Page 42 of The Don’s Omega

I knew he’d knot me, but having never been knotted before didn’t know what to expect. Nothing could have prepared me for the force of it, or for the pain. Marcello had been nicer to me than I expected. He comforted me and kept me calm when I began to panic.

I’m not sure what to feel about that gentler side of Marcello. He was almost even sweet with me. I don’t want to start expecting that from him though. I don’t think that version of him will show up very often. It was in his interest to keep me calm last night, maybe that’s why he put in the effort. Marcello is a transactional man.

I sit up slowly, wincing. The room is dim, the heavy curtains drawn. The fire has burned out entirely, leaving cold ash in the grate. Morning light seeps through the gap where the curtains don’t quite meet, throwing a thin gold line across the dark hardwood floor. My clothes from last night are folded neatly on a leather chair near the fireplace. Did Marcello fold them? That’s hard to imagine.

On the nightstand, there’s a glass of water, two ibuprofen, a Band-Aid, and a small tube of antibiotic ointment. There’s no note. I’m assuming it was Marcello who put them there, but for all I know it was Ornella or one of his sisters. I hope it was Marcello. I don’t love the idea of anyone else seeing me this way.

I take the pills and wash them down with the water. I’ll put the ointment and the Band-Aid on after I shower. For now, I sit on the edge of the bed, naked and sore, and look at the platinum band on my finger. It’s so bizarre to be tied to an alpha I barely know. I always thought, if I was claimed, it would be someone I loved. Someone who I trusted and who I knew would fit easily into my life. Marcello is none of those things. But I suppose he’s probably feeling the same way about me. I’m nothing like the omega he should have picked. I suppose the only comfort for both of us is that this union is only for three years. One if I don’t get pregnant.

I go to my room to shower and get dressed. I’m going to visit Fabio today. That means I need a shirt with a high neckline to cover the bite. That rules out most of what’s in my meager duffel bag. I get lucky when I find a crew neck sweater that sits high enough to hide the worst of it. If someone looked closely they might see the edge of the Band-Aid above the collar, but it’ll have to do.

Downstairs, the kitchen is warm and smells like coffee and baking bread. Copper pots hang from a rack above the central island. The countertops are dark granite, immaculate. Ornella is at the stove, her gray hair pulled back in a severe knot. I hate it when it’s just Ornella and me alone. I get the feeling she dislikes me, but I’m not sure why she would. I’ve barely said two words to her.

“Good morning,” I say brightly.

She glances at me, her expression blank. “Morning, sir. There’s fresh coffee if you want it.” She points to a silver coffee maker on the counter. “Breakfast is set up in the dining room.”

“Thank you.” I smile at her, but as usual she doesn’t return it. “Is Marcello at home?”

She hesitates. “Mr. Foschini left early this morning. He didn’t say when he’d return.”

“Okay.” I pour myself a mug of coffee. “Do you know if Noemi or Ginevra are home?”

She stops what she’s doing, looking a little annoyed at all the questions. “I believe they’re both out shopping with Mrs. Foschini. I have no idea when they’ll be home. The family isn’t obligated to keep me informed of their movements, sir.”

My face warms. “No, of course not. I was just wondering if I was the only one home.”

“It would appear so.” She goes back to whatever it is she’s doing at the stove.

I leave the kitchen because it’s obvious Ornella doesn’t want my company. Heading into the dining room, I eat breakfast alone at a table that could seat a small army. The food is perfect as usual. The scrambled eggs are fluffy and the bacon cooked perfectly. Ornella may not be very nice to me, but she sure can cook.

Marcello set me up with a man named Dante to be my driver and bodyguard. I feel silly having either, but Marcello wasn’t in a mood to debate the issue. Since I want to visit my brother today, I text Dante with a ballpark of when I’d like to leave for the hospital. He replies immediately as if he’s been waiting for my text, saying he’ll wait in the driveway with the car.

When I leave the house, as promised, Dante is waiting in the driveway. He’s standing beside a black SUV with windows so dark they look painted. I suspect the SUV is armored. There’s something about how the windows catch the light. It’s not like normal tinted glass. The tires are different from normal tires too. They’re thick and they look made to keep moving no matter what happens. The very idea I’d need an armored vehicle is enough to give me an ulcer.

Dante opens the back door for me. He’s a stocky, quiet alpha maybe in his forties with a thick neck and hands that look like he might have been a boxer in his younger days. His communication style consists primarily of nods, grunts, and the occasional fragmented sentence. He doesn’t seem to dislike me like Ornella does though. I think he’s just a man of few words.

“When we get to the hospital, I’ll need you to wait in the car.” I grimace. “My brother doesn’t know about my marriage to Marcello. If he sees you hovering, he’ll know something is going on.” I smile weakly. “You look like a bodyguard.”

If he thinks it’s weird my brother doesn’t know about my marriage to Marcello, he doesn’t show it. But then, I get the feeling a tank could drive over his foot and he wouldn’t show emotion.

Dante frowns. “I’ll come into the hospital with you. I’ll be sure to stay out in the hall though, so your brother doesn’t see me. Mr. Foschini wouldn’t be happy if I let you wander around the hospital without me.”

“But, it’s just the hospital. No one is going to attack me there.”

His jaw tenses. “Sorry. I have my orders, sir.”

I shake my head and climb into the car. I know there’s no point in arguing. Dante isn’t going to go against Marcello’s orders.

The drive to Harbor View Medical takes us through the heart of Sorrento Bay. It’s my first real look at the city in daylight. The estate sits outside the city proper, perched in the coastal hills among scrub oak and wild grass. As we descend toward the waterfront, the landscape shifts. The old quarter comes first, narrow streets with stone buildings crowding together. There are wrought-iron balconies with bougainvillea in deep reds and purples, and the buildings lean toward each other as if they’re gossiping.

We pass a church with heavy wooden doors and stained glass windows that are dark with age. Cafes with tiny round tables spot the sidewalk, their patrons cheerfully drinking espresso and eating sandwiches. Further on, the architecture changes. The waterfront district is newer, with polished stone and glass, gentrified and gleaming. Expensive restaurants line a boardwalk overlooking the harbor where boats of every size bob in the water, from modest fishing vessels to yachts.

Harbor View Medical is on the eastern edge of the city, set back from the road behind manicured hedges and a circular drive. It looks nothing like any hospital I’ve ever been in. The building is modern, all clean lines and pale stone and floor-to-ceiling windows. It could pass for a luxury hotel. The lobby has actual art on the walls, not faded motivational posters, and the floors are polished tile, not scuffed linoleum.

This is what Marcello’s money buys. It’s a far cry from St. David’s back in Millhaven, with its bolted-down chairs and dead-eyed receptionist. Marcello’s world sometimes feels like a different planet. Here, I’m greeted by a woman at reception who smiles easily and treats me like I’m checking into the Hyatt.

I take the elevator to the third floor. I’ve been here before to visit Fabio, but I’m always blown away by how nice it is. The hallway is carpeted, quiet, lined with wood-paneled doors that belong in a boutique hotel, not a cardiac ward. Fabio’s room is at the end of the hall. I push the door open and step into the room that is easily three times the size of a standard hospital room.