Page 151 of The Carnage We Keep

I whirl to the infuriatingly mousy woman from the office. “Hello!?” I scream at her. “Just tell me if it’s⁠—”

“It’s your husband, hon. He’s in the hospital.”

The whole room goes pin-drop quiet as Galina slowly turns to me, her eyes wide and staring.

Lochlan’s hand tightens to iron on my shoulder. “What fucking husband?”

25

DAMIANO

Maybe it’s the painkillers talking. But even though she’s glaring at me like she wants to finish what Joey Dicheara started, I like that Bella is here.

I really like it, actually.

From her perch on the chair next to my hospital bed, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms around them, Bella gives me a look.

“You were reckless.”

The sheer irony of the reigning queen of “lol what plan” telling me that I was reckless is almost more than I can handle.

“Me,” I say flatly, pointing at myself. “I was reck⁠—”

“Yes,” she snaps. “You went after Joey Dicheara alone. Do you know how stupid that was?”

“I had it handled⁠—”

“You were nearly killed, Dame,” she says sharply.

Dame.

Only my family and very close friends call me “Dame”. Bella, meanwhile, with a few exceptions that I think were probably slipups, has always called me Damiano.

“Is that…” My brow furrows. “Is that concern in your tone?”

She glares at me. “Don’t get all warm and fuzzy on me,” she mutters. “My concern is that if you go down for…you know…then I think it’s only a matter of time before I get dragged into it, too?”

“Right, because you’ve spent so many years honing your subtlety and discretion.”

She tries to give me one of her signature Bella glares. But the grin she’s fighting to hold back kinda ruins the effect.

“Dick,” she mutters, still grinning.

For a few seconds, the room is quiet except for the soft beep of the machines.

“Thanks for coming.”

Her eyes flick to mine.

“I mean…” She shrugs. “It was kind of contractually obligated.”

Her lips twist in a wry smile.

“Although, for future reference, people usually only put their spouse down as an emergency contact when they’re really married?”

“We are really⁠—”

“Dame.” She arches a brow. “You know what I mean. Why me?”