Marco grips my shoulders and yanks me back. I go because Johnathon isn’t the one I want to kill.
He’s calm and stands his ground. “You were, and she needs more of that, Tommaso. Not this.” He waves his hand at me. “You’re radiating violence. You need to fucking chill because she’ll sense it. Right now, she feels safe with you. She trusts you.”
“She said that?” My heart is in my throat.
“Yes.”
“When can I take her home?”
“Reese wants another forty-eight hours of monitoring before we give her the all-clear for discharge.”
I nod and force myself to ask, “Any other effects from the head trauma?”
“Her reflexes are good, and she has feeling in all her extremities. She’s weak, which is to be expected, but it’s something we’ll monitor. We’ll help her get up and stand in a bit, then progress to walking a few steps to see how she does. She’s a bit foggy right now, and don’t be alarmed if she fatigues quickly over the next few days.”
“Thank you, Johnathon.”
“Be patient with her,” he reminds me before striding away.
I turn back to Marco and Silvio, my most trusted men. “I have a list of things I need done at the house.”
They both nod.
I’ve been only doing the urgent must-dos of ruling from what I can do here, and I’ll continue that from my home when Gina is discharged. But I’ve surrounded myself with capable, trusted men in the upper ranks of my kingdom. I may be controlled, but unlike my father has become, I’m not a control freak. I know I can’t do it all on my own; I need my VPs and executives just like a CEO of a conglomerate does.
But to avoid rumors, because the underworld is gossipy as hell, I need to be seen. That’s where Marco will play an extra role. We’re frequently mistaken for twins, although up close, there are stark differences. However, from afar, it will do.
I eye his more casual wear compared to mine—a simple pair of slacks with a button-down. “First off, Marco, is to get you a wardrobe of suits.”
“Not the monkey suits,” he says in defeated annoyance.
I clap his shoulder with a smile, the first one in the past few days. Then I head back into the room, unable to resist the gravitational pull of the center of my world.
Chapter 18
Gina
Thebathroomlightingisdim because I’m not able to handle bright light yet. But it doesn’t hide the hideous sight of my face. My left eye is half-swollen shut, the left side of my face is swollen and bruised, and my cheek is stitched.
I stare at myself, trying to see behind the injuries to find and remember the woman I used to be.
Was I pretty? And if I were, was I conceded and rude? Did I care about others around me? And why can’t I remember anyone?
Maybe I didn’t have anyone.
But that’s not true. I look down at my hand gripping the porcelain sink and see my ring.
I have Tommaso. The tension in my body eases at the thought.
My husband has basically not left my side; not since I woke, and I know he had kept a vigil at my bedside when I was unconscious.
Tears fill my eyes, and I can’t stop them. Regulating my emotions is something I’m still recovering.
Or maybe I was always overly emotional?
Frustration swells at my inability to remember.
There’s a knock on the door, and Tommaso enters when I don’t answer to let him know that I haven’t collapsed unconscious onto the cold tile floor.
