Page 20 of Twisted Vows

“Just the basics, I guess,” I say.

Tristan asks if he can dig into his piece of cake. Aurora leans forward to look around me and nods after checking how much he already ate.

“Is this part of the complication?” Giorgio asks.

I nod.

With her eyes glued to the screen, Aurora says, “It’s the same person you asked for information on last night, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I respond.

She pauses and graces me with a glance.

“Is she…?”

“She’s somewhere safe,” I say.

Aurora swallows, gives me a quick once-over, then nods and returns her attention to the phone. Her trust both soothes my soul and increases my guilt. After a few minutes, she sighs and extends the phone toward me.

“There’s nothing suspicious on here, and the owner’s information matches what you sent last night. Is there something specific you’re worried about?”

I shake my head.

“Fiero.”

I stiffen. She’s never said my name in such a serious tone before.

“Thank you.”

Gobsmacked, I blink at her.

“I know you’re the only reason we can rest easy right now. Make sure you see Dr. Karl regularly until your wounds heal.Capisci?”

The order makes her concern easier to accept.

“Of course, boss lady,” I say.

A few minutes later, I exit the townhouse and take a bus back to Mia’s apartment. I pull an empty cloth grocery bag from my inner jacket pocket and retrieve the homemade meals from the fridge, carefully stacking them inside. The delicacies deserve my utmost respect even if the cook may be Mia’s lover.

After ensuring the apartment looks the same as it did the first time I entered, I take the subway, then detour a few blocks south before entering the side door of the building.

My heart pounds against my sternum as the elevator carries me closer to my destination. Just the thought of reuniting withmy feisty, curvy nurse quickens my pulse. I envision her spitting mad and flushed.

Which makes the gory sight before me when I open the door even more alarming.

“Mio Dio, what happened? Where are you hurt?”

She doesn’t respond.

I kick the door closed behind me, drop the bag on the floor, and rush across the room to the crimson-soaked bed.

With blood pooled under her head, caked in her hair, and smeared all over her arms, face, and shoulders, she lies on her side with her knees braced at an awkward angle, her wrists tweaked against the headboard, and her ankles stacked on top of one another, pulling her leg bindings tight against her skin. Her shoulder and hip bear her weight.

She rouses as I pull the loosened gag away from her face and run my hands over her, searching for wounds but finding none. Did she bite off her tongue? She’s crazy, but notthatcrazy. Right?

She gives a wet cough as I cup her face between my hands.

“I’m fine. It’s just a nosebleed,” she murmurs.

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