Page 9 of Broken Mafia Bride

“Yeah, the lake I found you in connects to the sea. You could’ve washed in from anywhere.”

“Are you from around here?”

“No, I’m from Sardegna, Italy. Grew up there, now I work contracts that take me around the world.”

“Sounds fancy.”

He snorts. “Yeah, if by ‘fancy’ you mean hauling fish at ungodly hours and getting paid just enough to question all my life choices.”

I blink at him. “So… not fancy?”

“Not unless you’re into the broke fisherman aesthetic.”

A small, tired laugh escapes me before the dizziness reminds me why I shouldn’t be laughing. My head feels less like a cement block, though. So maybe the tea actually helped.

“What do you think h-happened to me?”

“No idea. I was taking my usual route to check my traps and saw some disturbance in the water,” he explains. “I didn’t think too much about it, because it was far beyond my traps. I assumed it was some of the bigger fish fighting for food at the surface or something.”

He drags a wooden chair over and drops into it. “Then I saw the bubbles on the surface. I didn’t think twice about it. I jumped right in, and I barely got there in time. Any longer and you could have been lost.”

I shiver at the thought.

“I tried to pull you out.”

“Tried?” I ask curiously.

Marco nods, his dark gold eyes narrowing. “You resisted at first. Fighting and clawing, even in your weakened state and trembling so bad. It must’ve been some subconscious reaction. I managed to get you to shore and had to cut the dress off you. Sorry if it was important to you.”

I try to remember if it is, but my brain draws a blank. Not like it matters now. The dress is hardly the most important part of this story.

“There was a lot of water in your lungs,” he continues, brows drawing down. “Years ago, a doctor made me take a course in CPR and basic first aid. I was glad at that moment that she did.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m sorry for shooting you. I didn’t… I mean, I-I shouldn’t?—”

Marco raises his hand, and my mouth slams shut, ending my tirade. “It’s fine.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not.”

He motions at his bandaged arm. “Luckily, it was a flesh wound. I’m fine. I’m more worried about you.”

“Me? Why?”

He stands up and begins to pace, wearing tracks into the carpet. Feeling nauseous following his to-and-fro movement, I shut my eyes and lean back against the wall.

“I don’t mean to scare you, but I have a theory of how you found yourself in that lake.” His voice pitches low, and a shiver rolls through me at the look in his eyes.

“Tell me.”

“Someone pushed you with the intention to get rid of you,” he says. “I’ve heard stories from the other fishermen about bodies being washed ashore when it floods.”

Ice runs through my veins at his words, goosebumps rising on my arms. I hug my arms around my middle. “Why would anyone want to get rid of me? I can’t be all that important if no one has come to find me by now.”

Or maybe he’s just being crazy, and it’s just as simple as me slipping and falling. The tight stitching in my side tells me different, though. It’s all the evidence I need that this wasn’t just a simple accident.

“I have a feeling it’s your?—”

My heart stutters.My what?