Page 87 of Wounded King
Now that opens a whole new can of worms. What do I say to them? Do I need a lawyer? I didn't do anything. Shit, I'm so over my head in this, I don't know what to do. What I do know, though, is that Marcello will.
The thought of him already soothes me, I can still feel his kiss on my lips, and every now and then, I touch them reverently, close my eyes, and let myself sink back into that moment. I was a fool to think I could just break things off like this. Not only because once you set foot into his world it's impossible to get out—yeah, I probably watched too many mafia movies with Pippa—but mainly because I don't think I can exorcise him from my heart or mind. The door to the basement is finally closed and locked. I am standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking around.
Marcello has become a permanent fixture in my head and heart—one I don't want to live without. The last couple of days without him were hell, and now I can admit that to myself. I wasn't living at all; I was surviving. But I don't even know if he wants me back. All I have is the kiss before he left and the hope that it was an indication of him going back to where we were before I made my decision to leave.
None of my self-realizations diminishes the guilt I feel for what this could mean for my family. It's still a big factor. I considered calling them and telling them to go back to the lake house, but a couple of things stopped me. One, Luciano had no problems figuring that out within hours, and two, Marcello said he would protect them, and I trust him.
The light from outside dims as the sun goes down, and some of the inside lights turn on automatically, sending an ambient illumination through the penthouse, while I watch the city that never sleeps.
It's a spectacular view from up here. I stare down at the millions of people going about their business. Cars driving down the streets, an unending flood of red lights going in one direction and white ones coming from another. It's amazing how life simply moves on, while so many people died today. How can I stand here and enjoy this view while others never will again? Even more amazing is my lack of empathy for the men who died. I'm actually glad they're dead. They were going to abduct or kill me, or worse. This vengefulness inside me is new, but it feels like it was inevitable, like it has been slumbering for years, just waiting for me to finally let it breathe.
I take a healthy sip from the whiskey, but even the burning doesn't ease the restlessness spreading through my stomach. I'm a nurse, I understand the aftershocks after a traumatic event, and I'm well aware that my body is still mentally and physically going through the motions. Probably will be for a while. I don't think I'll ever be able to go into a restaurant as unconcerned and as free as I did a few hours ago.
One more time, I wonder if I'm really willing to live a life like that—a life where I never know if I will return home after an outing.
That or a life without Marcello?
I tap my finger against the slowly emptying glass. I need to quit teeter-tottering and stand behind the decision I already made. To reiterate that, I ask myself again, what kind of life would I live without Marcello?
Boring is the first word that comes to mind. Sexless is the second, because just the thought of having sex with anyone else turns my stomach.
You're being an idiot, Pippa's voice sounds in my head.
Followed by a barrage of images of things I've seen in the ER. People shot, stabbed, beaten. That shit happens every day. No matter if you're with a mob boss or not.
I think of the man who was jogging in the park when a tree branch fell on his head. There was no wind, no reason why the branch broke. It just happened. Or the woman who had a rod sticking out of her forehead because the driver of the truck in front of her hit the brakes too hard and one of the metal pipes from his load came loose, making it through the windshield and into her brain.
How often have I seen food poisoning? Okay, so avoid McD's, but salmonella is regularly found in salads and meats. So, there's that too.
Really, I could die in many ways. Right now, the entire skyscraper could come crashing down around me.
My morbid thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Ready to throw myself at Marcello, I'm almost disappointed to see Alejandro walking in.
"Dear God, what happened to you?" I exclaim, nearly dropping my glass. His face is a mass of ugly scratches, his arms as well, the front of his shirt is shredded, and he's holding his jacket bundled up in his arms. The bundle is moving, too. A loud growl emanating from it makes the hairs on the back of my head stand up.
"Please tell me that's not Felix in there?"
He nearly throws the squirming bundle at me. Carefully, I unwrap my cat from the confines within. He's ready to do battle. His teeth are bared, his eyes huge, his ears back, he's hissing straight at me.
"Felix," I coo. He jumps at me, claws out, and digs them into my shoulders, holding on to me for dear life. His little heart is beating up a storm. "It's alright, buddy. It's okay, kitty. Mommy is here. Shh, sweetie, it's all good."
I throw a death glare at Alejandro. "Why didn't you put him into his carrier?"
"I did, but he broke out."
"Ah, my poor kitty. Did the mean man scare you? Poor baby." I drop kisses on top of his head. Ever so slowly, his little pounding heart slows down.
"You didn't tell me he was a tiger." Alejandro pouts. "I hope he's had his vaccines."
"He's an inside cat," I defend as a new kind of guilt rushes through me. I'm a nurse. I should know better. But besides his kitty shots, Felix hasn't been to the doctor in… forever. Because… because last time I tried to put him in the carrier, I looked similar to Alejandro. Contrary to him, I gave up, though.
"Thank you. I'm sorry." I say, meaning it.
"I'll live." He waves his hand.
"Let me take care of you." I try to soothe things over. "Let me check for the medicine cart." The last time I saw it was in Marcello's bedroom.
Carrying Felix, I go there first. "Get yourself a drink. God knows you deserve it," I call over my shoulder, aware that I'm already acting like the lady of the house.
