“Shit.” I put the bottle down and put a hand on his. I wish I could throw myself down on top of him, even curl up next to him, but I’ve been told to put no pressure on his torso at all. “Yeah. Brother Frank reappeared.”
Luca’s eyes darken. “That damnedidiot,” he growls, and then coughs again until I let him have another sip. “What the hell…is he…doinghere?” he gasps out when he can talk again.
“Well, gee, his little brother got all shot up to hell, so he figured maybe he’d look in, pay a friendly visit, you know?” My sarcasm is returning to me.
Luca has noted it too, his mouth quirking up at one side. His lips are pinking up again. He keeps licking them, so I take some of the Darla-approved lip balm and pat it over his mouth while I add, “Your brother came to see you because we all thought you were going to die.”
I’m proud of myself for keeping my voice even until the very last word, when it trembles. But maybe Luca won’t have noticed.
“Baby bird,” he murmurs, and reaches up to take my hand again. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
My throat closes up on a sob. I swallow hard. “You willnever. And I meannever, ever. Do something that stupid again, running out to take on a fucking army on your own. You hear me?”
His fingers tighten around my wrist. “I can’t…promise that.”
All my terror and anguish and relief coalesce into a flaming ball of anger. “What thefuck,” I start, and he coughs again, shaking me out of it for long enough that I let him speak again when he’s able.
“I was…protectingyou, angel.” He coughs again. “I won’t ever stop protecting you. Don’t—ah, shit—” He winces in pain as he shifts in the bed. “Don’t ask me to stop. I won’t. Can’t.” He slumps back on the pillows, exhausted again. “Love you,” he mumbles again, his eyes closing…and just like that, he’s asleep.
For a moment, fear seizes me. What if he’s slipped back into a coma? But no—Darla explained to me before she left that he would sleep again, and very soon. That I should let him. That I would know the difference between sleep and coma.
And what do you know, Darla’s dead right. This sleep is more natural somehow, lessdeep. He’s floating on the surface of the waters, not swallowed up at the bottom of the ocean.
I look down at him, a kaleidoscope of emotions jumbling around inside me. Part of me wants to whip the pillow out from behind his head and smother him, just to remind him exactly who, between the two of us, needs protection.
But instead of committing murder, I just let out a soft snort of disbelief, shake my head, and kiss his forehead.
Stupid, stubborn son of a bitch. I think it, but I don’t chance saying it out loud. I don’t want to wake him. I thought I would be able to sleep when he did, but I’m wired, my brain buzzing and alert. The blinking lights of the machines around him are distracting, almost painful at the edge of my vision.
His color is coming back. His cheeks are flushed rather than marble-white.
The first time I saw his face, there in the nightclub in the middle of a crowd of dancers, I pictured it hanging on the wall of some European gallery. He’s still a Renaissance masterpiece to me.
He iseverythingto me.
Yet he speaks of protectingme, as though he’s indestructible. The fact that his first thought was for me instead of himself was very telling. I love this man, and I need to protect him from himself.
Frank floats into my mind. I should go to him, let him know that Luca is alright. That his little brother had a near miss, and that between the two of us, we have to make him see sense, get Luca to safety.
I know what to do, now. But I’ll need Frank’s help to do it.
Chapter Fourteen
FINCH
Igo into the bathroom and wash my face, then I slide out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as I can. At the end of the hallway I can see the Morelli guards hovering, looking down towards me, perking up when they see me. They’re joined by a little crush of people. Aidan, Teo, Nick and Carlo. Snapper Marino—one of the older, grizzled Morelli Capos, and Teo’s cousin—is there as well, and even Al Vollero is waiting. I can see my sister and her men, too, but…
Frank is not with the group. Hereallymust have fucked up.
I raise my hand in acknowledgment and make my way down, walking as slowly as I can. I don’t want to be around anyone right now—except Luca, of course—and that isn’t like me. I usually thrive in front of an audience. But from the looks on some of the faces there, I can see I’m walking right back into trouble.
Nick is anxious; Carlo concerned. Aidan looks hopeful. Teo seems grim. But whatever is going on, the Morelli bodyguards don’t seem to know about it. Nor do the Donovans, if I’m reading the scene right. And Vollero seems completely oblivious.
All that evidence means the problem is likely to be…
Frank.
I reach them and explain how Luca is doing, the prognosis from the medical staff, reassure them all that he was conscious, very conscious, and talking to me. The relief is palpable, and I’m glad I made the effort to come out here. Darla told them as much as she could, but hearing it from me makes it official.
