Page 110 of Broken

So myopic.

Foolish, really.

I remember little else, save for our shouting match being disrupted when Andrea appeared out of nowhere—like her wings had carried her.

I sliced Corelli’s throat at her urging, then took a knife to the abdomen once the bastard lay sputtering on the ground.

My brow puckers at the memory of her screaming, of her drawing interest our way, and then I remember nothing.

With the blood loss from the evening before and then her stabbing me, it’s no wonder I lost consciousness.

Even now, though I’m awake, I feel half asleep.

Why did she do that? Why would she?—

Her eyes pop open like she knew I stirred, and the love in them takes me aback. It’s hard to think, hard to even speak as I realize I’m pain-free for a reason, but I distinctly remember those eyes on me as she stabbed me.

“You’re on a lot of codeine,” she whispers. “For your… stomach. But your back too.”

My tongue feels thick, like a sponge in my mouth, and she shuffles in her seat before getting to her feet and drifting over to a nightstand.

The hospital room is plain, and by decor alone, I know I’m in a regular one, not a convent or a clinic that’s attached to the Church. It’s not painted white with an uncomfortable bed, nor is there a crucifix gracing any of the walls—clue enough.

She pours me something that makes a clacking sound, and I tilt my head to see ice tumbling into a plastic cup.

When she places an ice chip in my mouth, the relief is instant. But the second the liquid soothes parched tissues, the second I can speak, the pain of betrayal far outweighs the pain in my body. “Why?”

Andrea isn’t stupid. Crazy, but not stupid. She knows what I mean.

“To protect you.” She presses another piece of ice to my mouth like it’s a pacifier. “All I do is for you.” Her smile is a delight to behold, but it’s hurtful too. “That should be a song. Wait, wasn’t that a Bryan Adams song? Everything I—” Her attention drifts. “No, that’s ‘All For Love.’” Her smile turns rueful. “Same difference, I suppose.” Then she lifts her hand, presses a finger to her lips, and like that, a knock sounds at the door.

How the fuck did she do that?

I flinch, but when she pulls it open, I see twocarabinieristanding there.

“Ma’am, you’re still here?”

The policeman’s surprise is clear.

“He was attacked. To wake up alone would be cruel,” she replies with a shrug.

“You speak good Italian,” the other praises, and I can see from the glint in his eye that he’s attracted to her.

I can’t blame him.

She’s…glorious.

With her ruffled hair that she hasn’t even bothered to gel, her fae-like features, and a body made for sin, why wouldn’t any red-blooded man fall for her?

Jealousy entwines with anger as she becomes coy in front of my very eyes. Tilting her chin to the side in a way that reminds me of the stupid games men and women play, she preens as her voice turns husky. “Thank you. I’ve been studying a long time for this trip.”

“I’m just sorry you had to witness this on your first visit to Rome.” The cop shakes his head, and I don’t know why I look, but I see his hand has a faint marking from where a wedding band once laid.

Recently.

Great, more competition.

I almost huff at the thought.

---