Page 30 of The Wrong Man

But Dr. Torrino will ask questions. He will want to know who Dylan is and how he came to be in my care. He will report back to Dario, because that is what he does. And I am not ready to explain this situation to anyone, let alone my boss.

What would I even say? I tortured the wrong man for days because I was too incompetent to see the truth, and now I’m keeping him prisoner in my home because I’ve developed some sort of twisted attachment to him and I can’t bear to kill him and tie up the loose end like I should?

No. Dr. Torrino is not an option.

My thumb hovers over Nicolo’s name. Nicolo is loyal, discreet, and surprisingly resourceful. But more importantly, his boyfriend has been training with Dr. Torrino. Learning to be the old man’s eventual replacement.

Liam. The pretty one with the haunted eyes and the steady hands. I remember that day at Nicolo’s apartment, the way he’d trembled when I looked at him. The way Nicolo had put himself between us like a human shield.

I remember recognizing something in Liam. A kindred spirit, perhaps. Someone who understood darkness because they’d lived in it. Someone who’d survived things that would have broken lesser people.

But there was a gentleness to him too. A softness that hadn’t been completely destroyed by whatever he’d endured. The kind of person who might understand why I need help, without judging me too harshly for how I got into this situation.

Or maybe he’ll judge me. Maybe he’ll refuse to help. Maybe he’ll tell Nicolo everything, and Nicolo will tell Dario, and this whole fragile house of cards will come crashing down.

Dylan makes a sound. A small, pained whimper that cuts through my spiraling thoughts like a knife. His face contorts with discomfort, and his hands clutch weakly at the blankets.

Fuck it. I’ll take the risk.

I dial Liam’s number before I can talk myself out of it.

It rings three times before he answers. His voice is cautious, uncertain. “Hello?”

“Liam. It’s Dante.”

Silence. I can practically hear him tensing on the other end of the line. It’s understandable. It’s definitely no less than I deserve.

The first time we spoke directly, I was invading his home and making him shake with fear.

I like to think I made amends for that when Nicolo delivered Liam’s rapist to my care and I dealt with him.

But I think it’s more a case that we’ve reached an uneasy truce. There have been dinner parties, and Christmas at Dario and Molly’s. Occasions where we have been thrown together. But I’ve kept my distance, and he’s stayed away from me warily. Like I’m the shark in the room.

This call must seem like a nightmare come to life.

“Dante,” he says finally. His voice is steadier than I expected. “What do you want?”

Straight to the point. Good. I don’t have time for pleasantries.

“I need your help,” I say, and the words taste strange in my mouth. I can’t remember the last time I asked anyone for help. “Medical help.”

Another pause. When he speaks again, there’s a note of surprise beneath the wariness. “You’re hurt?”

“No. Someone else. Someone I’m...” I trail off, unsure how to describe what Dylan is to me. My prisoner? My victim? My responsibility? “Someone in my care.”

“In your care.” The words are flat, carefully neutral. He’s not asking questions, but I can hear them hovering in the silence between us.

“I think it’s pneumonia,” I continue. “High fever, labored breathing, chills. It started yesterday and it’s getting worse. I don’t know how to treat it, and I can’t take him to a hospital.”

“Why can’t you call Dr. Torrino?”

The question is reasonable. Expected. I don’t have a good answer that doesn’t reveal too much.

“It’s complicated,” I say.

Liam is quiet for a long moment. I can hear him breathing, can almost hear him thinking. Weighing whether to help the man who terrified him, or hang up and pretend this call never happened.

“How old?” Liam asks finally.