Page 32 of Lie to Me

They give me a wide berth as I storm past them and into the room, the door softly clicking shut behind me as I stand and glare at the man laid up in the bed.

Marco curses under his breath as he spots me enter the room.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, getting shot? How bad is it?” I ask as I run my eyes over him. He looks okay. Tired, but okay.

“I’m fine. Took a shot to my shoulder. We normally wouldn’t come to the hospital, but I passed out, so my brothers brought me here because it was closer. I’m getting ready to discharge myself because I’m not staying here all night,” he grunts.

“You’re leaving against medical advice?” I ask with a raised brow, and he nods slowly.

“That’s not fucking happening.”

His brows rise at my tone, but luckily, he chooses to remain silent.

“You’re not leaving. And I’m having Skye swap with me so I can make sure you stay.”

His lips twitch after a moment of me glaring at him.

“I missed your stubbornness,” he says with a smirk. I roll my eyes before settling in the chair next to his bed and picking up his chart, my eyes frantically running over the words written on the page, making sure I know everything about his condition.

“You were worried about me?”

Fuck.

He’s right. I was worried.

I shouldn’t care what happens to him, but I do.

As soon as I heard the confirmation that it was him that was shot, nothing and no one could have stopped me from getting to him.

Goddammit.

“Shut up and go to sleep,” I mutter.

Izzy

Not gonna lie, girl. You shoving my husband against a wall was the highlight of my week. Luca has been thoroughly chastised and ‘sends his apologies’ *eye roll emoji*

Three days after I received that text from Izzy, a bouquet of lilies arrived while I was on shift from Luca. I think it’s fair to say that Izzy tore him a new one after the way he treated me. The flowers left me chuckling since I always built Luca up in my head to be this cold-hearted asshole of a guy.

Marco discharged himself from the hospital after I finished my shift. He’s texted me a couple of times a day to check in with me and make sure I haven’t received any more notes or felt anything off while keeping me updated with his healing process. I didn’t ask, but I’m glad he has. I think he knew I would want to know, but that I also didn’t want to voice it.

It’s been three weeks since that night at the hospital, and I’m slowly coming around to the idea of talking things out and letting him tell me whatever it is he seems to think I need to know, but I’m not quite there yet. I will be soon. I think. Maybe.

What Marco doesn’t know is that I’ve received a note every day this week, all the same repeating message. Except this time, the notes were left on my dining room table, so this asshole has been breaking into my goddamn home. After Izzy broke into my apartment, I had cameras placed throughout, but they must be hacking into them somehow because the footage keeps being erased. Which is why four days ago, I placed a sensor above the door that can’t be accessed remotely, which told me they’ve been coming in around 6:00 p.m. every day since. Since I usually work until 8:00 p.m., I’ve never been home when they’ve broken in.

That changes today. I managed to clear it with my supervisor for me to leave work early, telling her I had an appointment I couldn’t miss. I’m waiting on the roof for the device that links to the sensor to go off so I can head down to my apartment and see who the fuck has been messing with me these last few weeks.

The device vibrates in my hand, indicating the door is being opened, and I rush down the stairs, stopping short at the door that leads to the hall outside my apartment. I take a deep breath before peering through the window, finding the hall empty.

I make my way to my apartment, noting the door has been left open a crack. I don’t know how long they usually sick around for. They could be going through my things or they could just be dropping the note off and leaving every day, which is why I’ve gotta be quick about things. I don’t particularly want to bring the fight out here since my neighbors will no doubt call the cops, and cops donotlike the O’Brien family.

I silently push the door open, peering through the opening. When I don’t see anyone, I step inside and lock the door behind me.

Stupid to lock myself in an apartment with a stranger who keeps breaking in and leaving me thinly veiled threats?

Probably.

Do I do it anyways without letting anyone know what I’m doing, even though there could probably be a small army here in minutes?

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