AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Vespa hated the growing warmth inside her; it reeked of desperation. “For fuck’s sake, how? This place is vertical. No way you can sneak in.”
Then she listened to his crazy plan. She had to admit that, while over the top, it was better than walking in and trying to avoid a bullet to the face.
If Antonio really had sent them the Di Salvos’ pet assassin, Vespa was going to owe him big time later.
Chapter 17
Antonio leaned against the wall in the hallway of the Coronella estate and pretended that he didn’t notice the soldiers eyeing him. Their doubts were fair. He’d never been to the estate before.
His hands fiddled with the vape pen tucked into his inner jacket pocket, and he considered stepping outside, but that would give Vespa a chance to duck him. He wanted to see for himself that she was okay. Luka’s report had been sparse.
The door to the closest bedroom cracked open. He saw her back and the strap of the sling she was wearing. Another fucking sling. It was her dominant hand again, though she was accurate with either. Still, she couldn’t catch a break.
Vespa stared into the room for a long moment before turning. She seemed to smile at him without thinking, and the resulting movement made her wince.
Her cut and swollen lip and her injured arm were accompanied by a face was mottled with bruises.
It made Antonio fucking furious. For Vespa to have been injured so badly, the Coronellas had to have been more than outnumbered. He breathed through his need to make someone pay as his eyes traced over her deeply scraped chin and swollen jaw to the dark bruise covering her already scarred cheekbone. She even sported a dark circle around one eye.
Vespa frowned at him, or tried to, but she winced again. “What are you doing here?” she hissed as she closed the door.
“The Coronellas were spread thin. Montrell asked the Di Salvos for some additional muscle,” Antonio lied. Montrell had accepted, not asked, and Antonio had yet to tell Giovanni about it, though he knew his brother would agree.
Vespa crossed to him. Her good hand reached out, gripping the edge of his suit jacket where it parted. “I wish I could say we had it handled, but I’ll say thanks instead.” She stared into his eyes, looking so damned tired.
Antonio wanted to enfold her in his arms, but he knew she wouldn’t want it. No, Vespa preferred to stand on her own two feet. “You should rest. Where’s your room?”
She tried to lift her other hand and hissed as the sling shifted.
“Careful,” he murmured, his hand moving to hover over it.
Her eyes shut, and her body held an almost imperceptible sway. “I don’t have the energy to fight with you,” she said, forcing her eyes open again and turning away.
Antonio trailed her to her bedroom, which was down another hall, his worry growing when she didn’t protest him entering the room behind her.
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it was about as unlived in as the hotel room they’d shared. Actually, it was barer than that. There were no pictures on the walls, no items scattered on top of the dresser. The bed was made, as if no one had lain on it recently. A black comforter covered it, pulled tight so no wrinkles broke up the color. At least the black was like her.
“Just so you know, I’m in no shape to entertain you,” Vespa muttered, moving to the side of the bed and fiddling with the strap of her sling.
“Are you supposed to take that off?” he asked.
“Don’t try to tell me what to do. The shoulder was dislocated, that’s all.” But she winced as she twisted it. “And I can’t sleep in these wrecked clothes.”
“Let me help you,” Antonio offered, drawing closer to her.
She snorted, her uninjured hand moving to her head as if the sound made it ache. “Why am I not surprised you want to strip me?”
Sex was the farthest thing from his mind, especially when more bruises were revealed as he helped her disrobe. Her back and shoulder were discolored, her side was tender, and even her chest had bruises.
“Do you have medication to take?” he asked.
Vespa made a face. “I don’t want to take any of that shit. They drugged us.” She shuddered under his hand as he helped her into bed. “Not sure with what. It’s a good thing that shit has never worked well on me. High metabolism.” Her bun bumped into the pillow, and her bad hand tried to lift toward it.
“Let me,” Antonio said, taking the band carefully out of her hair. His hands slid through the strands, and her eyes closed. She turned her head sideways to give him more access. He stretched out beside her, stroking through her hair.
“Feels good,” she mumbled. “Don’t deserve it.”
With her eyes closed, he felt safe scowling at her. “What do you mean?”
