His hand tightens, just a fraction.
“So all you need to do is rest, vita mia.”
ELEVEN
Angelo
Luisa’s confusedover the next few days, which is to be expected. She was in a short coma, advised by one of Eric’s doctor friends. She didn’t just get knocked around when the ambulance flipped. She cracked her skull. Luckily, that bit of extra space–according to the scans–gave her brain enough room to swell without killing her.
She’s on mandated leave–four months minimum–and I’m deep in witness protection. I should be clawing to get out. Instead, I feel it in my blood—this freedom from my father’s control.
Maybe it’s genetic. Maybe Emilia’s rebellion was always a Rossi flaw.
Because watching Luisa vulnerable,bleeding, at the mercy of men I once commanded?—
It changed something in me. And I don’t think I’ll ever go back.
I’ve never taken lives so swiftly or with such satisfaction. Two headshots, and any others, if there were any lurking in the shadows, they wisely postponed their attack for another day.
Luisa squirms in her sleep, as she always does before she wakes. I cup her cheek, trying to make it easy. Her memory isn’t great. She doesn’t say much either, just looks around, dazed, blinking, searching.
Like clockwork—”Starling?”
The cat chirps and nuzzles against her, pressing close.
One week and she’s still sleeping more than she’s awake. I need to take her to another doctor. I brush my fingers along her hairline, tracing one of the two wounds she suffered. This one’s healing. The other, I’m not so sure.
I lean in, my lips ghosting over the scar at her temple.
“You’re supposed to be a ... a mafia man,” Luisa mumbles, her voice thick, sluggish.
“And you’re supposed to be taking care of me.” My voice is low, steady, but my pulse isn’t.
She blinks, her brows drawing together, like she’s piecing something together that won’t quite fit.
“I’m broken,” she notes. “I ... I have to be. Words are hard and ... I don’t know where...” She tries to stand. Not happening.
I tighten my grip, guiding her back down. “You’re not getting up. Not until I get a doctor here,” I growl.
She blinks at me, then touches my face, running her fingers over my light beard. “You look better with a beard. I like you without all the ... styling.”
“I will not let you forget you said that, Luisa. You like me.”
She smirks, lazy and slow. “No one will believe you.”
I scoff, my grip tightening to remind her I’m here. “I don’t give a shit,” I snarl. “I care about your head getting better, so you can sass me again.”
She huffs. “I’ll kick your ass in the...” her brow furrows. “Did I punch you?”
I chuckle, my lips curling. “We did plenty in my boxing ring. Stay right here withStarling. I’m grabbing my phone,” I say, pressing my lips against her temple.
She mutters something in Spanish, too soft to catch.
Then, clearer—“Pendejo.”
I grin, letting the warmth spread through me.
“I like you too, Topolina.”
