Page 48 of Brox Boar

“Yes,” she mumbles, her eyes closed as I knead her muscles on her neck. “I changed Alessio’s dressing. But he couldn’t stop talking. Asked me a hundred questions.”

She lifts one shoulder and winces when my grip tightens unconsciously.

“Like what?” I press.

She opens her eyes, her gaze moving between us.

“He wanted to know if my nurse’s outfit was from the club. He said I look different. Wanted to know how I move around the hospital without anyone stopping me. What I really do. Where I live.”

Each line adds weight to the mood around the island.

“And?” Brox asks.

“And I didn’t tell him anything,” she says. “I gave him hospital answers and nothing else. ‘I’m patching you up. You should rest.’ That kind of thing. He didn’t get details.”

Brox’s eyes narrow.

“He asked whether I’m a pet,” she continues, jaws firming. “Said if I belong to this place, I should be in the basement right now with a handler.”

My fingers dig into her shoulders. “What did you say?”

“I told him to focus on healing and stop moving his arm around like an idiot,” she replies. “I didn’t confirm, I didn’t deny. I didn’t give him anything useful.”

“And Morti?” I ask.

“Morti sat by the window and stared at his cell,” she says. “He only looked up every so often to check what I was doing.”

I let go of her shoulders and move to the opposite side of the island.

“Alessio should get discharged today, around noon,” she adds.

Brox’s gaze goes distant. I know that particular focus. He is already running scenarios, testing outcomes in his head.

“He’s been asking too many questions,” I say, meeting his eyes over her head.

“The Sorrentinos know she exists,” Brox answers slowly. “This adds another layer.”

My teeth grind together once, a short bite of annoyance.

I can see the path we’re on, long and messy. Keeping Lana in our orbit was never going to be straightforward. Having her cross over between our world and the hospital puts her right in the middle of everything we are trying to maneuver. It would have been easier if she was just a pet, and staying below, in the kennel.

“Hey,” she cuts in, frowning slightly. “I didn’t tell him anything.”

I drag my attention back to her.

“I’m not blaming you,” I say. “I’m making a list in my head of who needs watching.”

“And he was already on that list,” Brox adds.

Lana’s shoulders ease a fraction. “Good. Then I don’t have to feel guilty about doing my job.”

The lift doors make a faint sound in the distance. A moment later, Sol’s footsteps cross the hall, then he appears at the edge of the kitchen, carrying two stacked pizza boxes and a small paper bag dangling from his other hand.

“The city’s finest morning feast,” he announces quietly.

He sets everything on the counter. Lana’s eyes flare a little at the smell–cheese, tomato, oregano and something toasted. Her stomach growls. Sol hears it and smiles.

He gives us a quick nod and withdraws back toward the elevator.