SWNOVELS When He Takes: Chapter 8
Concussion. Split lip. Bruised ribs.
Someone used Nero as a human punching bag, but according to Doc, things could have been worse.
He cleans Nero up, stitches his wounds, and writes me a detailed list of care instructions. Then he shows me to a kitchen cabinet I hadn’t noticed that’s better stocked than a local pharmacy.
“This has everything Nero will possibly need,” Doc says, and I believe him. Who has this much medicine in their house?
Someone who needs it. Frequently.
Doc pats my shoulder. “He’s as strong as a bull, but call me if he gets worse.”
“What are the chances he’ll get worse?”
“Low. But he’ll be hurting when the painkillers wear off.”
“Sorry for ruining your evening.”
He smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m used to being on call at all times. If I’m lucky, I’ll make it back in time for my wife to give me a kiss at midnight.”
I spend all night by Nero’s side, pressing ice to various body parts. Worry buzzes beneath my skin every time he groans in his sleep or makes a low moan. Halfway through the night, I pass out on the bed beside him, and when I wake up in the morning a few hours later, he’s still out cold.
At five past seven, Nero’s phone starts buzzing on the nightstand.
My head is groggy as I reach over Nero and grab it.
The caller ID says it’s Alessio Ferraro.
I don’t know who that is, but just the last name of his new employer fills me with rage. Whatever they made Nero do yesterday resulted in him coming home in this state.
I pick up.
“You’re late,” a voice rasps on the other end of the line. “I told you we’re not taking the day off. There’s too much work to do.”
My hand tightens around the phone. “And you’re out of your mind if you think he’s coming into work today.”
There’s a long pause. “Who’s this?”
“Blake.”
“Blake who?”
“Blake Wo—De Luca.”
“And you’re his…”
I squeeze the phone in my hand. “I’m his wife.”
“Oh…shit.”
“Yeah, oh shit is right.” I get off the bed, too agitated to keep sitting. “Are you the one who did this to him last night?”
“It was a friendly match.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“We were boxing.”
“Are you fucked up in the head or something? You call what did this to him a friendly match?”
“He was fine when I dropped him off.” There’s a defensive note in the man’s voice.
“He collapsed as soon as he walked through the door, you asshole. What is wrong with you?”
There’s a pause. “I’m coming over.”
“No, I don’t need you—”
“I’ll be there in a half hour.”
The call ends.
Ugh! I resist the urge to hurl the cell phone across the room and simply drop it on the coffee table.
Fine. If Alessio Ferraro wants to get reamed by me in person, he can be my guest.
A half hour later, Alec calls, asking if I want to let one Mr. Ferraro up the elevator. Moments later, a man who claims to be him is standing in Nero’s living room.
Alessio Ferraro is a black ink stain against the cream-painted walls. I thought Nero had a lot of tattoos, but he’s got nothing on this guy. With the exception of his face, every inch of him is inked, down to his fingertips.
“Did you know your front door was open?” he asks. “You should keep that locked.”
I left it propped open after Doc left last night just in case things took a turn for the worse and he needed to come back before Nero woke up.
I point my index finger at Alessio. “You’ve got some fucking nerve. If your family wanted to kill Nero, why didn’t they just do it the first night he came back? You beat him to a pulp.”
He rubs the back of his hand against his cheek and shrugs. “He asked for it. He wouldn’t tap out.”
“What do you mean?”
“We were boxing against each other. I would have stopped if he’d tapped out.”
“Well, why didn’t he?”
“I don’t know.”
A hollow feeling appears in the pit of my stomach.
Did Nero want to get hurt? Why? And also, what the hell? Nero must have realized I’d be the one who’d take care of him when he came home looking like that.
Did he think I’d enjoy it? I’m not a sadist. No matter how angry I am about everything Nero did to me, I don’t want to see him in pain.
Maybe it’s the guilt catching up to him.
No, I’m not holding my breath for that.
I arch a brow at the man in front of me. “You couldn’t see how badly you were hurting him?”
Alessio shrugs again. “I do have a tendency to take things too far. Can I see him?”
“He’s in the bedroom.”
Nero’s shifted on the bed since I left him five minutes ago. There’s a bloodstain on the pillow from a cut in his brow that’s seeping through the bandage.
I go to sit down beside him and start to peel the bandage off, wanting to replace it. Outside, the early morning sun creeps in from between the drawn blinds. I’d kill for some coffee.
“I can call a doctor,” Alessio says.
“Someone already looked at him.”
“Who?”
“He introduced himself as Doc. He works for the Messeros.” The second I say it, I realize I should have kept my mouth shut. What if Nero’s not supposed to be in contact with Doc now that he’s a Ferraro man?
I glance at Alessio, trying to gauge his reaction, but his face is a blank mask. Only his eyes show small glimmers of emotion.
When they move back to me, they almost seem apologetic. “He’ll be alright?”
“Yes.” I secure a fresh bandage on the cut, and Nero shifts again. Groans. Cracks open his swollen eyes.
Relief flashes inside them when he focuses on me. “Blake,” he whispers.
He sounds terrible.
My emotions surge. It physically hurts to see him broken like this. All night, I tried to convince myself I’d worry this much about anyone who was hurt, but by the morning, I had to admit the truth, if only to myself.
I still feel something for him. In the aftermath of finding out about his lies, I thought every bit of love I had for this man had been expunged out of me, but no, it’s still there.
It might be twisted, darkened, and bruised, but it’s there.
God, I wish it wasn’t. It makes me terrified.
I brush the back of my hand over Nero’s cheek. “You’re an idiot.”
He gives me a half smile, wincing when it pulls on his split lip. “Nice to see you too.”
That smile vanishes the moment he sees Alessio standing at the foot of the bed.
Nero tries to sit up, emitting a pained groan. “What are you doing here? How the fuck did you get in?”
I place my hand on his shoulder. “Careful.”
“I was just telling your wife you should keep your door locked.”
Apprehension and unease flood Nero’s expression. “Fuck.” His gaze pings to me before moving back to Alessio. “Stay away from her.”
The tattooed man crosses his arms over his chest. “Didn’t know you were married.”
Nero blinks once, twice, as if convincing himself that this is real.
Alessio tilts his head. “You didn’t come in to work. I thought I’d give you a courtesy call before coming over to kill you, and Blake picked up and explained the situation.”
I’m sorry, what? Did he just say what I think he said? “Kill him? You wanted to kill him for being late?”
Alessio’s gray eyes shift to me. “He knows the deal. No second chances. I thought he didn’t show up because he couldn’t handle the work.”
He must be joking.
“I can handle the work just fine,” Nero growls. “Just let me get dressed and—”
I turn around so fast my hair whips against my cheek. “Absolutely not.”
“Blake—”
“No.” I get to my feet and walk right up to Alessio, who’s looking at me curiously. I’m so angry and tired that I don’t have the energy to hold my tongue. “I was up all night because of what you did to him. I’m not doing that again. You hear me? You’re out of your damn mind if you think he’s going anywhere today. He’s going to get some rest, and you’re going to leave us alone.”
Silence descends on the room, so thick you could bite into it.
I glance at Nero. His eyes are wide with shock.
Alessio sniffs and has the decency to look somewhat ashamed. “Fine. He can take today off.”
Damn right. I give him a curt nod.
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “By the way, why is there underwear all over your foyer?”
Oh crap. Blood rushes to my cheeks. I haven’t bothered cleaning up the lingerie I threw at Nero before I realized he was hurt. “Never you mind,” I mutter, refusing to meet Nero’s eye. “Are we done here?”
“Yeah, we’re done. I’ll show myself out.” With one final glance at Nero, Alessio disappears from the room.
A few seconds later, I hear the front door open and shut.
“Blake.”
“What?” I snap. I’m convinced both these men are clinically insane.
“That was… Wow. Thank you for taking care of me.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me before I turn to face him. “Did you let him beat you up on purpose?”
Guilt zaps through his gaze.
Suddenly, I’m overcome with the urge to strangle him. “You will never do anything like that again. Not while I’m here. Not while I’m the one who’s waiting for you at home.”
His skin turns ashen. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that I still have feelings for this man, because it only makes it more likely I’m going to get hurt again and again.
It’s more urgent than ever that I find a way out of this situation. I won’t end up like my mother, in love with someone who only brings her pain.
If anything, last night only confirmed that’s what I have waiting for me. Who wants to see their husband come home beaten and bruised? Who wants to worry if he’ll make it home at all?
Not me. This life is not for me.
And I can’t risk forgetting that.
Nero’s gaze stays fixed on me. “Maybe when my face looks better, I can make it up to you over dinner. I’ll take you to the best place in town.”
I give my head a hard shake. “This doesn’t change anything, Nero.”
His hopeful expression wavers. “Please. Just one dinner.”
For a maddening second, I consider saying yes, but instead, I force myself to recall the hurt and anger from last night. “Why did you get me that lingerie, Nero?”
His brows knit in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Did you think I’d wear it for you after you got me the books? Who do you take me for?”
His eyes widen with horror. “What lingerie?”
“The black box. It was filled with it. Did you think we’d just move on like nothing happened?”
His shoulders slump. “Blake, I just told whoever did the shopping to get you clothes. The lingerie… They assumed. You’re my wife, and they assumed.”
I search his face for any sign of deceit but find none.
So it wasn’t his doing.
“Fine. Good,” I grumble.
A few silent seconds pass. “Do you like the books?” he asks.
Of course I do. “How did you know which ones burned?” I clip out.
Sadness flickers over his expression. “Sandro took a photo of your shelves when we came over for Thanksgiving. He sent it to me a while ago.”
Sandro.
Some of my anger begins to melt, but I make myself cling to it. I can’t let myself weaken. “Thank you for the books, but I want to be clear. There won’t be any dinners, any dates. We’re roommates, nothing more. Married in name only, Nero.”
His gaze darkens with displeasure, but I don’t give a damn.
I won’t let him get close to me again.
If I do, I’m afraid he’ll wash away the line I just drew in the sand like a tidal wave.