Page 20 of The Cost of Silence

“Oh.”

“Anything you prefer?”

I shake my head, not feeling very hungry but knowing if I don’t eat, the pain pills will upset my stomach. “Anything is fine.”

A nod and then he disappears down the corridor, leaving me standing beneath the amber lights, ice pressed to my cheek, ribs aching, skin buzzing with the memory of his hands and his presence…

And a quiet, unsettling truth I can’t ignore: I don’t know what scares me more—that someone tried to kill me tonight…Or that the man I exposed to the world feels like the only solid thing left holding me upright.

7.Nico

The penthouse settlesinto the quiet I’m used to. Usually when I’m here, it’s because I want silence. Crave it. Earn it. But tonight, the silence has a weight to it I don’t like. It drags behind me like a shadow that doesn’t belong, thick and unwanted and strangely alive. A reminder of everything I didn’t prevent, every bruise on her skin I didn’t stop in time. Isabella isn’t mine, so why do I feel responsible for her getting hurt?

She’s standing in the hallway, looking small in her tatty, oversized sweater and leggings, one hand pressed lightly to her ribs. Her cheek is already blooming with color, red washing into purple. It makes my jaw tighten with rage until my teeth grind.

She should be resting. She should be lying down. She shouldnotlook like something someone tried to break.

“Sit,” I tell her, pointing to the stool at the kitchen island.

Her brows lift. “You’re very bossy.”

“You’re very injured,” I counter, pulling the stool out for her. “Sit.”

She opens her mouth, probably to argue, because I’m learning that arguing is as natural to her as breathing, but then she exhales, surrendering, and lowers herself carefully. I find myself hating that exhausted compliance. Her fingers grip themarble edge and there’s a split second where pain flickers over her eyes before she masks it.

I don’t like that flicker. Everything in me wants to go to the warehouse and pound the piece of shit that put that pain on her face, until he’s nothing more than bloody flesh. To cut off the hand that touched her and feed it to him.

Instead, I cross to my kitchen island and heat up the food I had Rossi bring earlier, plating it without any finesse. My hands are steady, but my mind isn’t. Every time I imagine the purple blooming along her ribs, something inside me coils tight and sharp.

She watches me with an expression I can’t quite decipher, somewhere between suspicion and exhaustion. She’s right to be wary of me. I’m not a good man but I’d never hurt her. At least not like that.

Placing the food in front of her, I catch the faint floral fragrance of her perfume, and it makes my dick twitch with interest. It’s been too long since I got laid. It’s where I should be now, inside a hot pussy. Instead, I’m here, taking care of my enemy.

“Eat.”

“This is unnecessary,” she murmurs. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” I set the plate in front of her. “Eat.”

She hesitates again, overthinking, weighing, assessing, but picks up the fork and takes a slow, careful bite. Her shoulders loosen a fraction. Just a fraction, but it’s enough to make something in me unclench with it.

“You’re hovering,” she says after a moment, gesturing faintly to where I’m leaning on the counter with my arms crossed.

“Making sure you don’t pass out face-first into the risotto.”

Her lips twitch. “You’re such a charmer.”

“Eat,” I repeat. The almost-smile shouldn’t hit me where it does, low and unwelcome, but there it is anyway.

She’s quiet after that as she eats, small movements, measured breaths, each one reminding me where she hurts. And I stand there far longer than is necessary, telling myself it’s because I’m monitoring her condition.

Not because watching her steady herself, even by inches, calms something in me.

When she finally pushes the plate away with a soft sigh, I nod toward the hallway. “You can use the guest room where the doc checked you over,” I say. “Bed’s made. Bathroom’s stocked.”

She rises gingerly, pressing a hand to her side. The motion is so small, so human, that my body moves forward instinctively before I force myself to stop. I can’t keep trying to catch her every time she sways. “Do you ever speak in full sentences, or is clipped caveman your only way of communicating?”

I rub my lip to hide the smile as I turn away from her and load the plate into the dishwasher. She’s recovering her spark, which means the pain meds are working. “Do you always insult the people who save you?”