"Fiancée," I corrected. "And no, it's her twin sister. But close enough, don't you think?"
"Spitting image," he said, looking toward her again. His dark eyes roved over her, from the top of her head to her bare toes and back again, lingering on her legs and tits.
My upper lip lifted, baring my teeth. "Put your eyes back in your fucking head and get the fuck out," I told him. Then I waved my hand toward the door. "All of you. Get out."
"Luca," Enzo said. "We need to talk about Mario."
"There's nothing to discuss. This is exactly what I wanted to happen." I glanced down at the trail of blood darkening my shirt. "Well, not the fucking getting shot part-"
"You were shot?" Veda paled, her eyes zeroing in on the arm I held protectively against my body. She shoved Tristan out of the way and took three more steps toward me before she stopped again, unsure of her place.
He glanced down at her, one eyebrow lifted in surprise.
"Out," I said again.
"Your arm," Tristan said. "We need to call the doc."
"Veda will take care of my arm. Go." I swung my whiskey glass in the direction of the door. With a nod, Enzo turned and walked out of the office. Tony followed, and Tristan smiled at Veda as he passed her, then closed the door behind him. She didn't even glance up at him.
When they were gone, I collapsed against my chair, spilling whiskey all over my shirt and pants.
"Oh shit," Veda said. When I raised my chin, she was in front of me, unbuttoning my shirt.
I grabbed her wrist, wincing. "It's fine."
"It's not fucking fine," she practically yelled at me. "You're too pale, your skin is cold, and you almost passed out just now. So let go of my arm."
After a pause, I did as she asked. "It went right through," I told her. "And I didn't almost pass out. I'm just fucking tired."
She ignored that last part. Either she believed me, or she just didn't want to argue with me. "Are you sure it went through?"
"I think I've been shot enough times to know the difference."
Her fingers froze on the buttons for a moment, and then her eyes dropped to the expanse of chest she'd just revealed, searching for evidence.
"Here," I told her, pulling my shirt aside to reveal a faint round scar near my left hip. "It made a bigger hole coming out the back, which is probably why you didn't notice it." I tried to smile at her look of horror, but it turned into a grimace as a wave of pain reverberated down my arm. "There's another one in my right thigh. That one got stuck," I told her. "And the doc had to dig it out."
"Is that it?" she asked quietly.
I thought about her question. My memories were getting fuzzy. "I'm missing a part of my left ear. Just barely. But if you look close, you'll see where the bullet grazed me."
Her eyes flew to that ear. "Good god," she whispered.
I watched the horror flit across her face. "I can street fight with the best of them. But even I can't outrun a bullet."
Silently, she helped me get my shirt off. I tried not to make any noise, but I couldn't contain the hiss of pain when she peeled the wet material away from the wound, already beginning to clot. Standing up, she leaned over me to check the back.
Soft strands of her hair tickled my face. I tucked my face into the curve of her neck and shoulder, inhaling her clean scent. It smelled like home to me. And then I laughed to myself. Maybe she was right, and I'd lost more blood than I thought.
"Looks like you're right. I think it went right through." She straightened up, wringing her hands, and I carefully eased back against my chair. "I don't know what to do, Luca. Do you have a first aid kit or something?"
"Ask Lisa," I told her. "She knows where it is." My eyes dropped to her ass as she rushed out to do as I'd said, a bit surprised at her eagerness to help me.
She was back in record time, a first aid kit in one hand and a bowl of water in the other. Her hands shook as she balanced it on her hip and shoved aside some papers on my desk before she set everything down. She eyed my shoulder for a few seconds, then turned and ran back out of the office, returning with some washcloths and one large towel. "I thought it would help protect your chair."
"The blood will wipe off," I told her.
She made me lean forward and shoved it behind me anyway. Picking up one of the washcloths, she dipped it in the bowl of water. "And you know this, do you?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. Why do you think there's no carpet in this house?"
Her gray eyes flashed up to mine, but only for a second before she went back to her task. Carefully, she wiped the blood from my arm and hand as I sipped on my whiskey and tried to ignore how good she smelled.
While she worked, I let my eyes travel over the top of her hair. It was lighter than it was this morning. I wasn't sure I liked this color. It looked cheap. The same as half of the girls at my clubs. And it was missing the soft, subtle tones of glinting sunlight that she had naturally. "Your hair is different."
Something about my tone of voice made her pause. She didn't comment, she only swallowed and went back to work on the bullet hole in my shoulder. When the blood was all wiped away, she dropped the dirty cloth in the bowl of water and picked up the bottle of alcohol. It seemed she knew at least a little about treating wounds. She paused, her eyes going from my shoulder to my face.
"Just do it," I told her.
"This is going to hurt," she warned me, and I almost laughed. I was very familiar with the feeling of an antiseptic being poured into an open wound, whether straight up alcohol or vodka, it all burned the same.
Veda leaned over me, the bottle raised in her hand, then she paused, grabbed the towel, and held it against my chest and arm.
I gulped down the last of my whiskey but hung on to my glass, bracing myself. Seconds ticked by... "For fuck's sake, Veda! Just do it!"
She jumped, liquid splashing onto the bullet wound, and I clenched my jaw, breathing through my nose. Her eyes darted to my face, and then she tipped the bottle, pouring more alcohol into the open wound.
"Son of a fuckin' bitch!" I clamped my teeth together, bearing the pain as spears of fire radiated out from the bullet hole and ricocheted down my arm and up into my neck.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as she patted the towel around the edges.
"You have to do the back, too," I told her.
Veda nodded. "Okay."
I leaned forward in the chair to give her better access. This time she didn't hesitate, and I managed to keep my mouth shut, though I couldn't contain the hiss of pain that escaped.
"Okay. Now what?" she asked. "A bandage? Do you need some ointment or anything?"
"Is the back still bleeding?" I asked her.
She peeked around my arm and grabbed a rag. "Yeah. A little." I felt her looking at me and glanced up to find her gray eyes dark with worry. "Luca, you need a doctor. What if something was damaged? An artery or nerves or something?"
"If an artery was damaged, I would've been dead before we left the club," I told her.
Opening the first aid kit, she grabbed some bandages. "I'm going to cover up the wounds so nothing gets in them and then I'm going to go ask Lisa or one of the guys to call your doctor. I assume you have someone who makes house calls?"
I grunted as she slapped a bandage on the wound in the back and pressed down. "You watch too many bad movies."
"Okay, then. Hospital it is."
"I'm not going to the fucking hospital."
She didn't argue with me, just finished bandaging me up. It made me suspicious, but for once, I couldn't read her.
I watched her clean up everything off my desk. Towel under her arm, she picked up the bowl of bloody water and took it out of my office.
Getting up, I stood where I was for a second to make sure I wasn't going to face plant, then made my way over to the bottle of whiskey and poured myself another drink. I drank half of it, filled my glass again, and went back to my chair.
Veda walked back into my office. "The doc is on his way," she told me casually.
"I don't need a fucking doctor," I grumbled.
She stopped and turned. "You wanna take me to your party, Luca? Show me off? Have a few drinks... maybe fuck me afterward?"
My cock jumped to attention. Apparently, I hadn't lost that much blood. Tilting my head, I sent her a questioning look.
"Let the doctor look at your fucking arm," she ordered in no uncertain terms, then she marched out of the room.
I grinned like a loon when she slammed the door.
I'd definitely lost too much blood.