Page 89 of Dangerous Devotion

Jemma turned her head to me, raised an eyebrow, and cockedher head. She didn’t even have to say it because her expression said it all.

Chill, dude…was practically written all over her face.

I exhaled and relaxed. This was me, falling into my old patterns, trying to control everything and everyone. But this was Jemma. My wife, my partner. I promised her we were a team. Promised her we made our decisions together.

And that meant at least asking for what she wanted even though every fiber of my being screamed to never, ever let her out of my sight again. “Do you want me to step out for a minute?”

Her grin deepened, and she shook her head. “No, Vincenzo Salvini, I want you right here, but I really appreciate you asking.”

The nurse’s head flew up, and her eyes widened.

And I saw the moment recognition dawned. Her demeanor shifted instantly, becoming deferential. “I’m sorry, Mr. Salvini, Mrs. Salvini, I’ll be right back.” She almost flew out of the room.

Jemma sighed. “I should’ve called you Jo Schmo.”

I grinned at her. “She looked at your file. You could’ve called me Shrek, and she still would’ve known.”

Jemma chuckled. “Shrek, aka Vince the Prince. Though, at the rate you’re going with being all considerate and soft, and considering your habit of shaking your ass for Dom in public, you need a new nickname. How does Baby Girl sound?”

I cocked my head. Who in their right mind would ever call me baby girl even if I did shake my ass for Dom. It was just something I’d developed over the years to tease him. Inarrowed my eyes. She’d brought it up before; was she annoyed about that? “Do you?—”

Just when I wanted to ask Jemma, a whole group of doctors entered the room.

I turned my attention to the group of doctors and nurses who were eyeing me warily. “Mr. Salvini, Mrs. Salvini,” one started, and I stopped him by raising my hand.

“I want a full workup,” I demanded. “Blood tests, X-rays, CT scan—everything. She took a fall and was unconscious for a while. And she needs stitches.”

The doctor nodded, scribbling notes. “Certainly, Mr. Salvini. We’ll take excellent care of your wife.”

“See that you do,” I growled, my grip on Jemma’s hand tightened slightly. I couldn’t shake the image of finding her unconscious at the bottom of those wonky-ass stairs. The fear that had gripped me in that moment still lingered, making my chest tight.

Jemma squeezed my hand weakly, drawing my attention. “Vince,” she murmured, “you’re scaring them.”

I leaned in close and cupped her neck. “Let them be scared,” I whispered fiercely. “I’m not taking any chances with your health.”

And that was exactly what happened. I stayed by her side when they examined her; stayed with the techs, separated only by a pane of glass while she got her X-rays and CT scan; and held her hand when they cleaned the wound and put stitches in almost the same location as mine—what a crazy coincidence.

And nobody even blinked an eye at my constant presence by her side.

As time went by, Jemma looked increasingly exhausted.

I turned down the lights and tucked her into bed. “Rest a little. I’ll be just outside making a call.”

I hadn’t been in contact with Hero, who was still in the city, and I needed to know exactly what Zotov was doing before I called him.

Jemma nodded, which told me just how exhausted she really was.

I stepped out of the room, dialed Hero, and waited for the call to connect. I kept my phone pressed to my ear while I pulled out Zotov’s metal card. It had burned a hole in my pocket ever since he’d handed it to me; what if there was a tracking device embedded in it? And why was I only thinking about it now? I needed an analysis on the piece of metal.

I turned it in my hand and stared at it when Hero’s voice cracked through.

“We lost him, Vince,” Hero said, frustration evident in his tone. “Zotov gave our guys the slip.”

I clenched my jaw, anger simmering just beneath the surface, and shoved the piece of metal back into my pocket. If I was totally honest with myself, I wasn’t even surprised. Zotov had superpowers for appearing and disappearing at will, always one step ahead. Only this time, he still had Mira and Bella. “Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “How the hell does he do it?”

“I don’t know, but he’s good,” Hero admitted. “Too good. And he knows things, Vince. Things he shouldn’t know.”

I leaned against the wall, my mind racing. Like the exact moment the women left the property? Or which route theconvoy took? Zotov’s uncanny ability to navigate our world, to anticipate our moves—it all pointed to one unsettling conclusion.

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