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“Can’t…” I glance between the two men, palms sweaty where I grip the blanket. “Can’tyoucheck me over? Not him?”
The doctor’s eyebrows bounce up his forehead, and De Rossi stares at me for a long moment. The fire pops in the grate, and my pulse thumps in my ears. God, why did I ask that?
“…Alright.”
I’m not the only one who’s shocked by his agreement: the doctor blinks behind his glasses, and even De Rossi looks discomfited for a moment before waving the doctor away from the armchair and crouching in front of me. “What do I need to look for?”
“Grazing.” The other man falls back a few steps, watching me with renewed interest. There’s no heat to his gaze, just pure calculation. “Cuts or swelling. Any sign of forming bruises. Check her fingers and toes for early signs of frostbite, too.”
“Foolish girl,” De Rossi mutters, plucking my hands up one by one and examining each finger. My palms are slightly red from gripping the rope, and he scowls at me before dropping each wrist. “Hands are fine.”
“Good,” the doctor says.
I swallow hard.
It’s strange seeing this man’s hands on my bare feet. I slide them one by one out of the blankets before he needs to go looking, and he cups my ankle in one strong hand then examines me quickly with the other. He turns my foot this way and that, masculine thumb smoothing almost absentmindedly over the arch of my foot, and I hide a shiver in the blankets.
“Feet are cold but fine.”
“Excellent.” The doctor’s leaning against the desk, and he’s enjoying this way too much. His mouth keeps curling up on one side, and his eyes sparkle behind those glasses. “Check her legs, Santo.”
“Do we need him here?” I whisper.
De Rossi ignores me, flipping open the blankets. The cool air from the room makes me shiver, goosebumps prickling over my bare skin, and the mobster’s hand feels like a red-hot brand where it touches my left knee, tilting my leg both ways. He doesn’t touch me anywhere except my knees, and yet I canfeelhis gaze wandering over me like a caress.
“Some bruising.” De Rossi glares at a spot inside my right thigh. “Come and check this.”
I squeak in dismay, but settle down after one of his looks. I guess the other manisa doctor, so… whatever.
“That’s fine.” The doctor stands over us both, frowning at my leg in the dim light. “The bruising will come through overnight, and she won’t even feel it in a few days.”
“Good.” De Rossi waves him back, and we both seem to breathe better with the other man a few steps away. I chew on my bottom lip as my captor finishes checking me over, running his gaze over my arms and making me lift my shirt to bare my stomach briefly. The backs of his fingers are cool against my cheek when he checks my temperature. “She’s a little flushed.”
“You don’t say,” the doctor murmurs, then straightens when De Rossi turns with a glare. “She’s fine, Santo. She’s been under a lot of stress, and she just climbed down a rope in the freezing cold, that’s all. She needs food and sleep, in that order.”
“I already told the kitchens.”
The doctor nods. “So make sure she eats, then have someone take her up to bed.”
I grimace at that statement, but De Rossi doesn’t seem to like it either. He jerks his head at the door, and his shoulders don’t relax until the other man is gone.
“Don’t make one of your goons take me up to bed,” I say quietly. “I’ll go, but just… just don’t.”
The mob boss pushes to his feet with a sigh. “Fine. You are a very troublesome captive, Erin.”
I squint up at him, but I’m fighting a smile. “Is there any other kind?”
Four
Santo
Governor Edwards doubles the price on my sister’s head shortly before dawn. So predictable. I lean back in my desk chair, scowling at my laptop screen, and press a button on my phone.
Allegra answers after the second ring. “Hm? What’s up?” She sounds groggy, her voice thick with sleep, and there’s a low, masculine murmur in the background. Fucking Raul.
“He increased the bid on you,” I say shortly, my words calm even as my heart races. “Stay inside today. Keep where people can see you.”
She scoffs, but already Raul’s murmuring something to her, soothing the flare of temper. At least their bond is useful for something. “Fine,” Allegra bites out, “but I’m not hiding away forever, Santo. Wrap this shit up quickly, will you?”
