Page 75 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

The next morning…

I didn't expect to wake up in a hospital room the morning after my wedding night. But neither did I expect to spend my wedding night here, so there is that.

From the moment I wake up, I'm clearheaded, despite the dull ache inside. Everything comes back, not like a tidal wave, more like I haven't been asleep at all. I try to sit up, but a cutting pain in my side stops me. I hiss.

"Cat?" Enrico is instantly by my side.

"Hey," I look at him. "You look like shit. Did you get any sleep?"

"Fuck, Cat," he takes my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got run over by a truck," I confess.

My entire body feels like I had a workout from hell.

I don't think there is one muscle on me that doesn't hurt.

Even muscles I didn't even know existed, like the ones under my ribs that apparently exist solely to scream when I breathe too deeply or talk.

I shift slightly and immediately regret it.

"Don't move," Enrico warns.

"I'm okay," I murmur, though I'm clearly not. "At least I'm not dead."

He brushes a knuckle down my cheek. "You scared the shit out of me, Piccolina."

There's something in his eyes, tired, raw, and razor-sharp. I don't think he has allowed himself to exhale since the blast.

"I remember everything," I say quietly. "The explosion. The cake. Sabine—" My throat catches. "God. Is she…?"

His silence answers for him. I close my eyes. The ache in my side suddenly feels small compared to the hollow in my chest.

Then, with an anguished sound, he presses out, "Don't ever do that again."

"Do what?"

"Rip glass out of yourself. Bleed in my arms. Decide you don't matter so that I can go fight ghosts."

"You should have gone," I reply. "They're not done."

"No," he agrees. "But neither are we. And I'm not losing you to prove a point."

I nod. I don't have the energy to argue, especially not when he looks like he's one breath from shattering.

"But we have Ledyanoy Prizrak?" I confirm.

Something like amusement flickers in his eyes, "Yes, we have him. He's not going anywhere."

"I want to be there when you… talk to him."

"Piccolina." His head starts to shake.

"I. Want. To. Be. There." I make my point clear. "Oh, and by the way, don't you ever think about sedating me again."

He has the decency to look guilty, but still, he tries, "I didn't sedate you. The doctor did."

I arch an eyebrow.

He relents with a muttered, "Okay, I allowed it. You were in shock. And bleeding. And half feral."

"Still not your call."

"Noted," he grits out.

We fall silent again, the beeping machines the only sound between us. Outside the room, I know the world's still on fire. But in here, it's just the two of us, clinging to the one thread we didn't lose.

"I want to know what he did to her," I say, more quietly this time. "To Sabine."

Enrico doesn't answer right away.

"I need to hear it," I go on. "I need to see the monster who killed my sister."

His throat works as he swallows. "It's not going to be easy to hear."

"I'm not asking for easy."

He studies me as if he's weighing whether telling me will shatter me completely. Like he's still holding the pieces of me together with sheer will.

"I won't keep things from you," he finally says. "Not now."

"Then take me to him."

"Not until the doctor clears you."

I open my mouth to argue.

"Not until the doctor clears you," he repeats, firmer this time. "I mean it, Cat. You go in there too weak, and he'll see it. He'll smell it. You want answers? Fine. But I'm not letting you bleed for them."

I don't like it, but I nod. "Deal."

He takes my hand again and kisses the inside of my wrist. Then lower, to the pulse point, like he's reminding himself I'm still alive.

"You're not made for this world," he murmurs.

I give him a look. "Have you met me?"

He huffs something like a laugh, but it's rough. "You're fire, Cat. But this place? These people? They extinguish things like you."

"Then don't let them."

He leans in, brushing his lips over my forehead. "Never. They'd have to go through me."

I tilt my chin up, catching his eyes. "I know what I'm walking into. Just don't shut me out."

"I won't." He threads his fingers through mine. "But don't ask me to be okay with it."

We sit like that for a while, hand in hand, the silence less sharp now. Outside the window, dawn is beginning to bleed into the sky.

Tommaso calls Enrico to report that they don't have anything new. The bakery was a dead end, literally.

An hour passes, then two. Then I've had enough.

"Enrico?"

He looks up from the monitor he's been focusing on, like he can't get enough of the squiggly lines from my heartbeat. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"If I were one of your guys, or your brother, and we had no leads, what would you be doing right now?"

He looks pensive. He doesn't want to answer me, so I push, "Talk to me. Partners, remember?"

"I don't like where this is going." He mutters.

"Too bad, now humor me."

"I'd be on my way to interrogate Ledyanoy Prizrak," he admits.

"Okay, and if I were Dante? What would you do to get him out?"

"You're not Dante," he snaps.

"No, I'm not," I agree calmly. "But if I were, if I had a Glock in my belt and testosterone pouring out of my ears, you wouldn't be sitting here babysitting. You'd be cutting the cords of these stupid machines."

His jaw tightens.

I press on. "But because I'm me —someone who happens to have boobs in addition to having a stitched-up side—you're treating me like I'll break if someone raises their voice."

He glares. "A bomb went off next to you. You were thrown against a wall. You had glass in your ribs. You bled all over my damn shirt. Forgive me for not tossing you a burner phone and dragging you into an interrogation room five minutes after they wheeled you out."

I exhale slowly. "I'm not asking you to drag me there right now."

"You are," he growls. "You just do it in that sweet, calm, reasonable tone that drives me insane."

I smile a little. "It's a good tone."

"It's a dangerous tone." He pushes to his feet. "Fine. You want to move this forward? You want answers? Then let's make sure you're cleared. Right now."

He stomps to the doorway and slams the emergency call button by the entrance hard enough to make the wall shudder.

"Doctor!" he yells, his voice reverberating through the hall like a loaded gun. "Now."

Within seconds, a nurse appears, startled and wide-eyed. "Sir?—"

"Where's Mirani? I want an update. Five minutes ago."

She scurries away. A moment later, the attending—Dr. Mirani—walks in, already looking tired.

"Mr. Sartori," he says, eyeing the monitor. "You've been watching that screen like it owes you money."

"It does," Enrico growls. "Now tell me she's fine."

Dr. Mirani sighs, steps around the bed, and glances at the readouts. "No fractures. No concussion. Her vitals are steady. The sutures look good, though the area's tender and will remain so for a while."

"Define a while ," Enrico snaps.

"A week of soreness, maybe more. She needs rest, fluids, and antibiotics. The site needs to be monitored for signs of infection, swelling, redness, and fever. If anything changes, she comes straight back."

"She's not leaving yet," Enrico says. "Not until I say she's ready."

I roll my eyes. "Can I have the report, too, or do only men with veins full of rage get information?"

Mirani chuckles. "You're clear to move carefully. No sudden motions. No stress."

"Right. Let me just cancel my entire life," I mutter.

The doctor gives me a sympathetic look. "I'll come back to discharge you when you're ready."

He walks out, and Enrico immediately turns back to me, arms crossed like he's about to start laying down new ground rules.

I beat him to it. "So. Now that I'm officially not dying…"

"No."

"You haven't even heard?—"

"You're not going," he says flatly.

I meet his eyes without blinking. "Then bring him to me."