I get through to the doctor, and give her the option of showing up to check on my woman or spending time at the bottom of the canal outside my house. She promises to be here in less than an hour.
Nodding, I return to Luisa’s room to see her on the window seat, staring out at the canal below. Starling sits on her lap, purring so loud I can hear it from the doorway.
“Venice,” Luisa murmurs, eyes tracking the gondolas drifting by.
“Yes.”
“Not Rome?”
I smirk. “Not Rome. My family has power here. Another family runs Rome, but they’ve been too busy cleaning up after a war with the Russians to bother with us.”
“Lots of mafias?” Luisa asks, still watching the Gondolas. She still sounds groggy. “Like ... like cartels?”
I slide my fingers through her hair, brushing it back. “More organized, but just as bloody.”
She leans into my touch before catching herself. Her expression sharpens. “Are you going to bite me if I take care of you, Luisa?”
She doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
I grin. “I’m going to do it anyway.”
She looks up at me. Her eyes are still a little dull, but the bruises have faded. The whites of her eyes are clear. She can focus again.
All good signs.
I show her a brush and, as promised, she tries to bite me. I offer her my thumb instead, she just grazes me with her teeth before I drag the pad of that same finger across her full bottom lip.
A slow, silent standoff.
Neither of us says much after that. Not until the doctor arrives.
The doctor explains that Luisa is healing well, but we should still check in at a hospital to monitor her brain activity and watch for signs of change.
“Today,” I say in agreement.
The doctor sighs. “Sir, you have to make an appointment.”
I grit my teeth as I stare down at the doctor, my hands clenched at my thighs. “I’ll be there today one way or another. Would you like me to remove someone from the list to make space, or will you make room?”
She swallows. “Six p.m..”
I nod. The doctor practically flees.
Luisa, still watching me. “I don’t have a passport.”
“I took care of it, vita mia,” I say assuring her, kissing her forehead. “Sit up for me.”
She sits up, and I guide her forward. Drawing her close, I provide a comforting space for her to rest her head on my shoulder. My fingers weave through her hair, rocking to untangle the knots, wary of using a brush. Mimicking what I’ve seen in online videos, I’ve been determined to care for her without relying on Emilia for help.
“What do you remember?” I ask.
“Fire ... a pool. Um... yelling, I think. The ambulance, then nothing. I woke up here. Why was there a fire? Wasn’t I supposed to be there? What about work? What about-”
“One question at a time. I’ll answer all of them.”
“I hate you,” she murmurs, her expression contorted as she gazes at me. “Don’t I?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.”
