Page 35 of Wounded King

"I do. It ends with me walking away." But we both know I won't. With that, I all but run out of the room. Fuck! What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Way to stand up for Mina, by the way, my snarky mind taunts me.Oh, shut up.

My heart is beating rapidly. The image of the sheet tent will forever stay burned in my brain, right next to that of his smoldering—yes,smoldering—eyes. Fuck!

He's a mob boss, Vi! A mob boss!He treats women like shit. Like, he can just jump from one to the other.I try to remind myself, hoping that repeating this mantra will help me regain a modicum of reality, just a smidgen. The police said he killed people in that parking garage. Hekilledpeople.

Yeah, but they were shooting at him. I have no idea where this voice is coming from. Nor do I want to. I just want it to shut up and let me go into a mode where I can shudder away from him instead of being caught in his magnetic pull.

I bury my face in my hands when I'm alone in the elevator. Taking deep breaths, I try to regain my composure. It's not working, the magnetic spell of this man—my patient—lures me deeper and deeper down the basement steps. The darker it gets, the harder my heart hammers, but not in fear. Oh no. This is a different kind of heart racing. This is me being turned on by him.

"You're silent," Alejandro remarks, bringing me back to reality. I don't remember much about climbing into the waiting car; my mind was busy fighting off wicked images of my boss and me on his bed with his tent erection, and with a start, I notice we're already halfway back to my house.

"Just thinking of some physical therapy I should do with your boss tomorrow to help him get back on his feet," I lie, but the double entendre is not lost on me, nor is it on my ovaries, who start up a chorus of singingHallelujah, followed by my brain chiming in withBad Decisionslike it's scoring a Netflix original.

"He's strong. He'll be on his feet soon." Alejandro states, turning off the freeway.

Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. And he won't need me anymore once he'sback on his feet.

Zia Rosa left hours ago, but the fridge is filled with my favorite dishes. Underneath a glass-covered cake display is an arrangement of cookies and Italian pastries, also my favorites. Zia Rosa must have been cooking and baking up a storm all day.

I lift the surprisingly heavy dome lid and fish out a sospiri. The lemon zest incites a party on my taste buds, tangy and sweet. I revel in its taste. So much better than the hospital grub. Not that I had much of it, most of the time I was out, but what I did get to taste was… fucking disgusting.

My stomach protests the sweetness, reminding me that it hasn't had anyrealfood in weeks. A sospiri might not have been my best choice.

"Can't sleep?" Luciano enters from the family area.

Automatically, my hand moves for my gun, and I realize with a start that I'm not carrying. "Jesus, Luciano, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

The motherfucker grins from ear to ear, "Have to take advantage of your state while I can."

I slap his side with the crutch, making him chuckle while he snags a couple of butter cookies.

"What are you still doing here? Don't you have your own apartment?" I pretend to be annoyed, taking a butter cookie for the hell of it.

"I got so used to being around your ugly mug twenty-four-seven, I have to ease into my withdrawal." He counters.

I hobble to the fridge to see what I can find of real food. Pieces of fried chicken catch my eye. A drumstick is just what my body needs right now. "Want one?"

Luciano stuffs his face with more cookies, "Wouldn't want to rob you of your food, what with you convalescing and all."

"You don't seem to have a problem with eating all my cookies," I reply, biting into the cold chicken.

"Those are bad for you. Just trying to save your ass," Luciano lies with a smirk.

"Sophia hasn't answered me back," I tell him. "I left a message and texted. If she hasn't replied by tomorrow, I'll need you to drive me over to her place."

"I don't think Violet will be happy with you leaving the bed," Luciano cautions.

"Violet works forme; she followsmyorders, not the other way around." I set him straight.

A short snort escapes him. "I'll let you have your delusions for now since you don't know her that well yet."

I chew thoughtfully on the soft meat, the way only Zia Rosa can make it so tasty that even cold, it's delicious, while I mull his words over.Don't know her that well yet… He's right—and wrong. Because somehow, I feel like I already do. And everything I don't know? I want to spend the rest of my life finding out.

"She's not like your other women, you know," Luciano says offhandedly. Too offhandedly. I lift my head and scrutinize his expression.

"You like her?"