“But there are marks on her forearms that don’t fit defensive positioning. They resemble scratch wounds, which are typically sustained by the person doing the attacking, not the one being attacked.”
“I see,” I say carefully. “Are you sure, Doctor?”
“Yes,” he replies.
A sense of dread settles in my gut. “Are you suggesting she was fighting someone before being stabbed?”
The doctor’s expression remains neutral, but his eyes tell me everything I need to know. “I’m simply stating the medical facts, Mr. Russo. The wounds tell a story of two different encounters, possibly with two different assailants. Or…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.
“Thank you, Doctor. We’ll speak with her now.”
“One more thing,” he says, stopping me as I was just about to leave. “We matched the DNA to that under the fingernails of…”
I barely register anything as he explains they found Gia’s DNA under Kayla’s fingernails. And when he gets to the part about Gia’s stab wounds seeming almost purposeful, I’m pretty sure I’m not hearing him correctly.
“What do you mean?” I snarl.
He clears his throat. “Every stab wound looks strategic. Sure, she lost a lot of blood and had to be stitched back up. But that’s it, Matteo. No other damage. That in itself seems—”
“Wrong,” Raven breathes. As the doctor leaves, Raven turns to me, her eyes wide with realization. “Matteo, if Gia was fighting with Kayla—”
“Then she might be the one who killed her,” I finish, the pieces clicking into place with sickening precision. “And Vito might have walked in on it.”
“That would explain why someone like Vito got taken by surprise,” Raven says, her mind clearly racing along the same tracks as mine. “He wouldn’t have seen Gia as a threat.”
I brush my thumb across her cheek, admiring how quickly she’s connecting the dots. “This changes our approach,” I murmur. “If she’s involved—”
“She’ll try to play the victim,” Raven nods. “She’ll want your protection, your sympathy.”
“And I’ll give it to her,” I say, letting a cold smile touch my lips. “Until I know exactly what happened.”
While we make our way to Gia’s room, we talk about how to handle this—Raven suggesting I play along with whatever story Gia offers while she watches for inconsistencies from the hallway. By the time we reach the hospital room, we’re in perfect agreement about our strategy.
Gia looks small and broken in the hospital bed, her normally vibrant presence diminished by the white sheets and the bandages visible beneath her gown. Her skin is pale, making the bruising around her eyes stand out in violent purple blooms.
Her dark hair spills across the pillow like an oil slick. Her eyes flicker open as we enter, focusing first on me with a look of desperate relief that quickly shifts to wariness when she spots Raven.
“Matteo,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “You came.”
“Of course I came.” I move to her bedside, feeling Raven’s presence like a heat at my back. “How are you feeling?”
Gia’s gaze darts to Raven again, then back to me. “Could we… could we talk alone? Please?”
I feel rather than see Raven’s tension, the subtle shift in her posture that telegraphs her reluctance.
Knowing I have to play this the right way, I say, “Go away.” Without looking back at my Little Thief. “I need time alone with Gia.”
Gia’s beam tells me that Raven’s probably looking pissed right now, but I don’t turn to watch either. Ignoring her is harder than I thought it would be. A part of me longs to grab Gia’s throat and squeeze until she tells me the truth. Just so I can get Raven back at my side.
Once the door closes behind her, Gia visibly relaxes, her shoulders sagging against the pillows. “Thank you,” she breathes. “I couldn’t… not with her here. It’s too much.”
“Tell me what happened, Gia,” I say, taking her hand in mine, noting how her fingers tremble. “Who did this to you?”
Her eyes well with tears that spill over her cheeks in perfect tracks. “I didn’t see,” she whispers. “It was so fast, Matteo. One minute I was with Kayla backstage, and the next…” She shudders. “There was so much blood. I tried to help her. I was so scared. And… then… I felt this pain in my stomach.”
I nod, keeping my expression concerned while my mind catalogs each inconsistency. If she didn’t see her attacker, how did she get defensive wounds on her arms? If she was trying to help Kayla, why was her DNA found under Kayla’s fingernails?
“What about Vito?” I prompt gently. “Did you see what happened to him?”
