I hate being down.
It is not pride. Not exactly.
Pride would be simpler.
This is older than pride and harder to reason with. A bone-deep refusal to be the thing that slows the operation down. The injured man in the bed. The one other people have to step around and account for. The gap in the line.
I’ve been that before.
I don’t recommend it.
Pain shifts low and hot through my side when I breathe too deeply, so I keep my breathing shallow and even. Not enough to starve myself of air. Enough not to pull hard against the stitches.
The doctor said minimal movement. Elena said absolutely no movement.
Teresa said if she catches me out of bed, she will call my mother.
That was the first threat tonight that gave me real pause.
Still, I made one thing clear before I let anyone herd me in here.
I wanted the room next to Caterina’s.
That caused another argument.
Naturally.
Elena said every room in this house was secure. Vito said his sister was under his roof and therefore protected.
Luca said nothing at first, which was worse. Caterina stood in the hallway with her arms crossed, not saying a word.
I didn’t care.
I said, “Shot or not, I have a job. I’m next to her.”
That was it.
No negotiation.
If I’m injured and stuck in a bed, then distance matters more, not less. I need to hear movement in her room. I need to hear the hall. I need to be close enough that if something goes wrong, I can get there before things go sideways.
Even if I’m slower tonight.
Especially because I’m slower tonight.
Luca looked at me for a long second after I said it.
Then he looked at Caterina.
Then back at me.
He nodded once.
That settled it.
Vito didn’t like it.
Caterina looked like she didn’t know whether she liked it or hated it.
