Chapter 9 Nursing the Devil
The master bedroom of the Moretti fortress usually felt like a cold, hollow cathedral. Tonight, it felt like an oven. The air was thick with the smell of antiseptic, copper, and the heavy, musky scent of a wounded man. Silvio had refused to go to a hospital; a Don showing weakness in public was a death sentence, so the "hospital" had come to him.
After the private doctor had stitched the jagged tear in his shoulder and pumped him full of fluids, Silvio had chased everyone out with a snarl. Everyone except Lisa.
"Sit," he commanded. His voice was weak, yet it still carried the undeniable weight of a king.
Now, Lisa sat on the edge of his massive bed, a basin of warm water and a soft cloth clutched in her hands. Silvio was propped up against a mountain of black silk pillows. His chest was bare, wrapped in clean white gauze that was already starting to show a small, blooming flower of pink blood.
"You should be resting," Lisa whispered, her fingers trembling as she dipped the cloth into the water. "The doctor said the bullet narrowly missed your artery."
"The doctor talks too much," Silvio grunted. He watched her every move, his dark eyes tracking the way her breath hitched. "Come closer, Lisa. I won't bite. Not tonight."
She moved closer, the heat radiating from his body making her skin prickle. As she began to wipe the dried, flaky blood from his collarbone and chest, the room fell into a heavy silence. The only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the panicked thud of her own heart.
She was so close she could see the fine lines of pain etched around his eyes. She could see the pulse jumping in his neck. Every time the damp cloth brushed against his skin, his muscles flexed involuntarily under her touch.
"Why did you do it?" she asked softly, her gaze fixed on her work because she couldn't bear to look him in the eye. "You could have died for me. I’m just a debt to be collected."
Silvio reached out with his good arm, his large, calloused hand cupping the back of her neck. He forced her to look up. "I told you. You’re mine. I don't let anyone take what belongs to me."
"Is that all I am? An object?"
His thumb traced the line of her jaw, his touch surprisingly tender for a man who killed for a living. "You are the only thing in this world that doesn't look at me with greed or fear, even if you try to pretend you do. You look at me like I’m a man. A monster, perhaps, but a man."
The air between them shifted. It wasn't just about the wound anymore. A magnetic, suffocating tension filled the space, a spark that felt almost blinding. Lisa felt a pull toward him that terrified her more than the assassins had. She leaned in, her hand resting on his uninjured shoulder for balance. The heat of him was intoxicating.
Silvio’s eyes dropped to her lips. His hand shifted from her neck to her hair, pulling her inches closer. "You’re playing with fire, little bird," he rasped.
"Maybe I want to get burned," she breathed.
He groaned, a low, primal sound, and began to pull her down for a kiss that would have changed everything. But as she leaned forward, her jewelry box which she had moved to the nightstand earlier to make room for the medical supplies caught his sleeve.
The box tipped. The lid flew open.
A few necklaces spilled out, along with a small, crumpled piece of glossy paper that had been tucked into the velvet lining. It fluttered down, landing right on Silvio’s lap, face up.
The world stopped.
It was the sonogram. The grainy, black-and-white image of a life that shouldn't exist. The tiny curled shape of a baby Dante’s baby.
Silvio’s hand dropped from her neck. The heat in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity that made Lisa’s blood turn to ice. He picked up the photo with two fingers, his face becoming a mask of stone.
"What is this?" he asked. His voice was too quiet. It was the sound of a predator right before the kill.
Lisa felt the floor drop out from under her. She tried to grab it, her voice failing her. "Silvio, I... I can explain."
"Explain what?" He looked at the date on the photo, then back at her. His jaw tightened so hard she heard the bone creak. "You’ve been in my house for weeks. You’ve been in my bed. And all this time, you’ve been carrying a brat?"
"It’s not what you think," she lied, her mind racing. She couldn't tell him it was Dante’s. If he knew his exiled brother was the father, he wouldn't just kill her; he’d destroy everything.
Silvio surged upward, ignoring the white-hot pain in his shoulder. He grabbed her arm, his grip like a vice. The kindness from moments ago was gone, replaced by a dark, suffocating jealousy.
"Who was he?" Silvio hissed, his face inches from hers. "Was it one of the guards? Was it someone back in your father’s house? Who touched you?"
"It was a mistake! A one-night stand with a stranger!" Lisa cried, the tears finally breaking through. "I didn't even know his name!"
Silvio stared at her, his chest heaving, his eyes searching her face for the truth. He looked at the sonogram again, his fingers crushing the edges of the paper. The idea of another man having been with her, of another man’s seed growing inside the woman he was starting to claim, seemed to break something inside him.
"A stranger," he repeated, his voice dripping with venom. He leaned in, his shadow looming over her, dark and terrifying. "Then pray I never find him, Lisa... because I am going to hunt him down. I am going to find the man who put this inside you, and I am going to make him scream until he forgets your name."
He threw the photo at her and pointed toward the door. "Get out. Before I forget that I just bled for you."
Lisa scrambled off the bed, clutching the sonogram to her chest. She ran from the room, her sobs echoing in the hallway. She had wanted to feel safe, but she had only succeeded in starting a war. Silvio was hunting a "stranger," unaware that he was hunting his own blood.
And the clock was ticking.