“Sì, Signore.”
“Get me if you need anything,” I told her firmly. “I’m coming back in ten minutes.”
“Sì, Signore.”
The last thing I wanted to do was leave Gia alone, but I needed to check on Aaron and get my men searching for the blue Maserati that was following us. Unfortunately, I only got a glance at it and didn’t have any details to pass on.
My argument with Gia in the car before all hell broke loose rushed back to me…
“Do you hear yourself? Stop sounding like a child,” she snapped at me like a mother would do. “I don’t know how you can be so nonchalant about any of this. The woman you love lost her mind in front of dozens of people. You should be worried about the news spreading and your enemies hearing about it.”
“She was brokenhearted.” I grinned at Gia. I hoped she knew what she’d gained and what Cara lost. Yes, I was being arrogant, but I didn’t like this condescending side of Gia. Why was she acting like she was better and smarter than me? I was older and wiser. She needed to learn her place.
“That’s great. Make excuses for your lover.” She turned back to face the window and gave me the cold shoulder. “You two belong together. A perfect pair with zero class.”
“Do not talk to me that way.” I threw my breadstick on the floor as rage pumped through my veins. “You don’t get to disrespect me. I’m your husband. Show me the proper respect I deserve!”
“Respect must be earned,” she hissed. “Or would you like me to fake it? I can certainly do that if your ego is too fragile to handle the truth.”
“Cazzo! Just be silent. I’m done trying to talk to you.” My ego? I would show her at home who was boss.
“Good. Because I’m done too.”
“Signore, Giovanna is asking for you.” Marta’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “She’s awake.”
“Grazie, Marta.” I turned around to go up to Gia’s bedroom.
“You can’t see her like that.” She grabbed me by the arm. “You need to clean up.”
I touched my bloody face. “Sì. You’re right. Grazie.”
“Come.” She waved for me to follow her. “I clean you up.”
“Do you know how to do stitches?” Once my gash was cleaned, I was confident it would bleed again.
She laughed. “Of course. I midwife.”
“You don’t say. A midwife.” This was news to me. Then again, my mother hired the servants and staff. Naturally, Mamma had thought ahead when she’d hired Marta. It would be handy to have someone who could tend to a pregnant woman. And in my case, stitch up the cut on my eyebrow.
Marta nodded and pointed to a chair for me to sit on. She wasted no time, cleaning my wound and mending it. I appreciated her focus on getting the job done without delay.
“Must hurry,” she said. “Giovanna is waiting.”
“Grazie. I’m eager to see her. Were her wounds bad?”
“Eh, not too bad. But her spirito is not so good. It is declinare, you know?” Marta was a very wise woman, but then she was around my mother’s age, so it made sense.
“Sì, I know the spirit is delicate.”
“Finito. Finished.” She wiped her hands on a towel.
“How many stitches?” I asked as I went to check myself out in the mirror hanging on the wall.
“Six tiny, tiny, tiny.” She pinched her finger and thumb together, showing a hardly visible gap.
“I see that. The scar will look sexy when it’s healed. Yes?” I mentally scolded myself. There I was making light of a grave situation. Lord help me if I haven’t learned my lesson.
She made thetsk, tsksound and frowned. “Go see Giovanna.”
