Chapter Seventy Eight

Chapter Seventy Eight
Camilla POV

It's been three days since Nicholas left. And for three days, his mother has been training me. For what? I'm not exactly sure, but she has me outside every day, shooting at targets with a small .38 revolver. She has me learning to focus on my different senses, by blindfolding me, or covering my ears. She has taught me how to sense when something around me has shifted, even when I can't see it.

"Trust me Camilla," she says. "This is for your benefit. If your parents were still alive, they would have made sure you were ready too."

"Ready for what?" I asked her just this morning.

"To be a mafia wife of course," she smiles as she sips her coffee. "You will be you know, when my Nicholas returns for you." She had set her coffee mug down and looked over at her husband who sat reading the paper. "He will return."

Tonight, I struggled to fall asleep for some reason. I open the nightstand drawer and remove the pistol, sliding it under my pillow. Something feels expectant to me tonight, but I don't know why.

I wake with a start, and the room is pitch dark, just the pale moonlight slipping through the curtains. My vertigo is virtually gone now, so I no longer need to be so cautious when I move. I had the neurologist do a complete checkup yesterday. I was driven into town, accompanied by several armed men and Mrs. Carmine. She sat there like this was a trip to the hairdresser's, paying no mind that we had armed men with us. I wasn't sure if I would ever get used to it, but it appeared I may have too.

The doctor had me go into an MRI machine, so he could make sure my brain was fully healed. That's what he told me anyway. Afterward, he asked me a series of questions and asked me to perform various tasks. Mrs. Carmine sat there smugly and then informed him that she had been training me for the past few days and all my senses were completely intact. He grunted and then gave me a clean bill of health.

"Any headaches, changes in your vision, anything at all, you have Mrs. Carmine bring you to me. Understand?" he said in his thick Italian accent.

As I lay in the dark now, I listened intently, wondering what had woken me. Then I feel it, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. There is someone else in the room. I can now hear them breathing. I shift ever so slightly, about to roll from my side to my back, my hand wrapped tightly on the revolver that is under my pillow. I slowly draw it from under the pillow and then roll onto my back.

I feel his body heat, and before I can think what to do next, a hand comes over and grasps mine, fingers tight to prevent me from pulling the trigger. "I wouldn't," a raspy voice says in my ear.

I sit up quickly, and a tinge of vertigo strikes, but I don't care, nor do I stop. "Nicholas?" I say in a loud whisper. "What the hell."

"Shhhh," he hisses. "My head hurts. Lay down, please."

I pull my hand free from his and turn and set the revolver on the nightstand and flip on the tiny bedside lamp. It's not a bright light; really, it's meant just to give a little illumination, more than anything else. "What happened?" I say as I turn back toward him. His eyes are closed, but when he opens them, I can see the exhaustion there. "Are you okay? Why does your head hurt?" I place my hand on his bicep, but he doesn't say anything, just watches me for a minute. "Nicholas?" I'm speaking in a soft whisper now and asking myself if I'm dreaming.

"I said I'd come back," he finally says and then shuts his eyes. "I just need to rest."

I slowly lay down on my side and face him. I stare at his face, and I can see a tiny bruise on his cheekbone. I lift my hand to his face and caress his jaw. I run my hand down his neck to his collarbone, and then I feel him tense up. "Are you hurt?" I ask.

I move my hand to his chest and as I place it over his heart, he winces and then moves his hand on top of mine and pulls it away. "You are hurt," I say. "Show me, Nick, please."

"I just want to sleep right now Camilla. Next to you, in this bed, in my room, in my family's home. It's safe here. No one will bother us," he opens his eyes. "Can we sleep now?"

I nod and watch him close his eyes. He still has his hand on mine, and he wraps his fingers around my hand to hold it as he drifts off. I use this moment to study him. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is a mess. He has a five o'clock shadow, so he hasn't shaved. He's in a black T-shirt and black joggers. His feet are bare. He's had time to shower and change, but he didn't shave, and he must not have showered here in his bathroom. I would have woken up if he had. How long was he here in this bed with me before I realized I wasn't alone? I know for a fact that I was still awake at midnight, because I looked at the clock in frustration. It's close to four in the morning. I desperately want answers, but I'm so glad that he's here and he's alive. I can tell he's hurt, that he must have things to say to me, but he needs to rest. I can see that.

I pull my hand from his and then lean over and turn off the lamp. I lay on my side, my back to Nicholas. It's a matter of seconds before his arm is around me and he pulls me against him. "Please stay here," he murmurs before drifting off to sleep, his breaths evening out in his slumber. It must not take long for me either, because I'm quickly asleep too. I wake again hours later, to the distinct sensation of a man's hand rubbing my arm slowly and gently.