“Tell me.” My voice hardens slightly. “In case you forget, I’m being prepped to take over, which means I should hear about every and all deals the family’s involved in.”
His brows raise, and a flash of surprise crosses his face. “Look at you. You really did grow a backbone.”
“Hey!”
“I’m just saying.” Giacomo laughs, holding up both hands. “A few months ago, you wouldn’t say boo to a goose.”
“That’s so not true.”
“Isn’t it? Ask yourself, would the version of you now even roll over and agree to an engagement?”
“Of course not!”
“And yet you did back then. See? Boo and goose.” He crosses around the island counter and laughs. “I’ll explain everything soon, squirt. I just want to make sure all my ducks are in a row.”
“What’s with you and birds,” I mutter as he leans down and kisses the top of my head.
“I’m an avian lover I guess. Go to bed. Get some rest.”
“Where are you going?”
Giacomo stares at the empty space above my head. “Out. To ensure my deal follows through exactly how I need it to.”
“Okay… Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, squirt.”
Silence envelops the kitchen and I return to my mug, hugging both my hands around it as my mind immediately drifts to Falco. Despite his insistence, I gave him the evening off so he could see the doctor in a follow-up about his arm, but he should be free now. My current guard isn’t easily dismissed as I leave the kitchen, but as soon as I enter the corridor with Falco’s room at the end he melts away into the shadows.
I approach his door and knock softly, humming to myself while rocking back on my heels. Everything lately has been nothing but pain and heavy clouds of grief. Today was the first of hopefully many victories.
A few seconds pass, then the door creaks open. Falco’s tired face appears. “Aerin. Is everything alright?”
“Can I come in?”
He peers outward and glances up and down the hall. “Where’s your guard?”
“I dismissed him.”
Falco’s jaw twitches. “Aerin.”
“It was literally at the end of the corridor, relax. We’re in the estate. No one here wants to hurt me. So can I come in?”
His lips form a thin line, then he holds open his door. I duck under his arm and into his room. Inside, swathes of bandages coil on the bedside table near the single light.
“How’s your arm?” I ask while an antiseptic scent tinges my nose. Turning, it catches my eye immediately. Long pink, fresh scars run the length of his arm, and they gleam in the light as if covered in some kind of oil. He walks closer then passes me to the bed.
“Healing.”
“What’s that?” My fingers brush his elbow and come away slightly sticky.
“Ointment. To help with scarring.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Sort of. Kind of like a cramp.”
“I’m sorry.” I sit next to him on the bed and watch as he picks up the cream once more. “Let me?”
