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It was my own side that burned, a familiar discomfort. It wasn’t the first time I’d been grazed by a bullet.
She was covered in my blood. It must’ve soaked her shirt while she clung to me on the bike.
I grunted a curse and pressed a hand to my ribs, hissing out a pained breath at the contact. My palm was painted red when I lifted it for confirmation: I’d definitely been hit when I’d jumped in front of that bullet for her.
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, her pale cheeks going porcelain white as she stared at the blood on my hand. It wasn’t visible on my black shirt, and the tear from the graze must’ve been hidden by the folds of the soft fabric—it’d been rumpled in the fight.
“You’re hurt!” The sight of my blood clearly upset her.
“I’m fine, farfallina.” I tried to reassure her, but her delicate features pinched with something close to panic.
“We have to get you to a hospital.”
She grabbed my other hand, trying to tug me toward the door. I stood firm, not so much as swaying in her white-knuckled grip.
“You’re staying right here,” I admonished. “It’s not safe for you out there.”
She rounded on me, her lush lips pinched with determination. “Then I’ll stay at the safe house without you. You need to see a doctor right now.” Her chin lifted, and she seemed to grow a few inches taller as she tried to stare me down.
Despite the pain in my side, my lips curved. She was cute when she was being fierce, especially on my behalf. No one ever cared when I was hurt, not when the injury was so minor. My friends would’ve worried if I were bleeding out, but for this little graze, they’d tell me to sort myself out without complaint. They would do the same for themselves. We’d all learned how to patch ourselves up during the violent, thrilling years of our youth in Le Vele di Scampia, one of the poorest neighborhoods in Naples.
“I don’t need a doctor. I can handle this myself,” I told her, my voice sure and even. She was being brave, but I knew she was spooked from seeing the blood on me; she wouldn’t be accustomed to the aftermath of violence like I was.
I didn’t bother correcting her about the fact that we weren’t at a safe house. I’d figure out how to deal with that particular misconception soon. For now, I needed to stop the bleeding that was upsetting her so much.
Her eyes narrowed, still fierce and defiant. “If you won’t go to the hospital, at least call for a medic to come help you.”
I took a moment to consider her. Despite her firm demeanor, she was still shaken from her ordeal. Her cheeks were too pale, and her pupils were dilated with fear.
Fear for me?
My chest warmed at the prospect.
“All right, dolcezza,” I capitulated. She wouldn’t be soothed until I was cleaned up, so I’d do what was necessary to calm her.
Duarte had a private physician, and I was sure our host wouldn’t begrudge me seeking treatment. He might have questions about how I’d been injured, but that was a worry for later. All that mattered now was erasing the strain from Evelyn’s pinched features.
I retrieved my phone from my pocket and tapped out a quick text to Gian, explaining what I needed. His reply came within seconds.
On our way.
My gut tightened. Shit.
Of course, my friends would think I was gravely injured since I’d asked them to call a doctor to come tend to me in our suite. Now, I’d have to deal with the brothers’ questions, and I’d also have to navigate this situation with Evelyn. They wouldn’t be happy that I’d brought her here, and they’d be even more displeased that I’d failed to kill Crawford.
I’d made a fucking mess tonight, and I had no idea how to clean it up.
All I knew was that Evelyn wasn’t going anywhere. I wouldn’t let her out of my sight until Crawford was dead, the threat to her eliminated.
I took another moment to study her. The ruined t-shirt that swallowed her delicate frame must belong to Crawford, smothering her in his scent. It irritated me even more than the sight of blood on her pure body.
My stomach soured with something like jealousy. I barely recognized the emotion, and it made me edgy.
I grasped her dainty hand in mine and led her toward the bedroom where I’d been staying for the last few weeks. Her footsteps faltered on the carpet, but I didn’t slow to give her time to question me.
When we entered the massive bedroom, she sucked in a soft gasp and tried to dig in her heels. She tripped over those damned loose shoelaces.
I grasped her waist, steadying her before she could fall again, like she had on the concrete outside her apartment.
