Page 34 of Caged Bliss

“Then we’ll call it a night.” Another kiss. How can a man this big, this scary, be so damn gentle? “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you will.” One last kiss. Do I want him to stay over? I’m not even sure what that would be like, and I don’t get the chance to find out. He walks to my front door and steps into the hall.

Then he’s gone. I’m alone again with a wildly satisfying ache between my legs and the lingering ghost of his kiss on my lips.

And the memory of Serena’s words in the bathroom seared onto my brain.

Chapter 18

Angelo

Ihuff in a pained hiss. “You said you were going to be gentle, you fucking malicious?—”

Laura deadpans and smacks me upside the head. “If you don’t stop whining, I’m going to do some serious damage.” She bows her head toward my injured arm again, prodding at the stitches I put in myself. “This is awful. Truly terrible work. Why wouldn’t you get a doctor?”

I grimace as she jabs at a particularly ugly gash barely held together. “I don’t want Simon poking around my business. Besides, it’s fine, I learned how to do stitches on myself in prison.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I can tell.” She shakes her head and sits back. We’re in her living room and she looks extremely unhappy. “I need to fix a couple of these.”

“What? No, seriously?—”

“You can either let me do it or I’m going to go ask the Famiglia’s doctor to come pay you a visit. And I’m sure you don’t want that.”

I lean my head back. Coming over here was a mistake and admitting to my injuries was even worse, but Laura doesn’t bullshit. This isn’t a threat: she’s just telling me what she’s going to do.

“I despise you, sister of mine.”

“Save the tears for the stitches, you big baby.” She hops up and walks off. I hear her banging around in her upstairs bathroom while I pour myself a massive whiskey. When she returns, she’s got a black bag filled with what look like torturer’s implements. Long, gleaming metal pincers, a sharp knife gleaming in the recessed lightning, a spool of medical-grade thread. I eye them, dubious.

“Are you sure that’s clean?”

“You’re an idiot.”

I slam back my whiskey as she gets to work. Taking out my makeshift medical care isn’t all that bad. Just some tugging, a little bit of blood, but I’ve healed enough that the wound doesn’t immediately break apart again.

The stitches are worse, but bearable. Laura’s hands are sure and she makes quick work of me while I drink and glare at the far wall, remaining absolutely still for her.

She should’ve been a surgeon. Her hands are deft and talented, and it’s no wonder she can sculpt like she was born with an innate knowledge of how to cleave rocks. My sister’s been through a lot, and it’s no wonder everyone finds her somewhat odd, but maybe I’m somewhat odd too. We’ve always meshed in our own ways. She’s too much like Davide for them to really get close, and Elena’s always trying to fix Laura, and Simon’s too busy running the show to pay his littlest siblings much attention. Which leaves me and her.

“You want to tell me how you got this?” she asks once it’s all done with. I rub at the fresh bandages, and even though I hate to admit it, she did a much better job.

“Vito used his girlfriend as bait and nearly blew my head off.”

Laura snorts. She’s got the gall to look amused. “You’re losing a step.”

“I didn’t think he’d be that paranoid. And I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“For now. Let me guess. He ran off?”

I get up and start pacing. Laura watches me from the couch, legs crossed. She looks like she thinks this whole thing is a funny game, and I guess from her perspective, it is.

But to me it’s everything.

“I’d bet a lung he’s with Roc. And I’d bet a kidney they’re going to work together when I go after them.”

“You made your life ten times harder then. Congrats, that’s a royal fuckup.”

“Do you ever have anything useful to say?”

---