“I still don’t understand why it was so bad?”
“This wasn’t a standard case. When we did the CT scans, we could see evidence of past trauma, a spot where the bone had healed poorly from about eight months ago. Daisy must have had a fall or concussion back then and it weakened the spot. So, when she fell and hit that paint can, it was easy for the original fracture to crack and for her to have that bleed.”
“Her fucking husband was beating the shit out of her,” Jagger growls. “What kind of a man does that to a woman?”
“A truly pitiful one,” Ricky scoffs. “Unfortunately, we see it all too often in this place.”
A coma for four days! I want to burst into tears. I knew my head hurt, but hearing how terrible the injury really is, it’s devastating. Fucking Valentine is still haunting me from the grave. Ricky’s right, Valentine came home one night in a fit of rage. I was in the kitchen at the time and didn’t move fast enough. I hit my head on the way down on the corner of the marble countertop. I felt sick and out of it for days after; the headaches went on for months.
Jagger runs a shaky hand through his hair as he paces the room. “She has a dance audition in less than three weeks. It’s really important to her.”
My heart gets caught in my throat. Jagger really cares about my dream. It’s a sweet side to him I didn’t expect.
“It’s unlikely she’ll be up for that kind of physical activity in three months, Jagger. She’s not going to make the audition.” Ricky’s voice is solum but crystal clear.
And just like that, my dream of being a dancer is gone. A silent sob wracks through me. I knew it was stupid to ever think I could have a better future. To have a life of my own, it’s just not possible.
“You don’t know her like I do. She’s so determined when she wants something. She will make it.”
Jagger’s words cut even deeper. I have no idea why he’s keeping up the act. We both know he doesn’t really care, and this dance thing must have just been a distraction for me or a way of getting me to trust them. Or something. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. But he sounds so genuine, and why would he have any reason to pretend with Ricky? Was I wrong? Is my brother wrong? A flutter of hope ignites within me. Maybe the feelings I was having for the three of them weren’t just in my head.
“We’ll know more when she wakes up. For now, we have to concentrate on keeping her as comfortable as possible. And you need to rest yourself. You nearly died four days ago. Take this time to heal, Jagger. Your brothers have everything else handled.”
Fuck. My hands tremble and my heart races. Jagger nearly died because of me. I’m not sure why that idea makes me panic when I should want nothing more than for him to disappear off this planet, but I don’t. The thought of him dying makes a pain form in my chest. As much as I hate him right now, I still have other feelings for him as well. Confused feelings, ones that make me want to pull him near so I can take comfort in everything him.
Jagger moves to stare out the window, and the room falls silent.
I close my eyes when the room blurs in front of me again, trying to take some shallow breaths to get my body working properly.
“What if we moved her someplace safe where we could monitor her? I can pay for one of your nurses to come and stay with us to watch over her, call you if there are any dramas?” Silence again, and I wonder if Ricky is considering it. “If it were Harley that was being hunted down by some motherfucker, I know you would get her to safety.”
“It’s a head injury, Jagger. She will need to be here for at least a week, but I can up security and make sure no one is allowed into the room unless authorized by you.”
“Then I’m going to need a little chat with Sloane’s friend Detective Wilder. No one gets in this room—no cops, and most certainly not her brother. When she wakes up, it has to stay between us. It’s the only way to stop the chaos, and we both know it’s the last thing she needs. She doesn’t want to go back to Italy, Ricky. If they get their hands on her, she will be shipped out of the country and married off to the cunt her papa has picked out for her. You all thought Valentine was pure evil, but he had nothing on Leone Russo.”
My skin goes clammy, and my head spins even though my eyes are closed. Oh, dear God, Papa can’t have selected him. I know that brutal man well. He’s nearly twice my age and one of the most notorious drug lords in Rome. He’s also one of Dante’s closest friends and has worked for my papa’s media company for as long as I’ve been alive. He would have been the one to gain most from Valentine’s death, I’m sure. I sit up in a rush and heave. My throat burns, and nothing comes up.
Chapter 3
Stay
“Daisy.”Rickymovesquickly,pressing something on the monitor that sends a crazy beeping ringing in my ears.
Jagger is by my side, clutching my hair and pulling it off my face.
I cradle my head in my hands, hardly able to hold it upright. My stomach keeps dry heaving, but there’s nothing to comeup. I couldn’t have heard him right. Dante wouldn’t let this happen; he knows what kind of a man Leone is, ruthless and dangerous. The nausea washing over me says Dante already has, and suddenly the boys not handing me over to him makes sense. They knew he was in on it. Tears well in my eyes, my body wracking with awful tremors because I can’t believe this time it was my brother who sold me out.
“You’re okay, Daisy. Try to lie back down and take some deep breaths,” comes Ricky’s calming voice.
But he’s wrong. I’m never going to be okay again. The reality is I’m completely alone. I can’t dance, have no way of making money, and to top it off, I’m trapped in bed with Jagger watching over me, knowing as soon as I’m well enough, I’ll be shipped back off home and there will be nothing any of us can do about it—according to his cop friend, anyway.
Ricky looks me over. He shines a light in my eyes, and I wince away from him. “You still feeling nauseous?”
“Not as much,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. My lips are cracked and so uncomfortably dry.
He lifts part of the bandage wrapped around my forehead, inspecting the injury. “How’s the pain?”
“Thumping,” I admit. It’s constant, and now that my eyes are open, even worse than when they were closed.
