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She swallowed then gave a small nod. I grabbed the edge of the shard with my fingers and curled my free hand around Kiara’s hip to steady her, pressing between her legs so she wouldn’t be able to jerk them closed. Her breathing hitched, but I didn’t give her time to worry. I wrenched the shard out in one sharp movement.
She cried out, jerking violently in my hold. She dipped forward and rested her forehead against my chest, panting, still trembling. I brushed my thumb over her side. “This was the worst,” I said. She didn’t react. “Kiara, you need to lean back so I can take a look at your wound now.”
Slowly, she straightened. Her face was pale and tears trailed down her cheeks. I dropped the shard in the sink and crouched down before Kiara to get a better look at the cut. It had started bleeding again because the shard was removed. As expected, it wasn’t very deep. I cleaned it carefully, ignoring Kiara’s flinching. I wasn’t sure if it was from pain or from fear because my fingers had to work close to where she felt most vulnerable. When I reached for the needle to stitch her up, she exhaled sharply.
I looked up at her. “Have you ever been stitched up?”
She shook her head.
It was going to be very uncomfortable for her. There really was no preventing it. The wound needed stitches, and I couldn’t take her to a hospital or call one of the Camorra’s doctors. The former because we didn’t involve outsiders and the latter because I didn’t trust these men to do a better job than I could. I considered her wound again. Five stitches would do and I’d be quick.
Kiara whimpered but otherwise didn’t make a sound when I worked the needle into her flesh. Her thigh muscles quaked under the needle, and I pressed my palm over them so the motion wouldn’t ruin my stitch work.
“Done,” I said eventually and straightened out before washing my hands. Then I took a new washcloth and wiped the excess blood off Kiara’s legs.
Kiara was still very quiet. I nudged her chin up so she had to meet my gaze. “What happened?”
Her eyes flitted away.
“You walked in on my brothers having sex.” Especially Remo. Kiara didn’t need to see him in action.
She exhaled.
“It brought back memories?”
“Yeah,” she murmured.
“I will have a talk with them to keep their activities to their parts of the house from now on,” I told her. Remo wouldn’t like that one fucking bit, nor would Savio, but Remo was the one I needed to convince.
“Where were you?” she asked in a soft voice.
I evaluated her expression, but her eyes were downcast and it was obvious she was trying to keep her face impassive. “We agreed that I seek pleasure elsewhere, Kiara. Or did you change your mind?” She didn’t appear like she’d be ready to submit to me in bed yet.
“No,” she said quietly, but I noticed the hesitation.
“But?”
“No but,” she said more firmly.
“Okay.” It was obvious something was still bothering her, but she wasn’t willing to share. I handed her two Tylenol, which she popped into her mouth. “Why don’t you go back to bed?”
I lifted her down from the counter and led her into the bedroom. She was still a bit unsteady on her legs. She climbed under the covers and lay down. “Won’t you join me?”
I paused. I’d intended to return to the whore I’d fucked before Savio had interrupted me, but something in Kiara’s eyes made me slip under the covers with her. The whore would eventually realize I wasn’t going to return. Maybe Savio or Remo had use for her. I couldn’t grasp Kiara’s reasons for wanting me to stay. She lay on her back but with her head tilted toward me. I shut off the lights.
“Can you tell me something about yourself I don’t know yet?” came her soft voice out of the dark.
“What do you know about me?”
There was silence for a moment. “I know your father was Capo before Remo took over. I know you and your brothers lived in England for a while but returned to the States to get your territory back after your father was killed by his Enforcer, Growl. I know you are a genius.”
Those were the basics. It was difficult to decide what kind of information to divulge at this point. “I speak five languages fluently. Russian, Italian, English, Spanish, and French.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “Russian and Spanish so you can better deal with the Bratva and the Cartel.”
“That’s true. It makes little sense to torture someone for information if you don’t understand what they’re saying. That negates the purpose.”
Kiara let out a small noise, but I couldn’t tell if it was a stifled laugh or a huff.
