Page 20 of This Thing of Ours

Did he confess? He’d held his feelings in check for so long, it was almost second nature by now. He shrugged again. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Nico saw too much, had known him too long. He felt his temper rise. “Nothing other than she’s a human being who’s been traumatized, and then almost again by a quack of a doctor.”

“Easy, my friend, your feelings are showing. Which I find, that in itself, interesting. I wasn’t sure you had any.”

Marco needed to shut the fuck up. He backtracked by saying, “I’ve known Gabriella since she was twelve. I care for her… just as you do.”

“So, you care for her as a sister?”

Marco’s lips flattened, and he tipped his head in a nod.

Nico’s lips pursed. “I see.”

And Marco was afraid he did.

The whimpers wokehim from a doze. He looked toward the window—light out, but just barely. Gabriella hadn’t been asleep for long. A few hours, tops.

After theirchat, it hadn’t been hard to convince Nico to go home to Olivia, promising that he would watch over Gabriella and stay until her front door was fixed or her mother showed—whichever came first. Odds were high it would be Donatella, and Marco was pretty sure Nico had known that. In fact, Marco was surprised Nico had convinced the Conti matriarch to stay away from Gabriella for the night. He’d been sure as soon as Nico’s car had left, Dona would be banging on her daughter’s door.

Marco stood from the couch and made his way to the open bedroom door. With her head thrashing back and forth on her pillow, it was easy to see Gabriella wasn’t resting peacefully. She called out in her sleep, something he couldn’t understand, and he found himself at her side before his mind could even think of an excuse to stop him.

He reached out a hand, stroking away the bangs that had fallen over her closed lids, murmuring soothing sounds that had no meaning. It seemed to calm her.

He sat at her hip, picking her hand up and lightly tracing the veins that showed through the creaminess of her skin. Raised welts—red and angry—circled the part of her wrist that had come in contact with the zip tie, and a clear line of fingerprint bruises marked the inside of her forearm.

Anger burned in his gut, twisting and coiling like a living entity. He wished he could go back in time and re-kill the men he’d shot. He’d make their deaths a whole lot slower… and more painful.

She stirred, her eyes slitting open, trained on his hand that held hers. Her gaze traveled up his arm to his face. She licked her lips. How could one such innocent act have such an effect on him?

“You’re still here?” Her voice was hoarse, groggy, and so fucking sexy.

He knew his thoughts were inappropriate. Forget the fact she was off-limits, she’d also been hurt, physically, and God knew what the fuck kind of tortures were running through her head. “I’m still here.”

She looked back down at their joined hands. “I don’t want to talk about what happened.”

“I know.”

Her eyes flew back to his and grew wide. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Streghetta mia, we all have demons. Sometimes sharing them gives them power. Brings them to life and gives them the ability to hurt. Gives others the power to hurt you with them, too.”

“You know that’s the opposite theory of what you would find in just about any psychology text, right?”

Marco shrugged. He didn’t know much about that. He’d gotten most of his education from the streets, not from books. And what he’d learned—the hard way—was it was best to keep all things to himself—whether they were his secrets or someone else’s.

“My family’s going to make me talk.”

“They want what’s best for you.”

“And you don’t?”

Marco shrugged again. “As you’ve pointed out, I don’t see things the way others do.”

He lost her eyes when she turned them toward the window. He knew she was struggling, wondering whether she could come to peace with what’d happened to her on her own.

“I won’t ask what happened, but I do need to know if you need to see a doctor.” He knew she knew what he was asking.

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