“Rosa knows her craft.”
Violet’s eyes flicker to mine for a brief second, a question forming. Then it passes. She doesn’t ask how I know the owner’s name when we’ve just met, when Rosa never introduced herself. The drug is already starting to work, dulling her sharp edges.
“She called me ‘sad American’ the first time I came here.” Violet laughs again, softer this time. “I think she felt sorry for me.”
“Do you need someone to feel sorry for you?”
“No.” Her brow furrows. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She blinks, slow and heavy. “Sorry. I’m suddenly very...”
“Tired?”
“Yeah.” She presses her palm to her forehead. “That’s strange. I never...”
“Perhaps it’s the heat. It’s warmer today than usual.”
“Maybe.” Her words are starting to slur at the edges. “I should... I need to...”
She tries to stand but her legs give out before she’s halfway up.
I’m around the table before she hits the floor, catching her weight against my chest. She’s lighter than I expected. Fragile in a way that sends something sharp and protective lancing through my ribs.
“Easy.” I lower her back into the chair, supporting her head with my hand. “You’re all right. Just rest.”
“Something’s wrong.” Her eyes are wide, pupils dilating, fear cutting through the fog. “I can’t... why can’t I...”
“Shh.” I brush the hair from her face, and finally I’m close enough to catch her scent. Clean sweat and dust and a hint of floral perfume underneath it all. “You’re safe. I have you.”
“Elio...” she mumbles my name. Slurred and frightened, butmine.
“I have you,” I say again. “Close your eyes.”
She doesn’t want to. Every muscle in her body is fighting the drag of the sedative, trying to hold on to consciousness, to control, to the world that’s slipping away from her. But the drug is stronger than will.
Her eyes flutter closed as her body goes slack against me.
For a long moment, I simply hold her. The weight of her in my arms, the warmth of her breath against my throat, the steady thump of her heart beneath my palm. This is what I wanted. What I’ve been circling for weeks, months, stalking like a wolf who’s finally cornered something soft and breakable.
Mine. Finally, irrevocably mine.
Rosa bursts through the kitchen door, wiping her hands on her apron. “What happened? What did you?—”
“She fainted.” I keep my voice calm, trying to sound concerned. It’s easy to wear a mask of a worried companion, not the predator. “The heat, I think. I’m going to take her to the hospital.”
“I call ambulance—” She reaches for the phone behind the counter.
“No need.” I’m already lifting Violet, one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back. Her head lolls against my shoulder. “My car is just outside. It will be faster.”
Rosa steps in front of the door. Sixty years old, five foot nothing, and she plants herself between me and the exit like she’s done this before. “No. You put her down. I call doctor.”
I give her the look that makes men twice her size step aside. She doesn’t flinch. Smart woman. Brave, too, which is worse for her.
“Rosa.” I say her name quietly, the way my father taught me. The way that makes a name sound like a threat. “The nearest hospital is forty minutes by ambulance. My car is thirty seconds away. Every minute you stand there is a minute she’s not getting help.”
I watch the calculation happen behind her eyes. She knows something is wrong. Knows it in her bones the way Sicilian women know when a man is lying. But she also knows who I am, and she knows what happens to people who get in the way of men like me.
She steps aside. Hates herself for it.
“You take care of her,” she says, and her voice shakes with the effort of not screaming. A warning, not a request. A promise that if I don’t, she’ll find a way to make me answer for it.
