Page 82 of Brutal Vows

Her eyelashes flutter, and after a moment, she peeks up at me before shifting her gaze to Moretti. There’s no fear in her expression, but there’s wariness—something cold and distant that wasn’t there before all of this.

Moretti is careful as he sits on the edge of the bed, his movements slow, measured. “How are you feeling, Gia?”

“Like I got run over by a truck,” she mumbles, attempting to push herself up. I’m already there, sliding an arm behind her back, helping her sit without putting too much strain on her ribs. She leans into me, sighing softly, and I press another kiss to her hair.

Moretti hums, opening his bag and pulling out a stethoscope. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”

She shakes her head. “Just sore. And my face feels like it’s the size of a watermelon.”

Moretti chuckles, though his eyes darken slightly as he peels back the blanket and begins his examination. He unwraps the bandages around her ribs first, his fingers gentle as he checks for swelling. I watch Gia closely, my jaw clenching every time she flinches.

“The bruising is worse, but that’s to be expected,” Moretti murmurs, re-wrapping her ribs with precise efficiency. “Try not to take deep breaths or twist too much. The rib isn’t fully broken, but it’s fractured. Too much strain and it could snap completely.”

Gia nods, but I can see the frustration in her eyes. She hates being weak. Hates feeling helpless.

Moretti moves on, checking the cut on her forehead, then the swelling along her cheek. “The swelling should start going down in the next day or two. I’ll leave more painkillers but only take them if absolutely necessary.” His gaze flicks to me then, sharp and knowing. “Make sure she eats before taking anything stronger.”

I nod, my fingers curling protectively around Gia’s hand.

Moretti finishes his examination and starts packing up his bag. “She’s healing well, all things considered. Rest is the best thing for her right now. No stress, no heavy lifting, andno getting out of bed for at least another day.” He shoots Gia a pointed look at the last part as if he already knows she’s going to push herself too soon.

She sighs, rolling her eyes but nodding. “Fine.”

Moretti stands, giving me a look. “She’ll need help for a while. Make sure she does small walks every few hours, just around the room. It will help prevent her from getting pneumonia”

“I know.” My voice is firm.I won’t let her out of my sight.

The doctor nods, satisfied, then turns back to Gia. “If you notice anything unusual, sharp pains, dizziness, fever, tell Vitali immediately. I’ll be on call if you need anything.”

Gia offers him a tired smile. “Thank you, Doc.”

He nods, then glances at me once more before heading for the door. “Take care of her, Vitali.”

I walk him out, locking the door behind him before returning to the bed. Gia is watching me, her expression unreadable.

“Come here,” she murmurs, lifting the blanket slightly.

I don’t hesitate. Sliding back into bed, I pull her against my chest, tucking her beneath my chin.

“I hate feeling like this,” she admits softly. “Weak.”

I tighten my hold on her, my fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns along her spine. “You’re not weak,amore mio.”

She exhales, pressing her face against my neck. “Just don’t leave.”

“Never,” I vow. “Not now. Not ever.”

She sighs, finally relaxing into me, and I hold her as she drifts back into sleep, knowing I’ll be here when she wakes up.

Forty-Two

The hallsof my childhood home feel smaller than I remember. The grand estate that once loomed over me as a boy now seems… diminished. The walls, once lined with expensive paintings and polished wood paneling, feel cold. Lifeless.

Dario walks beside me, silent, letting me process as we move through the corridors. He knows better than to interrupt. He’s been at my side for years—through war, through bloodshed, through the careful and calculated dismantling of every empire that dared stand against me.

But this place…thisis where it all began.

I drag my fingers along the banister as we climb the grand staircase. I remember gripping this railing as a child, my small hands barely able to wrap around the polished wood as my father guided me up each step.

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