Page 9 of Wounded King
I rise, giving her time to pull me back if she still needs my comfort. She seems strong enough. I grab a few tissues from a box and hand them to her. Daintily, she wipes at her eyes, and that's when I see it. Them. Bruises. Painstakingly covered up by artfully applied makeup, now visible thanks to the deluge of tears.
I narrow my eyes, "Who did this to you?"
Alarm spreads over her face, and her head lowers. "It's nothing. Nobody hurt me. I fell off a horse." She rises from the chair.
Luciano rises too, takes her chin into his hand, and forces her to look up at him. "Marcello won't be happy seeing this."
"It's nothing, really," she tries to laugh, but it's raspy and fake. "Like I said, I just fell off a horse."
"If that's the case, you should be checked out. I can?—"
She interrupts me with real panic in her eyes now, "That's not necessary. I'm fine."
"Sophia?" A man calls, entering.
I'm starting to feel like I'm part of a really, really bad mafia soap opera. The man who enters is just as tall as Luciano. His hair is blonde, and his face looks like one of those movie star faces. Handsome as hell. But there is a mean streak around his sneer-curled lips, and his eyes are cold. They betray his boyish good looks, making him appear more like a predator.
"Roberto," Sophia says, pressing the tissue against her face. "My husband, Roberto Giordano," she explains.
"I told you to wait for me." Roberto steps over to her, grabbing her elbow. "You shouldn't be here alone." Alarmed, I watch his large hand on her fragile body. She looks like a swan caught by a lion.
"I didn't want to distract you. You're so busy." Her voice is low and tiny. Subservient.
I've seen domestic abuse victims often enough to recognize when I see one. Anger flares inside me against this man. I can't stand people who beat on someone weaker. Unfortunately, I've dealt with enough of them to know that there is nothing I can say or do right now. Roberto leads her out of the room, and she throws one more despondent look at her brother before they're gone.
I stare at Luciano, "Do you think…" I don't elaborate.
His face turns dark, and he balls his fist. He nods, "Marcello will put an end to it."
"He will?" I can't help but ask.
"You bet your ass he will," Luciano nods, watching me when I walk to Marcello's bed to pick up the jewelry that's still lying there. I hold it out to him.
"Will you see to it that she gets this back?"
He takes the pieces and nods.
The next morning, I feel a little bit better. Mom called me last night. She got the whole family to go to the lake house with her. It's easy for Lee, Sebastian, and Elaine. They can all work/study from their laptops. Mom had to call in sick, but since she never does, she's not going to lose her job over it.
At least I don't have to worry about them. Me? If I'm being honest, yes, I'm scared. This is a whole new experience for me. But I don't want any other nurse to go through what my family and I are going through. They might not have the resources to leave town. It sounds heroic, but it really isn't. That's just me justifying my behavior to myself. I'm acting like the movie heroine who is about to walk down the basement stairs without turning the lights on. So why am I tempted to go down the stairs?
The honest answer is that I've never met a man who intrigues me as much as my new patient does, even unconscious. It's more than a Florence Nightingale calling to help people. Something about him draws me in and makes me want to see this through until he is released.
As I enter my patient's room, Luciano gets up from the chair he has been sitting in, and from the looks of it, spent the night in, holding out a cup of coffee to me. The label says it's from the shop downstairs, made just the way I like it, with five packets of sugar and an equal amount of vanilla creamer. The fine hairs at the back of my neck stand up. This man not only knows where my family lives and what they're doing for a living, but he also went down to the coffee shop and found out my favorite coffee. And God knows what else.
"Got you something."
Instead of fear, though, anger rushes through me. He sure has nerve. Yesterday he threatened my family, and today he's trying to bribe me with coffee? I cross my arms over my chest. "You threatened my family, Luciano. Coffee is not going to make up for this."
"I heard Lake Hiawatha is especially beautiful this time of the year." He says, with a grin, still holding out the damn coffee to me.
My heart nearly stops. How in the world does he know about that place?
"Please don't hurt them," I plead.
"Not as long as you do your job right, sweetheart." He winks. He would be handsome in a roguish way if his eyes weren't as cold as a shark. He shakes the coffee, and I take it with trembling hands. Unwilling to bait him.
"How did we do last night?" I ask, trying hard to sound chipper, and to ignore the fear and anger he inspires in me.
