Chapter 58

Figured.

"Hungry?" Nate asked, and the promise of food stirred my appetite.

"Why are you here?" I scratched the raspy tone out along with the ghost fingers that lingered.

"Massimo asked." He grinned.

"And where is he?"

"He'll be here soon."

"Where is he?"

His easy smile hardened. "Not here."

I fell back into the bed, kicking the covers away. My leg muscles were sore and yet, it felt incredible to stretch them out and move around.

I had to get up.

"How long have I been sleeping?" I whispered to the high ceiling.

"A while."

"Mio Dio, Nate!" My arms flung out, and I quickly rushed into a sitting position.

Too quickly.

I ached throughout my body, and while I held my discomfort from showing, a faint tingle stuck around. A blurry prick I couldn't shake. A grogginess. As if my body was fighting against itself. Or something.

A thought came to mind. The pills I'd consumed.

"You guys drugged me!"

Nate chuckled and rose from the ground with his laptop tucked under his arm.

"I would hardly call it drugged." I couldn't believe him. "And if I recall, you took them willingly."

"I didn't think it would knock me out."

Nate's mouth twisted in thought. "Yeah, neither did we. Which is why you are up now. We stopped at the third, or was it the fourth pill?" Was he joking? " Anyway, I'll be in the dining room if you need me."

The thought of not being alone for some time made me close my eyes and take a deep breath. I had a sitter.

The clock by my bedside table announced past lunch, and the sight of my phone facing down, charging, got the best of me.

I powered it on, and multiple notifications of missed calls popped up. Most were from Aldo, except a message from Daniva?

I cleared the history and checked the date.

Tuesday.

The gala was on Saturday.

Two days. I wasted two days.

I reached for Vine's head that hadn't moved too far from my reach and sank my fingers through his coat as I played the voicemail Aldo had left. It was brief with only two words spoken. "Call me." I ignored it, just as he ignored mine after I'd humiliated myself by begging him to take me away from Father's house.

Then there was Davina's text. A simple, "feel better." She must've overheard Vadim at one point because these men didn't offer information freely.

Massimo must've given her my number because we'd never exchanged them. Massimo.

I found his number, and before I could think of my actions, I pressed call.

It rang once. The long tone cut through the silence with unease, and I wanted to hang up. I wanted to reverse time in one ring. Take it back, along with the insecurity it brought. A childish need. But the uncertainty faded when the second tone was cut short by Italian words and his deep voice.

"Are you okay?" Massimo asked, distracted. Wind tumbled, horns chimed, and loud commotion spread through the receiver. Then it all stopped after a car door slammed shut.

Ignoring his question, I replied. "Hey."

Silence.

"Hi."

More silence. So quiet that if it wasn't for the faint ruffles and static, I would have thought he'd ended the call.

"I'm on my way, okay?"

Merda, my stupid heart.

I didn't want to see my face. It didn't matter that after cleaning his blood the damage was minimal. But I did. I stared at my features for at least a full minute. In two days I healed faster than the gash my father had gifted me before arriving in Miami.

And as my face glowed under the fresh coat of ointment, I knew the reason. It may not be magic, but it definitely was as close to it. Or maybe it was a shot of steroids paired with Massimo's favorite brown. Either way, I still looked hideous, but a healing one.

I stretched my arms up as I approached the closet. Elio's blow to my ribs still greeted me, but at least my breathing returned fluidly. My wrist ached with sudden movements but strengthened. And the kick to my back from the bastard only helped my posture to remain straight.

Overall, I didn't mind the leftover pain that grew as the effect of the pills faded. And while my lips were cracked, I was alive.

I picked a loose and soft cotton dress along with leather sandals and met the boys by the bedroom door. With Wix and Vine by my side, I walked into the hall with my dagger strapped, wearing the most casual outfit I'd worn since living in Miami, aside from my workout clothes.

"You made it," Nate spoke too loudly, but caught himself quickly. "Sorry," he apologized and took out a white earbud from his ear.

He sat in the same chair Elio had before-across from mine, with an opened laptop and a bowl of orange soup to his left. Three other placemats had been set, and a few different salad dressings stood between us.

I sat down, and Nate closed the laptop.

Silence stretched, and while Nate didn't make me feel uncomfortable or at risk, his effortless smiles were easier to decipher the more time I spent around him. Despite him hiding behind his smiles, to the naked eye, they seemed sincere.

It was what he was doing now, studying me carefully with a half-grin, trying to make me comfortable, open-vulnerable.

"You don't have to treat me like an assignment, you know," I said.

Nate smirked and leaned back. "Glad you are feeling better."

"About that."

He waited for me to continue.

"I noticed Massimo's ointment was Russian."

"Mhmm" he agreed.

"And since you are here, and not Vadim, you must be the supplier of whatever it is."

"Correct."

"Then I owe you a thank you."

"No you don't." He chuckled. "It would've expired before any of us used it, so really I owe you for not wasting my money in vain."

I replied with a nod, and we settled back to a comfortable silence.

Nate picked up a grilled cheese sandwich from the large stack of triangle pieces neatly arranged on the platter. The bread was thick and browned in butter. It seemed such a simple dish, but I knew the bread was homemade. It would pair perfectly with the tomato and basil soup that I spotted within his reach.

It wasn't a feast or the usual grand dishes we often ate. It was light, simple-rich. It was clear that it had been made with me in mind. Because after missing a few meals, my stomach wouldn't have tolerated anything heavier.

Nate took a large bite, and I glanced at the side door that led to the kitchen, debating if I should wait or fix a bowl myself.

"You know-"

My head snapped back to him and while his tone hadn't changed, his blue eyes tinted by a memory.

"You know how sometimes insignificant memories of our childhood beat the ones you wish you could remember?"

His smile did not reach far. I worried about what he would say next, and the point he was trying to make.

"Like the name of the cream your mother used on her own tear-streaked face, but you hardly recall what she looked like?"

I didn't utter a word.

"Well, I guess they proved they weren't so insignificant."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Honestly, I don't know." He lifted his shoulder, then gentle steps neared. We weren't alone anymore. "Maybe it was the thought of being used for the same reasons."

A bowl of steaming soup and a plate of fresh green salad appeared in front of me. I snapped my gaze away from Nate and looked up.

Thalia's eyes widened as they scanned my face and quickly lowered as her hands shot to her chest.

"My apologies." She ushered, wiping her hands across her flour-splattered apron. Her high ponytail swayed as her head moved from side to side. Her eyes lifted softly, and she offered a mournful grin and quickly left.

"I didn't think they were that bad," I said, lifting the spoon.

"They're not," he assured me. "But while she's aware of who she works for, she's never been exposed to the ugly parts. Seeing it on your face was a surprise." Good, they've sheltered her.

Nate nodded at my bowl, ushering me to eat.

With a spoon full of tomato and spice I blew out and sipped. It didn't take more than a second before the spoon was back down due to the sting and burn from its heat.

"Here, take mine. I'm not a fan of tomato soup and it should be lukewarm by now." Nate pushed his bowl in my direction but stopped as his attention shifted to the far corner on my left.

I followed his gaze and met Massimo's dark eyes on me, twisted and far from reach. His inked hands adjusted his tie before they fell back to his side as his strides offered the dominance and violence of his state of mind. Eerie silence echoed inside the walls he'd built.

When his body passed behind my chair, I turned my head, not wanting to miss any further tells of his vicious aura.

My hair flew over my features with momentum, but Massimo hadn't sat down. Rather, he stood next to me, and my head froze in place.

In all black, from his shoes to the pits of his eyes, Massimo dressed for bloodshed.

I focused on the button of his jacket, unsure of how to proceed with the storm he'd conjured.

Any other day, I would have put up a fight. A pull, a jab of defiance. But I was over the games, and a part of me looked forward to his presence. Even if in turmoil.

His fingers twitched before his hand lifted. Massimo's rough palm pressed against my jaw, and his fingers spread, taking my face into his hold.

My eyes closed by his touch and my breathing eased, drawn to his darkness. When they opened, his piercing eyes roamed over my lips, my temple, until they bound to mine.

Then he let go and took a seat at the head of the table. As if it had never happened. And while my eyes were freed, they still felt shackled to where he once stood.

I shook the haze away and glanced down at the bowl Nate had offered. But I had been so consumed by Massimo's pull that I missed Nate leaving us alone.

How could I overlook such detail?

Massimo.

He was cutting all my senses-my instincts. And slaying every wall in the process.

Massimo was wounding me from the inside out. Slowly taking, leaving me bare with an exposed heart.

And as I realized he had already conquered my mind games, my body tells, I wasn't just looking forward to his presence. I wanted to be near him. In need of him.

Damn him.

"What's the matter?" Massimo asked in Italian.

Nothing if I didn't allow it. But could I? Could I really keep the physical need, the mental greed from filtering deeper?

"Alessandra?"

"Niente." Nothing.

Mrs. Carmine appeared with two bowls of soup, and Thalia followed close behind with two salad plates and her eyes on the ground.

Mrs. Carmine didn't flinch at my appearance. Instead, she concentrated on the task ahead, cleaning the spot Nate had once sat and setting the food down. When she offered Massimo's, his hand stopped her from placing the bowl in front of him.

"I'll just take the salad."