“How did you sleep?” There isn’t a single hitch in his voice. No signs of sleep clogging his vocal chords.
“Like someone who’s in a hospital with a concussion.” We’re staring at each other, unabashed and unwavering.
“Hmm, bene.” Rising to his feet, he unfolds his lithe body with fluid moves that make me jealous. My limbs are heavy and my energy levels are next to nothing. Above all else, my heart feels like it’s anchored to the ground with grief. I suppose the only thing bringing me a semblance of joy is watching Marco watch me, the contact breaking briefly as he slips his thousand-dollar shoes on with practiced ease.
Within two steps, he’s at my bedside, my head tilted up so our gazes stay fixed to each other. Reaching out his hand, he runs his fingers through my hair until his palm holds the side of my head, his thumb running along the scar above my eyebrow. It hasn’t completely healed yet, the jagged edge like an ugly reminder of my attack.
“Where did you get this?” His voice is low, intense, focused… just like him.
“I fell.” I give him my standard response but my heart just isn’t in it. It sounds as empty as my motivation right now.
Marco doesn’t respond, his face an unbreakable mask, as he wills the truth from my lips with his stare alone.
“Fine. Goddamn it. I was attacked in an alley. Happy?” It’s not that I’m pissed at him, I just don’t want to have to talk about what happened. If I’m honest, I got lucky. If those kids—although the size of those guys was no joke—hadn’t come around, I have no idea what would have happened to me.
It’s only because I’m still looking at him that I notice the tightening of his jaw before he speaks.
“Happy?” His thumb runs over my eyebrow once more, his lips landing softly on my forehead. “No, Dolcezza. I’m enraged.” Then he takes a step back, his gaze hopping from my scar, to my eyes, to my lips, and back to my eyes. “I’ll grab us some coffee.”
I watch him as he walks away, opening the door and stepping out before softly closing it behind him. The baritone of his voice is clear through the door, probably talking to his watchdogs. I hope he brings them coffee, too, since those poor guys didn’t get a wink of sleep.
With a heavy sigh, I force my sore body to scoot up to a sitting position. For a few seconds, my head swims in fog before it clears. I need to get out of here, get back to my apartment so I can plan Mr. Bobby’s funeral.
The thought makes my stomach clench and the unmistakable urge to vomit rises then falls. None of this makes any sense. I’m nobody. No one. Why would a bullet be meant for me? I’ve barely had five minutes to myself before a slew of white-coat-clad individuals enter my room.
“Good morning, Mrs. Mancini, I’m doct—” Excuse me?
“Ms. Fox.”
“I’m sorry?”
“My name is River Fox, I’m not married.”
“Yet.” Marco’s voice booms from the room’s entrance, and when I narrow my gaze in his direction, I find him carrying two coffees and a self-satisfied grin.
“Right. Yes, Ms. Fox. We are a teaching hospital, would you mind if my interns present your case?” I look at each one of them, a total of five, then address the doctor.
“No, that’s fine.” Marco hands me my coffee—black with two sugars—and I’m equal parts pissed off that he would know these details about me and grateful that I didn’t have to tell him.
“River Fox, twenty-six-year-old female admitted last night with a concussion from a blunt force to the head. She presented with nausea and vomiting. Dizziness and loss of balance, headache and fatigue. Following a first assessment, she slept for three hours. The most recent scans show no abnormalities to the brain, no swelling or displacement.” The intern who looks like a baby genius barely breathes as he rattles off the last couple of days of my life like he’s memorized for a test.
“You’re good to go home, Ms. Fox. You need to take it easy, watch for any nausea and headaches you may continue to experience. If the symptoms get worse, please make sure to come back and see us. We’ll have your discharge papers done within the next three hours. Do you have any questions?”
“Um, no. Thank you.” I look to Marco who’s calmly sipping his coffee and pretending like he’s just casually hanging out. But that damn tick in his jaw is telling me a whole different story.
As quickly as they arrived, they were gone. To my surprise, a three-hour wait turned into only thirty minutes and I’m guessing Marco had something to do with that.
* * *
When I insisted on being taken back to my apartment, Marco was not a fan of the idea. I had to threaten him with bodily harm before he conceded and asked his driver to take us back to my place. The entrance to the building is taped off with the same yellow tape you see in the movies or TV shows. As per usual, the parking on our street is impossible so we double park just long enough to be dropped off.
“I’ll call you when we’re ready.” Marco steps out of the car right behind me, taking my hand and pulling me into his body.
“You don’t have to do this, Dolcezza. Just tell me what you need, I’ll grab it and if I miss anything, I’ll buy it for you.” His hold is like steel, keeping me from moving toward the stoop where Mr. Bobby should be. Where a cup of coffee should be. Where a bottle of whisky would be if this were a normal day where Mr. Bobby hadn’t literally jumped in front of a bullet. For me. Fuck, thinking about it hurts so much.
Reaching up, I wrap my fingers around his hand where it holds my other wrist and squeeze. It takes him a second but he finally relents with a heavy, frustrated sigh.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” His words are cruel but the bite is non-existent. Like he’s playing a part without any conviction whatsoever.