Page 46 of Unhinged Little Angel

“Who told? Was it Luca?” he asks.

Biaggio chuckles. “Alessio. I can’t believe my own brother didn’t tell me though.” He gives Salvatore a pointed look.

Brother? Well, that explains the resemblance.

“Fucking Alessio,” Salvatore mutters.

The doctor switches from blinding me to gently prodding my neck.

“Why is it a big secret?”

“It’s not, it just all happened fast.” The caution in Sal’s voice creates a pool of guilt in my stomach.

He doesn’t want to tell them because then he’ll have to lie when we get divorced. I never bothered to think about himhaving to lie to his family about this whole thing. I don’t think it would have stopped me even if it had crossed my mind, but I wish there was a way I could protect him from the shame of it.

“No concussion as far as I can tell,” Biaggio says.

“See? I told you I’m fine. Thanks for coming, Doctor Biaggio, now if you wouldn’t mind leaving me with some kick-ass pain pills, that would be great.”

He chuckles again. “You can call me Gio. Here, something to take the edge off while I finish my exam.” He pulls a bottle of pills out of his bag and shakes two into his palm.

I snatch them out of his hand and swallow them dry.

The two of them continue to chat while he checks my shoulder, telling Salvatore I’ll need a sling. He orders one from the pharmacy down the street for express delivery while my head swims, knowing I’m going to have to uncover the burn soon.

“You’re not looking too bad, Dante. Rest that shoulder for a month, and nothing too strenuous for six months, and you should be fine.”

“Wait, does that mean I can’t dance?”

“Dance?” Gio repeats, glancing up at Sal.

“I think you can dance again in a few weeks. Just no fancy pole tricks until you’re a hundred percent,” Salvatore answers.

I bristle, waiting for Gio to have the same reaction Antonio did to learning I’m a stripper. But his placid, easy smile never slips, and I don’t notice any judgment in his eyes.

“Oh, and Salvatore mentioned a burn?” He sweeps his gaze over me and zeroes in on my hand, still clutched tightly over my forearm.

My heart races. I don’t have an explanation, not a good one anyway. And for some reason, I don’t feel like I can outright lie to Salvatore. But I can’t refuse to show them either without raising the same questions. I slowly unwrap my fingers one by one, wincing at the sting of the air against the fresh brand searedinto my flesh. The wordLiaris scalded into my forearm in raised pink burns that will eventually scar, leaving me marked for life with a complicated truth.

“What the fuck is that?” Salvatore growls, the rage in his voice raising goose bumps along the back of my neck.

I thought having him ask Antonio first was a test of his trust in me, but maybe this is the real test. I swallow hard, but Gio answers before I can.

“It looks like a brand. Your attacker clearly came prepared, this wasn’t a random mugging.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Did you get a look at him?” Salvatore asks.

“No,” I say again. “It all happened too fast. He’s got red hair, but that’s all I know.”

“Red hair?” Gio repeats, casting a meaningful look at Salvatore.

“The Fitzpatricks?” Salvatore guesses darkly.

I shake my head again. “I don’t know who that is, but this has to do with Don.”

They both go quiet, and to my surprise, they don’t ask any follow-up questions. Gio digs back into his magic medicine bag until he pulls out a tube of ointment and a bandage. He treats and wraps the burn, and by the time he’s done, I’m starting to feel the effects of the pills he gave me. Maybe my arms still hurts, it probably does, but I can’t feel it. I can’t even feel the couch under my ass.

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