Page 7 of Caesar DeLuca
Getting him into my RAV4 is a challenge. I’m not able to lift him all on my own so I have to sling his arm around my neck and drag him along on my side. He seems to come to as we trudge in the snow and recognize he needs to remain upright if we’re to make it to my car.
“Almost there,” I grunt, sinking deeper into the snow. The ice numbs my legs even through the layers I’m wearing.
“Rocky,” he mumbles. His head droops to his left shoulder. “Rocky… you fucker…”
I have no idea who Rocky is and I don’t care to find out. Whatever trouble this man got himself into is none of my business.
I open the back passenger door and use as much strength as I can to push him inside. I go around the back to slide into the driver seat. Restarting the engine, I glance at the man slumped over in my backseat, his skin sweaty and his eyes clenched shut in pain.
“Ari, this better not be a mistake,” I whisper under my breath.
It’s hours before I’m settled at home. I bring the man up to my spare bedroom where I proceed to strip the sheets off the bed and use it as my medical table. He has a stab wound to the stomach that requires immediate attention.
Though I’m years removed from my life as an emergency room nurse and my studies for my doctorate, I’m capable enough to work on him.
Common items from around the house come in handy. Towels, gauze, antiseptic, latex gloves, and a needle and thread. I give him a rolled up towel to bite into as I set to work cleaning the wound and then sewing him up.
The man slips in and out of consciousness. The mysterious Rocky gets cursed out a couple more times.
“You fucking snake,” he groans, his eyes shut. He shivers, his teeth gritted. “I’ll destroy you.”
His threats might not be intended for me, but it makes them no less intimidating.
Especially considering I’ve learned of his mafia connections thanks to the ID in his wallet and gold ring on his pinky finger.
He’s a DeLuca.
I ignore the nerves fluttering in my belly and press on with my needle and thread. His blood gets everywhere. On the towels I lay down, on the front of my sparkly blouse that I wore to Ms. Gladys’s birthday party, and all over my hands.
All things I’m used to, but they feel a lot more morbid considering I have no clue what this man is capable of, and if he’ll bring me danger.
Once I’m done, I clean him up some more. I still have some of my ex’s old clothes, like sweatpants and t-shirts, that might fit him. Both are a little baggy on the man considering Freddie was a larger guy, pushing three hundred. But it does the trick for now.
I’m studying him before I know it—drinking in his shiny black hair and the strength of his carved jawline. He might be paler than usual, his clammy skin nearly translucent, but there’s no denying he’s an attractive man. His brows naturally crease as if forever plagued by deep thoughts, and he has lips that look like they’re warm and commanding.
He’s a couple inches over six feet. I can eyeball him and tell, and though I’ve seen his body in a state of weakness, there’s something intrinsically threatening about him. He could pose a real threat, be a real force to be reckoned with in good health.
I’d sewn up his stomach wound and noticed the muscle stacked onto his torso. The way thick veins protruded in his arms and how his large hands flexed open and shut. His DeLuca family ring glinted at me even in the dim light.
I throw a wool blanket over him and then leave him to rest in my guest room.
A day or two, and then I’ll drop him off on the road. I’ll have done my part at that point. More than generous considering I’m in hiding and not supposed to draw attention to myself.
But I underestimate the situation.
I head to my bedroom with my ensuite bathroom and take a burning hot shower. I wrap my natural curls and slip into pajamas and my favorite fleece robe, about to get a few hours of shuteye—or so I think until I head down to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and find I’m not alone.
The man’s in the kitchen, half slouched over, fumbling with the locks on the back door. When he spots me, he pins me with a dark glare and grunts.
“How the fuck do I get out of here?”
5
ARIANA
“What are you doing down here?” I ask, so shocked I can’t move. My heart leaps inside my chest, setting me on edge. I slip into defensive mode—I’m thinking of all the items within reach I can use for self-defense if necessary.
I don’t know this man. I picked him up off the side of the road because he was bleeding out.
