She's caught.
"You're hurt. Don't strain yourself." There's so much animosity in those eyes of hers; it's like she's challenging me to keep pushing her buttons.
And I can never pass up a good challenge.
"Defenseless… you can't even hit me," I drawl, and she jerks her body back, grimacing.
"Be a good girl and don't struggle," I say right before I dip my head lower, my mouth hovering over hers.
"I'll bite," she whispers, probably hoping it will deter me.
"Maybe I'm hoping you will." I reply with a smirk, taunting her with the ghost of a pressure on her lips before I suddenly stand.
"I'm glad you're doing better. Now you can feed yourself. I would have hated to have to nurse you back to health."
"And whose fault is this, asshole?" she retorts, more vigor in her voice than before. She points at her bandaged shoulder, and I just shrug.
"Did I ask you to get shot?"
Well done, Enzo. You're supposed to butter her up to marry you, not antagonize her further.
"You could have at least said thank you," she mutters under her breath, swinging her feet over the bed and positioning herself toward the bedside table. Using her good hand, she starts eating the soup.
"Easy," I say when I see the speed she's eating at.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want me to stare at it?" She rolls her eyes at me before continuing to eat.
I think that settles it. She won't die.
When I check on her later, she's sleeping again, a peaceful expression on her face. Oh, if only she were always like this…
I shake my head at the thought—there would be no fun in that.
I go about my day, spending most of the time on phone calls with contacts from New York and Sicily, and I manage to glean what the Marchesi have planned for Allegra. The wedding, ten days from now, is the culmination of Marchesi's decade-long aspiration of getting into Northern European markets. With the current leadership, I'm surprised it's even a viable option. Leonardo Marchesi is known for his spendthrift habits, not his foresight. And the careful planning of the nuptials leads me to believe there might be a hidden player—the brains behind the operation.
It's easy to see what they've done, even without an account from Allegra. They must have known about Franzè's penchant for children, and they'd resolved to keep her looking like one by limiting her food intake. My guess is that they've also tried to keep her isolated.
When I'd questioned my contact about Allegra specifically, he hadn't even known who she was. He'd only met her sister, Chiara, who, in his own words, was the apple of her parents' eyes.
It seems I wasn't far off in my assessment—she's just a sacrificial lamb.
But you know what they say, one man's trash is another man's treasure. I'll just have to erase the misguided sense of duty she has toward her family from her mind. And the easiest way? Make her miss her own wedding.
"How is she, Doctor?" I ask when the man exits her room. I'd found another doctor willing to look after her for the duration of our stay here, mainly because I needed a moreunethicalone.
"The wound is doing better than I expected. She should be fine as long as she takes care of herself."
"What about the thing I asked you about before?" I tap my foot, anxious to hear his opinion.
"It shouldn't be too harmful. Sleep is beneficial at this point, as it helps her heal." I nod and give my thanks. Now my plan can officially go ahead.
I return to the room late at night. Allegra is deep asleep at this point. Stepping closer to the bed, I lower the sheet down her body and brush my hand across her forehead.
Warm… Too warm.
She releases a soft moan, stretching her body so that the sheet completely falls away. The entire bed is soaked, her wet clothes clinging to her skin. She thrashes a little when the breeze hits her damp skin, a shiver enveloping her body.
Shit!
