Page 121 of King of the Cage

Giada stood there, gripping an IV stand. She leaned in the doorway, clearly exhausted but determined. My heart beat strangely as my eyes met hers. I searched for some spark of recognition. Anything at all.

“I think I should get to decide what I want to do with my life, don’t you?” Her voice was firm. She looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow. “If you’ve got a problem with that, Irish, you know where the door is.”

Giada O’Connor was gone.

Giada Santori was back.

34

GIADA

When I woke up, it felt like I’d been asleep for a long, long time. I woke to the sound of hushed voices and an annoying electronic beep.

A woman’s face hovered above me, concern etched in her eyes, but not on her forehead, thanks to the whole vial of Botox that looked to be in there.

“Giada? Thank goodness you’re waking up. You’re in the hospital. Is there anyone you want to call?”

I had no idea who she was, or why she thought I’d be comfortable being taken someplace I didn’t know, but I should definitely call someone. My head pounded, and my body was full of aches. I felt like I’d been hit by a bus.

“My brother, Elio, please. And Sol… my friend.”

“Do you recognize me?” the woman asked curiously, taking out her phone to make the calls. Did she have Elio’s number?

“No. Do we know each other?” I asked.

She stared at me, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

Then she raised the phone to her ear and spoke to Elio.

A few hours later,my brother and Sol had shown up, alongside an extremely large and angry Irishman who stared at me every chance he got.

We sat around a table in a nearby conference room. Sol held my hand, and I gripped onto hers tightly like it was a life preserver in a turbulent sea.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that I’ve forgotten the last few months of my life?” The words sounded totally unrealistic.

“That’s what it seems like, from the fact that you don’t know Charlie, or that Ren met her and got married.”

I snorted. “You’re fucking with me. Renato got married?”

“He wasn’t the only one, selkie. You got married, too,” that deep, Irish-tinged voice ground out. The owner of the voice was staring at me from the head of the table. His green eyes hadn’t budged since we’d sat down.

I laughed. “Oh, right? To who?”

“To me, wee one.”

I was impressed that he managed to say the lie with such a straight face.

I chuckled. “Now I know you’re lying, because I’m never getting married. I’m not the marrying type. I’d never marry you.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” Elio muttered darkly.

He glared at the Irishman with hate. Of course he did. If my family trivia was accurate, this was the renowned Brandon O’Connor. The Lost Boy of Hell’s Kitchen. Cage fighter, Irish mobster, and troublemaker. Elio had been irritated by his very existence for months. And tensions had been rising along the area of the Hudson that ran between New Jersey and Hell’s Kitchen.

I’d never met the man in person, only heard of his exploits, but he was easy to place. His reputation fitted him well. Tall and built like an ancient warrior. His presence seemed to fill up the room. Between him and my brother, if felt like one wrong word might set the air on fire.

Elio gave Bran a tense look. “The doctor told us not to fill in the blanks more than necessary. It could upset her.”

Bran chuckled, but there was no warmth to it. “You think telling her she’s married and madly in love isn’t a necessary detail to fill her in on?”

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