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“How is she?”

“Resting?”

“How is she?”

“Nothing internal. She has some bruising from the explosion. Her skin will be raw, but she’ll heal. I’m leaving this.” The doctor passed over some pills. “She is to take one every eight hours, and no more than three a day. They can be addictive. She’s in shock.”

“Grazie.”

Dominic nodded to Giovanni and walked the doctor out. Giovanni stared at the pill bottle in his hand. After minutes of guilt and grief, he gave in to his desperation to see her. He left his outside villa and entered the house from the back once more to not be seen. As the doctor stated, she rested under blankets. His aunts were by her bed. One read from the bible to her.

“Leave,” he said.

The women rose and one by one they came to him offering kisses of encouragement before granting his wish and leaving him with her. Giovanni closed and locked the door. He stepped out of his loafers and walked over to the bed. Easing under the covers with her gently he drew her into his arms and held her against his chest. Her screams and terror overwhelmed him with guilt. He held her tighter than he should and her limp response tore at his gut, burned away his pride. He felt himself on the verge of a meltdown. He came close, too close, to losing this woman. If he had any doubts before they were now gone, she belonged in his heart.

The tears didn’t come, but the self-loathing and doubt did. He needed to make this right, restore order, win her trust and love and keep it. How the hell could he do it all in succession?

****

Two hours later

Mira opened her eyes. She now laid on her side with Giovanni’s arm draped across her middle and his warm body nearly covering her from behind. She felt so small and helpless in his hold. To move would wake him and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to face him or hear his apologies. She didn’t want to listen to him explain how he would make this up to her. What she wanted was her friend.

Unable to cry anymore she remained still looking toward the wall. She could hear Fabiana’s pleas for forgiveness and the bitter refusal she gave her. If she had listened, forgiven, then Fabiana would have left the car too and they would have walked out of Italy together. Her stomach cramped from the unyielding churn of her grief. She should have never gotten involved with a violent man like him. Now, no matter how she felt for him, they would always have Fabiana’s death between them.

The cramping became worse. It wasn’t grief. It was whatever poison they gave her to make her submit. She shifted in his arms, and he sat upright.

“Bella?”

“Don’t call me that,” her voice croaked hoarsely.

“Are you in pain? Do you need anything?”

She pressed her quivering lips together and squeezed her eyes shut to block the sound of his voice from her head and heart.

“Cara, my beautifulcara. Please. Talk to me.”

Opening her eyes she turned. Giovanni only loosened his hold enough for her to turn and look into his face. “Let me go. I want to… to go.”

“No.” He dropped his forehead to hers.

Mira wept and he kissed her tears.

“What do you want from me Giovanni? You’ve taken my heart!”

“Don’t push me away.”

“I can’t be here, anymore!” She moaned.

“You can if you trust me.”

“She’s dead. Do you understand that I lost the only family I have today? She’s my best friend, my only friend, she’s dead!”

“I understand.”

“Then help me. Let me go back to America! I won’t tell anybody what I know. I swear it.”

He lifted and stared down at her with a hard, inquisitive look that made her stomach muscles quiver.