Page 121 of The Devil's Deal

“Stop crying and get your hand fixed, dumbass. You want that shit spilling blood while you take care of Faro and that fucker Miles? You know he’s involved, right?”

I hate when he makes sense. But I highly doubt a bunch of stitches will hold my hand together with the brutal force I’ll enact on everyone who hurt my girl.

He unlocks the door. “Honey, I’m home.”

“I’m not your damn honey,” says a feisty black-haired woman, who resembles Chiara.

They might as well be sisters, especially with those attitudes. Her face curls with a grimace as Dante grins, draping an arm around her shoulders from the side.

“Are you sure about that? Because you taste so sweet, especially when—ouch!” he chuckles as her elbow lands square into his ribs.

She steels her glare, huffing in response.

“My wife has a mean streak,” Dante adds without taking his eyes off her. “And I like it.”

The humor is gone, and from the way he looks at her, I feel like I’m interfering.

“I told you not to call me that,” she whispers, her eyes glued to his.

“But youaremy wife, whether you like it or not, until the papers say otherwise. And I don’t remember agreeing to your demand anyway…” He leans into her ear, but I can hear every damn word. “...while I had my tongue deep inside that pretty pussy.”

Her cheeks flush as her eyes land to mine, clearly embarrassed, but unable to handle my brother’s charm.

“Sorry to cut this short,” I say. “But can she fix this shit so I can go?”

She finally sees my hand, slipping out of Dante’s arm.

“Oh, that’s my older brother,” Dante explains. “He’s a dumbass who cut his hand and won’t go to the doctor.”

“What happened?” she asks, her brows pinching tight. The concerned doctor mode is clearly on as she picks up my hand, removing the towel to examine the cut.

“Had too much fun with a piece of glass,” I grumble, hating being taken care of.

I’m not used to it. I’ve been alone for so long, taking care of my brothers, that this type of shit irritates the fuck out of me.

She scoffs. “Remind me not to engage in your version of fun.”

“Last time I checked…” Dante cuts in. “You like a little pain with a little pleasure.”

“Shut up, Dante,” she and I say in unison.

He chuckles, arms raised in defeat. Unlike me with Chiara, he had no reason to lie to her about his name. She doesn’t know who the hell he is.

She turns to him. “I need all my supplies and a room to work in.” Her tone’s professionally demanding.

“Yes, ma’am.” He salutes her. “The kitchen has good lighting.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

We move there, and Dante brings a black leather bag from upstairs.

She gets right to work, taking out all kinds of crap from inside it, opening a bottle of saline.

“This might hurt,” she warns before pouring it over my wound above the sink basin.

“It’s fine. Do what you have to do as fast as you can.”

“In a hurry?” She peers up in between cleaning the cut.

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