“You know the drill.” I show him the jar.
“Can you do it?” he asks softly.
No, I can’t. Because this is not something I fucking do. This…I don’t trust myself right now. Not after what happened today. I stare at his face. His left eyebrow is swollen, almost twice its normal size, but the eye looks fine…bruised. It’s going to turn black.
I shake my head and pass him the jar. He huffs and tries to open it. At the third try I yank it off his hands and twist the lid off.
“Close your eyes,” I hear myself say.
“Talk to me…so I know you’re here,” he says with a hint of vulnerability.
I grunt, not at all inclined to comply with his wishes after what he pulled. He doesn’t flinch when I start to apply the cream, and I wonder about his pain tolerance and how strong the painkiller Doc injected is. The skin on his temple is mottled with dark red and black near his hairline. I use the damp cloth from the bowl to clean it a little better.
“You don’t have to be so gentle. I’m used to pain.”
His statement enrages me, and I toss the cloth in the bowl once again, not caring about the water splashing. Arturo Enzino was supposed to be an entitled, snobbish, selfish Mafia prince. Who is he then? The sneaky liar, careless, arrogant, pathetic, and reckless? Or the vulnerable, selfless, feisty, unbreakable, and sassy minx?
Fuck!
I force myself to focus on his face again. The cut on his lip is not so bad, but he has another one on his cheek, which looks sore ashell. I inspect it. Doc said it didn’t need stitches. I quickly stick a butterfly clip there and on the eyebrow, and I’m done.
“I like this, being taken care of.” His clear gaze stares right into mine as he voices his thoughts, which seem unfiltered.
This situation the painkillers produced, it might be the only time he’s actually honest with me.
“Someone who takes care of you, is that why you agreed to marry Aurora Coretti?”
His sigh sounds as heavy as the whole roof of the warehouse.
“Aurora is great, while my father is a piece of shit, as you well know.” He pauses. “If I didn’t agree, he’d have taken it out on me and destroyed my life.” He bites his lower lip. “The truth is that I’m a coward when it comes to him.”
Hearing him say that is surprising, since he’s been anything but a coward since I kidnapped him. Fighting at every fucking turn, lying, seducing, even hiding things. Like a second phone. My fists ball up at my sides again. I have so many fucking questions for him.
“Do you feel lightheaded?” I ask, wanting to give him a false sense of security. The truth is, a storm is raging inside of me.
“No. I’m mostly hungry.”
I grab the paper bag from the table and toss it to him. He parts the brown paper sides and fills his lungs with the smell of greasy burger and fries. His face-splitting grin almost makes me huff. I hand him the paper cup next.
“What did you get?”
“Apple juice,” I reply.
“Yay! You know me so well.”
Do I? Which side is he talking about? The manipulating or the lying one?
He takes a sip from the straw and winces when it touches the cut on his lip. But then tucks into the burger, moaning with every bite and seemingly forgetting about his lip.
“Were you going to see your brother?” My tone sounds cold, while the beast inside me is spitting fire.
He freezes. Swallows hard. Then his eyes find mine. “Fuck no! I left you a note.”
There was no fucking note. “Acting smart after you tried to escape isn’t…” I don’t finish as he starts to mutter, “I hope he chokes to death on a bag of dicks, the psycho son of a bitch.” Is he talking about Mario? Or me?
“Talk!” I’m fucking fed up with his defiant act.
He drops the half-eaten burger in the bag and cleans his mouth. “Since I can remember, my brother’s presence has always given me the chills. His dead eyes following me around, his creepy smiles, kn…” A shiver shakes him. “Nothing made him a sick psycho; he was born like that.”
