Another message from Sophia:
It's what Lorenzo calls me sometimes. When he's being... soft.
Soft.
Dante Castellani doesn't do soft.
I turn off my phone and set it face-down on the couch cushion.
I'm not thinking about this right now.
I'm not.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dante
Iwake to the sound of footsteps.
Marina stands in the doorway. She holds a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the other. Her face is blank. Closed off.
"Time for your medication," she says.
I push myself up against the headboard. The movement sends fire through my side. I grit my teeth and don't make a sound.
Marina crosses to the bed. Sets the water on the nightstand. Drops the pills into my palm without touching my skin.
"Take them," she says.
I do.
She watches me swallow. Watches me drink half the water. Then she turns and walks out without another word.
The door clicks shut behind her.
I stare at the ceiling for a long moment.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand. The cracked screen lights up. Three missed calls from Lorenzo. Two from Nico. A string of text messages I don't bother reading.
I dial Lorenzo's number.
He picks up on the first ring.
"You're alive." His voice is flat. Controlled. The voice he uses when he's deciding whether to kill someone.
"Barely."
"I know." A pause. "The doctor called me. Said you lost enough blood to fill a bathtub."
I close my eyes. "That's an exaggeration."
"Is it?"
Silence stretches between us. I can picture him in his office. Sitting behind that massive desk. Jaw tight. Eyes cold.
"The right thing to do right now," Lorenzo says slowly, "is ask you why the fuck you didn't go to the doctor. Since you could walk."
I don't answer.
