Page 59 of Unrestricted
Eliza nods. "He sent Bruno, you know."
"I figured as much."
Bruno had no other reason to come after Eliza. He may have been demoted in our organisation but he didn't have the brains to consider getting to me through her. It had to be something else and with everything Eliza told me about Vida and seeing him at the gala, it was a logical conclusion.
"So what happens now?" Eliza asks. "With us, I mean."
"You and I are both going to get some rest. Then tomorrow, or the next day, I'm going to go to Gabriele and tell him everything.” The revelations about Vida and Eliza’s role in the attack are new to me, but there’s a conversation I’ve been putting off having with him since Edinburgh, perhaps even before. It’s time I laid my cards on the table.
"Everything?"
"Yes." I lean forward to carefully kiss the top of her head. "Now sleep. I'll stay a while and watch over you."
As she closes her eyes I'm resolved. I'll tell Gabriele the truth about Eliza, about me, everything. Whatever he decides to do with that information, I'll just have to live with it.
TWENTY
Eliza
Adriano Volante is a complete tyrant. I've spent most of the day in bed because he's concerned that getting up and making myself a coffee or fetching my own bottle of water will impede my recovery. He hasn't even let me go to the bathroom on my own.
No, seriously. He gave me a phone so I could call him to accompany me when I needed to go. It's control freakery at its finest, but I got the last laugh. I sneaked in two toilet breaks without him knowing and shaved my legs just in case he ever decides I'm fit enough to wrap them around him again.
When I wander downstairs following three hours of sleep I didn't intend to take, I find him cooking. The smell hits me before I reach the kitchen.
It's an aromatic mix of garlic, wine and something herby and rich that makes my stomach announce itself in a way that's slightly embarrassing. I stop in the doorway.
Adriano is at the stove with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. He looks around when I come in and quickly scans me from head to foot before returning his attention to the pan.
"Sit down," he says.
"I'm fine."
"You're not. Sit down."
When I move to take a seat at the kitchen island, he turns and hisses at me like I'm a cat he's trying to shoo away.
"Not there." He jabs his wooden spoon at the table. "Over there."
"Why?"
"Those stools are too high. You could fall."
"Oh for god's sake. I'm not a child."
"Eliza, over there now, or I'm putting you back to bed."
Okay, given that choice, I'll take the kitchen table but he really is being ridiculous. I'm not the clumsy type. One blow to the face is not going to render me incapable of sitting on a stool without falling off it.
If he could get away with it I suspect he'd swaddle me in bubble wrap. It's infuriating, but also kind of sweet. I don't imagine this man has much experience of taking care of someone. It's why he's overcompensating.
I take a seat at the table and watch him. He moves efficiently the way he does everything, no wasted motion, each thing done in the right order. Domesticity looks surprisingly good on him.
"What are you making?" I ask.
"Ribollita."
I blink. "That takes hours."
