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“Okay, sure, this way.”
I nod to Tony; he knows the drill. He’ll hang out with the security team until I need him.
Tasha leads the way to the second floor, and I carry Gigi to the first guest bedroom. Carla is trailing behind, taking in the sumptuous, über-luxurious and ultramodern apartment. I lay Gigi down gently on her back, and Tasha removes her shoes. There are dark circles under Gigi’s eyes, and her thick hair is gathered in a knot that’s falling apart.
Carla stands in the door, looking teary-eyed at her sister.
“It was Franco Fiore. He was there Friday night, choosing his bride. One of us.” She swallows, her voice shaky. “Gigi convinced him to let me go. I didn’t know what happened until she came through the secret connecting tunnel in our rooms. She dug some sort of tracking device out of her arm. Vito helped her with a pair of tweezers.”
She convulses, and Tasha has her by the arm, rushing her to the bathroom.
I’m fuming as I reach for Gigi’s sweater and lift it up. “Fuck.”
The sound of retching comes from the adjacent bathroom, and I just shake my head. I hear the women talk, but I can’t take anything in, only staring blindly with building rage at Gigi’s abdomen.
Tasha walks back, and her gaze drops to where I’m holding the sweater up. She hisses in a breath.
A bruise the size of a fist has spread as if it’s opening its fingers underneath her breast. I lift the sweater higher, looking to see if there’s more, but can’t see much more than her bra.
“There could be internal bleeding,” I say.
“Yes.” Tasha indicates I should lift Gigi so she can take off her sweater.
As Tasha is helping Gigi’s arms out of the sleeves, the movement wakes her, and she blinks drowsily and confused, panic flitting through her eyes.
“Hey,” I say as I cup her cheek. “It’s okay. We’re just checking where it’s hurting, angel.”
She looks up at Tasha. “You’re here…and you look so well.”
“I am,” Tasha says with a soft smile. “Happily married to Matteo.”
“I was so worried that day.”
A look passes between the women. These two already have a bond nothing is going to break.
Gigi helps us peel her sweater off. I glance down her back before I ease her down to lie again. The bruising seems to be only on one side. “He punched me twice. And there’s this cut.” She shifts her arm where a make-shift bandage is dark red with caked-up blood.
“That doesn’t look good.” I meet Tasha’s gaze.
“I’ll clean the wound to see how serious it is,” Tasha says.
We’re holding our breaths as she rolls the bandage off and the facecloth pressed against Gigi’s arm falls away. There’s an inch-long cut in her upper arm, red, inflamed, and bruised.
“I’m okay, really, I am.” Gigi tries to reassure us, but I sense she’s brushing over it. “The pain meds are helping. It’s my side…my ribs. There’s nothing more serious than that and this little cut.”
Tasha shoots me a glance, and I can see she gets the same feeling. That’s not all of it. A toilet flushes, and a faucet runs. Carla comes to stand in the bathroom door, pale with an undertone of green.
“I’ll ask Rosalia to come look after you, Carla. She’s our housekeeper and lives next door,” Tasha says as she holds out her hand for the younger woman. “We have another spare room, and you can have a shower and rest there while we take care of Gigi. Come with me. I’ll also sort out the necessary to deal with her wound.”
Gigi looks at her sister and nods. “I’m good,cara. Everything is going to be fine. I’ll just be here. We’re safe now.”
“Okay,” Carla says, hovering. “I’m... Call when you need me?” She hesitantly takes Tasha’s hand.
“I will. Go get some rest. It’s been too crazy.” Gigi nods again, but she bites her lip as Tasha heads to the door with Carla in tow.
There’s something she isn’t telling me. Something she doesn’t want her sister to hear. Or see. My gut twists. It’s no secret what some crime rings do to their women. Whether wives or prostitutes or slaves. Tattoos, piercings, mutilations. Anything goes if you dig deep enough.
We say nothing until they’ve filed out of the room. Tasha closes the door, giving us privacy.
