Page 47 of The Don

Yeah, I definitely need to eat and sleep. Maybe just sleep.

If I’m supposed to stay awake and wait for Salvatore like a good mafia wife, I’m going to have to work up to that over time and when I’m not pregnant.

“Okay,” Lorenzo says, shocking me back into this dim hallway. “You can go inside.”

I nod but then look up at him with the saddest expression I can muster. “Is he on the way back?”

“I don’t know, but when they check in, I will tell you.”

“Even if I’m asleep,” I say with a yawn.

He nods and gestures toward the open door.

“Where will you—”

“Right here,” he says quickly. “No one will get through me.”

“’Thank you,” I say quietly, reaching to close the door.

“You are good for him,” he says suddenly. “He is different with you.”

“Is that…a good thing? I mean…considering.”

Lorenzo’s smile is…terrifying, to be honest. “My uncle used to say that there is no one more dangerous than a man who suddenly has a reason to live. You are a very good thing,” he says, pulling the door closed.

I’m still exhausted, but those words put a perverse smile on my face.

Okay, I have a very long way to go before I’m a good mafia movie wife, but morally compromised?

Check.

* * *

Salvatore

On the ride home, I wish I’d told Shae to stay awake for me. And I mean for me. I want to find her waiting just inside the door, naked, wet, and ready for me again because I’m a selfish asshole, and the adrenaline heating my blood hasn’t dissipated yet, and it doesn’t, even when I find her in the middle of the bed, my pillow clutched against her body and the covers practically covering her head.

I still want her, desperately, but not enough to disturb her. But I do think about it. My fingers even twitch at the thought of touching her, but I pull myself away, and I’m happy that I did once I see my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

There’s blood matting my hairline where Luca’s phone hit me. The rest of my hair is wild. My skin is sallow. And for some reason, the right side of my chest hurts.

I peel my clothes off slowly, somehow in even more pain with each lost layer. And then I see why.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Shae screams, her wide eyes trained on the bright red splotches along my right side.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Fuck,” she says, reaching for me. I flinch away from her touch. I hadn’t even heard her crawl out of bed. My senses are somehow both heightened and dulled when I’m with her.

“Shae,” I groan. “Bella, go back to sleep. I will be there soon.”

“No,” she says but turns away.

I follow her back into the room.

Instead of climbing back into bed, she pulls her suitcase from the corner of the room and turns it on its side. It’s mostly empty, but she grabs a toiletry bag and turns to dump it onto the bed. She sifts through the contents until she finds the small square packet and stomps back to me.

“Take these,” she says, thrusting her arm in my direction.

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