I told him no.
He expected that.
I could see it in his face.
So now I’m here.
Cleared enough not to die tonight, advised strongly enough that everyone has something to throw at me tomorrow, and immobilized enough that my mood has been getting worse with every passing minute.
Dinner happened after that.
I avoided it.
For once, getting shot worked in my favor.
Not that I have a problem with big groups. I don’t. I can sit in a crowded room, read every angle, track twelve conversations, and still know who’s closest to the door without turning my head.
But that particular group tonight was too much.
Too many Contis. Too much blood, and fear, and anger dressed up as logistics.
Too many women trying not to cry, too many men trying not to show what almost losing one of their own had done to them. Too many children in the same house because everyone had decided—correctly—that splitting up was worse.
The whole place had the feel of a war room pretending to be a family dinner.
I was happy to miss it.
Teresa brought me a plate.
She came in with food balanced in one hand and a look on her face that told me she was still deciding whether to hug me, yell at me, or smother me with a pillow for refusing the hospital. Maybe all three.
She set the plate down, checked the bandage without asking, made me drink water, then stood there like she was going to say something she had been holding back all night.
She didn’t.
In the end, she only said, “Eat,” in the same tone my mother used when I came home too tired to even think about food.
So I ate.
Mostly because arguing would have taken more effort than chewing.
Now the plate is gone. Teresa is gone. The doctor is gone. Elena has stopped coming in every ten minutes under the pretense of checking whether I need anything. Olivia has stopped hovering near the doorway to make sure I don’t bleed out. Luca came once, stood in the room for exactly thirty seconds, asked if I was alive, received the answer, and left.
Which is about as much as I can ask from a first meeting with the Don after getting shot for his daughter.
Caterina has not come in.
That should be good.
It is good.
She has had enough for one night, and she needs her rest.
She is alive. She is inside the house. Her entire family is under the same roof. My people have taken care of security outside. And now that the rest of the men in the family are back, the inside is fully stocked as well.
For tonight, she is as secure as I can make her.
And I am still not happy.
