But he doesn’t.
So Morelli administers another dose of naloxone, spraying the substance into his nose while I watch helplessly from my useless perch at the front.When Curse does come back this time, it’s as if it’s from the dead, a harrowing tumble back into the land of the living.He groans, grabbing at his face, then shoots up into a sitting position.His eyes are wild when they meet mine.
“Curse!”I can’t stop the little sob of his name that escapes my lips.But I don’t get the chance to say anything else.Because Curse has seized on me now, his tattooed fingers closing around my shoulders like claws.With a strangled snarl, he hauls me back, dragging me between the driver’s seat that Elio occupies and my own.I land, sprawled and awkward, on my knees in his lap.
I take vicious comfort in the strength of his hands.The merciless grip of them on my shoulders.The way I know he will leave bruises.Another set of marks to know that he was with me.The beautiful ache of the damage he can inflict.
He just holds me like that in his lap, squeezing my shoulders, his breathing erratic.He doesn’t pull me hard against his chest to hold me closer.He doesn’t push me away, either.Just stares at me, feverish and feral, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m just some vestige of a terrible dream, figure out if am really here at all.
He squeezes me harder.And maybe that’s why.He’s trying to hold onto the image of me, convince his brain with his hands that what he’s got in his lap is real.
I don’t know if he cares that I am here, or if he just wants to make sure his cash cow bride hasn’t escaped his clutches, but either way, I’m unable to fight the urge to soothe him.
“It’s alright, Curse.I’m here,” I murmur.I would touch him – I want to so badly – but his words from Montreal snap in my head like a whip.Words about never touching him again.
So instead I just kneel there, at the altar of this beautiful and fallen man, a man who almost died tonight, who still could die, and let him bruise me.
His eyes roll over my face, ominous and dark, like an oncoming storm.One of his hands slides upwards, sinks into my loose strands, then makes a fist that stings my scalp.When he speaks, his voice is charred, like he swallowed live coals tonight instead of Alessandro’s opioids.
“Who took down your hair?”
It’s such a bizarre question.Like one you would ask of some lost princess in a fairytale.One who’s been locked away in a tower.But maybe I shouldn’t worry about that.Maybe I should just be glad he’s speaking at all after what he’s gone through.Grateful that he even recognizes me, that he’s aware enough to remember my hair was in a bun before, and it isn’t now.
“I did,” I whisper, tears springing to my eyes.
“Who brushed it?”He fists my hair harder, forcing my head back, baring the naked column of my throat to his devouring gaze.Absurdly, this makes me wonder about what’s happened to the scarf he made me wear on the train.Did I leave it behind?I don’t remember taking it off.It must have fallen at some point…
“Who, Aurora?”The repeated question comes with a simultaneous tug of his fist in my hair, like he’ll drag the questions out of the strands themselves if I don’t answer.
“Fiametta.”
He breathes raggedly and doesn’t speak for a moment.Maybe the name needs time to filter into his addled brain.Finally, he blinks heavily, then says, “Fiametta.A woman.”
I nod – or try to, anyway – with his fingers still gripping my hair.
“Why?”I ask.
“Because if another man had taken out all those pretty pins for you and brushed your hair tonight, Aurora,” he replies bitingly, “then I would cut his hands off at the wrists and watch him bleed the fuck out in front of me.”
His grip suddenly loosens at the back of my head.He doesn’t let go of my hair entirely – not at first.I’m aware of a subtle movement.Like he’s gently rubbing the slippery strands of my hair between his fingers and thumb.
Then, without warning, he fully releases me.Shoulder, hair, and all.When Elio takes a sharp turn, I fall sideways into the middle seat.
“Get the seatbelt on her,” Curse croaks.It’s only then that I remember Morelli is back here with us.The older man reaches for it, but I wave him off, taking it in my own trembling hands and clicking it into place myself.
Curse doesn’t say anything else.I want to speak to him, look at him, spend every second of this car ride fusing the fact that he’s alive to the very core of my being.But I keep my gaze locked on the windshield ahead.
“Do we know where he is?”I ask Elio.“Alessandro?”
“Not yet,” Elio says, cranking the wheel hard and taking another sharp corner that would have sent me sliding if not for the seatbelt Curse insisted on.“We’ll find him.But until then, you’ll both have to keep a low profile.Especially while Curse is recovering.”Elio’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror and catch mine.“You can stay at the house beside mine.”
“Do you own it?”I ask.
“I do now,” Elio answers.“It was my Uncle Vinny’s place.No one has been there since he died, though.Our Aunt Carlotta has been staying with friends or at some of the other family properties.Right now she’s in Dublin.First time she’s visited Valentina since all that shit with Darragh went down last fall.”His eyes return to the road.“You can’t come into my home while Deirdre is there.I don’t know what else this Messina fuck is capable of, and I won’t have her in harm’s way.No matter how much you might mean to my brother, you are currently a liability to me.”
There’s a mercenary coldness in his words, but at the very least I can appreciate his honesty.And isn’t he right?I’ve already almost gotten his brother killed tonight.No doubt he wants to avoid the same fate for his pregnant wife.It is confusing, though, considering I’d once been so convinced that Elio was the one who sent Curse to get me.That Elio was the one who wanted me brought here in the first place.So that he could get his hands on Buffalo and all its business.But now, here he is, calling me a liability.
My eyes slide to Curse.His own are closed, a grim set to his mouth and a pinched line between his dark brows.If he hears his brother’s words, he doesn’t react to them.
