Page 99 of Deadly Wrath

“Mind if I take a peek at your incision?” he asks.

“Sure.”

Randy pulls on a pair of gloves and gently lifts my gown, leaving the blanket covering my lower half. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to see what Ezra did to me, so I turn my head to the left and lock eyes with Alessio.

He’s awake, silently watching.

Shit.Did we wake him? Did he hear us?

His eyes look heavy with dark circles around them, but he doesn’t speak or move; he watches. His eyes go from me to Randy, following every movement hemakes like a fucking hawk.

I wince when Randy pulls back the tape holding the gauze in place. Alessio stands so fast, the chair legs scrape against the floor, making the poor nurse damn near crap his pants.

“I’m sorry if this hurts,” Randy says, looking like he’s about to meet his maker with the way Alessio is hovering over him, radiating pure rage.

“It’s okay,” I reassure him quickly, holding up my hand to stop Alessio from losing his shit.Not like that would do much.

“Be fucking careful,” Alessio growls, then his fingers lace through mine. Using his foot, he hooks the chair leg and drags it closer to the bed, sitting beside me.

His thumb pads softly up and down the back of my hand, like he’s trying to soothe me without actually saying anything. It’s such a small thing, but my chest squeezes, and my eyes burn. I blink fast, forcing the tears down. No way in hell am I crying over a stupid handhold.

For a moment, just seeing him eases the pain. But then his words come rushing back, hitting me hard, and dragging me under all over again. Worse than the first time. My chest squeezes again, and before I can stop myself, I yank my hand free from his.

“Stop being nice. It hurts more when you throw me away,” I murmur, barely above a whisper, but I know Randy hears it. He doesn’t say a word and keeps peeling back the gauze and tape, pretending he isn’t witnessing our mess.

“The incision looks good. You’ll be sore for a while, but every day will get better. What about you?” Randy asks, shifting his attention to Alessio, while dressing my cut. “Can I check your wound?”

“What wound?” I ask, but the second the words leave my mouth, it all replays in my head. Alessio took a knife for me. He got stabbed for me. My family hurt him. And it’s my fault.

Guilt and confusion flood my mind. He pushed me away and made it clear where we stood. Now, this? I don’t get it.

“I said I’m fine. Focus on her,” Alessio says coldly, reaching back for my hand like that’ll end the conversation.

“Come on, tough guy, you can stand there. It won’t hurt. Not any more than being stitched up while standing,” Randy jokes, clearly trying to lighten the mood, but Alessio doesn’t so much as smirk.

“Stitched standing up?” I repeat, and Randy, being the little gossip he is, launches into a full rundown of howAlessio got patched up while hovering over me like my personal bodyguard.

I swallow hard, my throat tightens, and my stomach twists in a way that has nothing to do with the knife wound. I squeeze Alessio’s hand, giving him a small tug. “Please let him check it.”

His jaw tics, and for a second, I think he’s going to argue. But after a long beat, he sighs. “Fine. But I want something in return.”

“Anything,” I say automatically, not even considering what the hell he could ask.

Alessio stands, and Randy lifts his scrubs. He barely glances at the wound and redresses it. Then he scurries out like he knows his life expectancy shortens the longer he’s in this room.

“Liv,” Alessio breathes, slouching back in his chair, still holding my hand. “I’m glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?” He sounds concerned, but I can’t focus on that. I can’t concentrate on anything except how completely upside down everything feels.

“I-I’m fine,” I manage, though I’m anything but. I try to sit up, but a sharp pain shootsthrough my side, and I still.

Alessio runs a hand through his hair, looking wrecked. “You took quite a hit. I was worried you wouldn’t wake up.”

I stare at him, searching for something real in his expression, trying to figure out if this is the same man who shoved me away like I was nothing. “What about Ezra?”

His face hardens instantly, and just like that, the Alessio I recognize, the one who’s all rage and control, is there. “He won’t touch you again. That, I fucking promise. Good thing I didn’t shoot Alonzo’s right hand; he took Ezra out in one shot.”

Ezra’s gone. Whether it was Alessio who pulled the trigger or the asshole who hates me, it doesn’t really matter. I should feel relieved. Safe. But all I feel is this gnawing ache in my chest, like something inside me cracked open, and now I don’t know how to close it.

I shift again, trying to sit up, but pain rips through my side like a red-hot blade, and before I can get my bearings, Alessio’s hand is pressing against my shoulder, keeping me from moving.

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