Page 23 of Roman

“I will drop you where you stand,” I hissed, my gun drawn without thinking.

Aldo stared at me. I lowered my weapon.

“I-I apologize,” I said formally, shocked at my behavior. “I have no idea what came over me.”

He crossed his arms. “I have no idea,” he mimicked, shaking his head. “Good God, Roman. Listen to yourself. Look at you—pulling a gun on me for suggesting you leave the hospital.”

I met his gaze. It was confused, curious, but not judgmental. “I can’t leave her, Aldo. I can’t explain it, but I still owe her. She needs my protection.”

His eyes widened. “Well, good thing you’re not catching feelings. God knows how erratic you’d be.” He lifted his eyebrows in jest, trying to defuse the tension between us.

I dropped my head, laughing. I shoved my gun behind my back and stuck out my hand. “My apologies, my friend. It was a moment of madness. It’s passed.”

“Passed,” he snorted. “Right. Apology accepted, though.” He shook my hand. “I have a feeling the next while is going to prove to be interesting.” Then he grinned. “Leave you alone for a while, and this is what happens. Vi is gonna piss herself laughing.”

I ignored him.

Dr. Sims came out, and I strode toward him. He held up his hand. “She is all right. She has a concussion, is bruised and frightened, but nothing permanent other than the mental trauma. She can go home as long as she has someone to look after her.”

I nodded. “She does. She’ll be with me.”

Behind me, Aldo started humming. I glanced over my shoulder, glaring. He was being annoying tonight. He stopped, but he kept smiling. Bastard.

“You can see her. She can leave once the IV is done. Make sure she eats and has fluids. If she gets a headache or anything looks off, call me, and we’ll get her back in.”

I nodded and headed for the room. Effie was in bed, the blankets drawn up around her. Her eyes were closed, her bruises ink stains on her pale skin, and she looked tiny. Alone. It did something to my chest to see her that way, and the odd sensation made me angry.

I walked to the bed, her eyes flying open at the sound of my heavy steps.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hello.”

“The doctor said I can go home.” Her voice was rough and painful-sounding.

I barked a laugh. “The doctor said you could be discharged. There is a difference,” I said, my voice brusquer than I meant it to be.

“Um, I have nowhere else to go.”

“Unless you want to end up back in the same situation I pulled you from, you will not be going home.”

Her already-pale face turned ashen, and I cursed myself for being short with her.

“You’re going somewhere safe to recover.”

“My diner. My employees,” she protested.

“I will arrange it all.”

“But—”

I leaned close. “Do not argue with me, Effie. I will arrange it. That is what a fiancé does, is it not?”

“I’m sorry. I panicked.”

I sighed. Why was I being so curt with her? This was my fault, not hers. Calling me her fiancé had only helped me find her faster. I tempered my voice.

“We’ll talk about it later. Rest.”