grin.
I gave a tired nod. “Mr. D’Amato.”
“Luca will be so happy to hear you’re okay,” he went on. “I was just about to order dinner, wondered if Baxter wanted anything special.”
“Actually,” said a cool voice from outside the room, “if Angelo is awake and talking, I have one or two things I’d like to discuss.” Luca D’Amato appeared behind Finch, his eyes on me, then Bax, then back to me. They softened at last. “How are you feeling?”
“He’s just been shot,” Bax sniped. “How do you think—”
“Bax,” I said, putting my hand on his. I winced again, but it didn’t hurt quite as badly as it had to move compared to when I first came around.
Finch was, if possible, grinning even wider.
“Go on now, go and order dinner,” I murmured to Bax.
“But—”
“I need to take care of some business,” I said gently. “And you need to eat.”
“He sure does,” Finch piped up. “He’s been in this room the whole time you’ve been here. A real Florence Nightingale.”
Baxter frowned, but I squeezed his hand. “Get something for me, too.”
That finally convinced him, though he was slow to stand up. And then he leaned over and kissed me, before looking across at Finch and Luca with a defiant expression.
“Alright, Angelo,” he said. “If you want me to go, I will.”
“This Baxter Flynn might be something of a problem for you,” Luca said once both his husband and my apparent protector had left the room. But his eyes twinkled as he said it. “We make quite a pair, eh?” he continued, sitting in the chair Bax had vacated. “Me with my Irish boy and you with your Fed. What do you think Tino would say if he could see us now?”
I winced again. “Who knows.”
“Perhaps he’d be happy for you.”
“Mm.”
He considered my face. “Your love life is your business, Angelo. But we do have something of an issue. His face—and yours—are becoming very familiar to the people of this fine City. And not for the best reasons, either. But I have an idea about that.”
I pushed the covers down weakly, and he helped me to swing my legs over the bed. “And I’d love to hear it, Boss. But first, I really, really need the bathroom.”
* * *
After Luca left me,Bax came back up with one of my favorite dishes from the local Italian restaurant,linguine alle vongole. It tasted like Sicily to me, brought back old memories of my Nonna making something similar, though she preferred to use spaghetti. I still felt weak, and was finding it hard to twirl the pasta onto the fork, let alone scoop the little clams away from their shells.
“Let me help,” Baxter said at last.
“No. I’m not an infant.”
