He’s not just a mobster. What no dossier could ever tell me is that Luca Rossi is a man, too, maybe a good man. Maybe the type of man I want.
I can’t think that way, especially not now. Especially when he’s lying injured and vulnerable next to me. I still need to formulate a plan to get out of here, but the idea of using this upset, this rift, for my own good makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Luca is fighting for his life in more ways than one, and all I can think about is getting back to Rosa. She needs me, but I’m starting to realize maybe he does, too.
No,the voice of reason in the back of my head protests.No, he kidnapped you.
And he did. But what choice did he have? Iamlying to him, telling him I’m no longer a cop, telling him that Scott’s dead when he’s very much alive.
I put my head on Luca’s chest, listening to his heart beat. It’s too fast at first but it evens out as he drifts into sleep, and I let the sound of it relax me.
I don’t even know I’ve dozed off until the bed starts to shake and I realize Luca is trying to get up. I grunt, pushing him back down in bed.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” I ask, exasperated, and he blinks at me.
“To work,” he barks, but when he tries to get up again he winces and I push him back down again, hands on his chest.
“Stop it. You were nearly killed less than twenty-four hours ago. You have to wait for the medic.”
“Charlie will take his sweet time getting here,” he mutters. “I’d be better off going to him.”
I shove at his chest a third time, determined.
“You’re not getting out of this bed until you see the medic.”
“What right do you have to boss me around?”
He gets up again and I throw up my arms, defeated.
“Fine, but if you fall on your face don’t come crying to me. You’re going to rip out your stitches.”
Luca grunts, swinging his legs to the side of the bed. He’s already winded.
I frown at him, crossing my arms. “You could take it easy for just a few hours, you know. Just wait for the medic.”
He groans low in his chest, almost a growl, but his grumpiness doesn’t scare me. I know he won’t hurt me. Not physically, anyway. He could always say something cruel again, but I think I’m developing a thicker skin as time goes by.
“Fine. I’ll stay.”
I smirk. “Is it because you can’t get up?”
He glares at me. “Only partially.”
Luca gingerly lies back down and I huff as the deadbolt clicks open. Diego walks in with another man, a ginger, probably Charlie.
“What have you done to yourself now, man?” Charlie asks, loud and boisterous and I can’t help but smile. I like him already.
“It’s just a scratch.”
“It’s a gunshot wound,” Diego pipes up and Luca’s glare does nothing to stop him. “But the bullet was through and through. On his side.”
“I stitched it up, but I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit.
“She did okay,” Diego says, and it’s probably the most praise I’m ever going to get from him.
Charlie walks closer to the bed, and he hisses as he lifts the sheet up to see the jagged wound. The edges are closed together and it’s no longer weeping blood.
“She did do okay,” he says, sounding almost impressed, and I can’t help but be proud. “Wound seems clean. No infection setting in. I’ll have to pull the stitches in a couple of days. What’d you use, fishing wire?”
