Page 81 of Dangerous Vows

No. It’s not.

I turn back to Amara and watch the way she looks at me, like she’s waiting for me to blame her. To hate her.

She doesn’t understand.

She’smine.

Because this war isn’t just about me anymore.

It’s about her.

About our baby.

And I’ll burn this whole fucking city down before I let anyone take them from me again.

An hourlater the colossal house feels too small. I’d have a worn trench under my feet if I were walking on dirt. My calves ache, they’re protesting the number of times I’ve paced the hard flooring.

Amara is on the bed, wrapped in silence and blankets. Her bruised face is half-buried in the pillow. Her breathing is still shallow. I hear every breath she takes, and each inhale is a reminder of how badly she was hit. My stomach twists as rage simmers beneath my chest. I need an outlet for my rage. I clench and unclench my fists, eager to hit something, someone, just to release my anger and frustration.

How did I miss this?

The blindfolded doctor arrives. One of Matteo’s men leads him in, and the old man grumbles under his breath.

“That was unnecessary,” he mutters.

"No offense, Doc," I say, arms crossed, watching his every move. "It’s not you we don’t trust. It’s anyone within six degrees of you."

He huffs but doesn’t argue.

The blindfold is removed, and he blinks, adjusting to the dim light.His gaze sweeps the room, and I lead him into the bedroom where his gaze settles on Amara.

“Jesus.” He exhales through his nose before approaching her and kneeling beside the bed. “What the hell happened?” he asks no one in particular.

“Her father.” The words taste like poison.

The doctor doesn’t press for more details; he just nods. His hands move with precision, gently pressing against her ribs, feeling for breaks.

She flinches, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Sorry, dear,” he murmurs. “I need to see how bad it is.”

She barely makes a sound, but I see it—the way her body tenses, and the way she grips the blanket like she’s holding on for dear life.

“She needs an X-ray,” the doctor says after a few minutes, his voice grim. "I can’t tell if they’re cracked or broken just by feeling. But either way, she’s in rough shape. She needs to be careful—no sudden movements, no lifting, nothing strenuous."

My jaw clenches.

“She’s pregnant, no x-rays unless it’s necessary,” I say.

“I’ll wrap them," I say. "We’ll figure out the rest later."

He nods, pulling a roll of bandages from his bag. He works quickly, securing her ribs and taking a painstaking effort to make his movements as gentle as possible.

“She’ll need painkillers,” he says, glancing at me. "I have some here, but only give them to her as needed. If the pain gets worse, call me immediately. They are safe for someone in her condition.”

I take the bottle he offers, rolling it in my palm.

“She’ll be okay?” I ask, the words low, almost hesitant.

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