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“I’m going to drop by to see Pippa later,” I throw over my shoulder and turn on the coffee machine. “I promised I’d go shopping for a dress with her afterward. They’re throwing a banquet for the hospital staff on Saturday.” There’s no returning to the residency program for me—not after the Family changed my life a couple of months back. And since the attack a month ago, Salvatore’s reasons for not letting me work as a nurse in a public hospital are more understandable.
“Do you miss it? The work,” Salvatore asks from his spot at the dining table.
“You know I do.” I shrug.
“Nino is still trying to locate where the Irish are hiding so we can wipe them out. When I’m done with Fitzgerald, we’ll figure something out.”
The cup I’m holding almost slips from my fingers. I turn around and stare at him. “What do you mean?”
“If it means that much to you, we can try to find a hospitalnearby that might allow bodyguards,” he says while watching me with a grim-looking face. “Or you can take over the infirmary downstairs.”
I squeeze my lips together, then smile. “Thank you.”
Salvatore nods. “About that shopping spree. How long?”
“Three hours. Maybe four.”
He glares at me for a few moments, lips pressed into a thin line, then nods. I take my cup of coffee to the table, sit myself down on Salvatore’s right thigh, and reach for the basket of breakfast pastries. His right arm comes to rest around my waist, and he continues eating.
Sitting on Salvatore’s lap during meals was a little strange in the beginning, but I’ve gotten used to it. It started a month ago, right after the skirmish with the Irish. At first, he would insist I sit on his lap when we were having breakfast. Then it was dinner, as well. Now, it’s every meal. When I asked him why, he said that he still hadn’t forgotten that I told him I was going to leave if he got shot again, and this was my punishment. It doesn’t seem like a punishment. In fact, I quite enjoy being so close to him in this way. His explanation was transparent bullshit, of course. Salvatore has problems recognizing his own feelings, so it’s no wonder he has equal difficulty in expressing them.
“You’ll call me every hour,” he says and squeezes my waist.
“You know I will.” I place a kiss at the corner of his tightly pressed lips.
“Don’t forget, Milene.”
I sigh, take his face between my palms, and tilt his head. “How about we make it thirty minutes? Would that make it easier for you?”
He just watches me in that unusual way of his, as though he wants to absorb me into himself through his eyes.
“Thirty minutes it is, then.” I smile and kiss him. “You need to start talking about these things, Tore. I can’t always guess when something’s bothering you.”
“You’ve been doing well so far.”
There is a sound of something crashing to the floor, followed by angry mewling as Riggs runs out of the kitchen and dashes across the living space. A second later, Kurt lunges after Riggs at breakneck speed, but he loses traction on the polished floor and ends up sliding across the hallway on his side, hitting the wall at the end with his butt.
“That cat needs a brain transplant,” Salvatore deadpans, and I burst out laughing.
“If that was your attempt at making a joke, you need to work on your delivery.”
“You’re laughing, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,”—I snort—“but only because you’re mine, and I don’t want to discourage you.”
He arches an eyebrow.
“You can’t deliver a joke with the same intonation you use for death threats, Salvatore.” I place one more kiss on his mouth, grab another pastry from the basket, and stand up. “I’ll call you. Promise.”
* * *
“I really don’t see how this is necessary,” Pippa grumbles as we reach the perfume store. “It was fun the first few times, but now it feels weird.”
I glance over my shoulder. Alessandro’s walking a few paces behind us, looking dangerous in a dark suit, his earpiece visible. I wonder where he finds suits in his size. The guy is at least six and a half feet tall and has the muscle mass of a medium-sized mountain. Vincenzo is standing near the cash register at the opposite corner of the store with his hands clasped behind his back. Two more bodyguards are by the entrance, one out front, and the other inside.
“Ignore them.” I shrug.
“I need to go to the restroom,” Pippa says. “I’ll catch up with you.”
