Page 48 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
“I told him to.”
“To shoot you?” Gio asks.
“In my defense, I didn’t really think it through very well.”
Gio laughs, shaking his head. “You’re Eduardo Ricci’s kid alright.”
At the sound of my father’s name, my chest tightens, and that jagged lump makes an appearance, clogging my throat.
The smile slips from Gio’s face. “I am sorry, about your father. He was a good man.”
“He was.” I suck in a sharp breath, wondering if he also knew of my father’s death while I was completely oblivious. It feels like the whole world knew, except me.
“Gabriella called yesterday. She knows you’re coming and asked that you call her.”
That pain in my chest intensifies, and I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to talk to her, but Gio is her friend. I don’t want him to think I’m a horrible person. “I…”
“Adelina needs medical attention,” Sasha interrupts, and when I glance in his direction, I find him watching me intently. “Where’s Una?” Sasha places a hand on the small of my back, and both Gio and Jackson zero in on the gesture.
“The snug,” Gio responds before Sasha starts to pull me away.
“It was nice to meet you, Jackson.”
“You too, princess.” He winks, and Sasha’s fingers flinch against me, digging into my skin.
He leads me down a hallway, back into the older part of the house. There’s something inviting about the dated décor. It makes the house feel lived in like it’s seen children grow and powerful families rise. We step into a living room with a huge fireplace burning. Una is on the sofa, studying the paperwork spread over her lap.
“You’re finally back,” she says without looking up.
“Yes.”
I can’t work out their relationship. He’s loyal to her. They grew up together and yet they seem more like boss and employee than childhood friends. Surely, he can sense the undertone of aggravation in her voice.
When Una finally looks up, her eyes land on me, not Sasha, and I want to shrink into the floorboards. She doesn’t like that he’s been with me and away from her. It’s written all over her expression, set into the hard press of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes. I’m no expert on the politics of assassins, but I know women. I know basic emotions, and Una is not happy.
“I need you to look at Adelina’s shoulder,” Sasha says.
I nearly choke. “No, I’m good. Really, it’s fine. I feel much better.” I think she’d rather shoot me again than help me.
He frowns at me. “Those stitches were only temporary. It needs tending to, or it will get infected.”
“You’re being dramatic.” Jesus, if I needed any more proof that Sasha is emotionally mute, his complete inability to sense the crippling tension in this room is it.
“Una can restitch better than I can.” Oh, I bet she can.
The petite blonde pushes to her feet. “Sit,” she snaps.
I reluctantly sit on the sofa, and she leaves the room, I assume to get some equipment.
Sasha goes to leave as well, but I grab his wrist without thought. I expect his hand at my throat, but he doesn’t react. “Sorry.” I snatch my hand away, and he only frowns; perhaps he’s just as surprised by his lack of reaction as I am.
“What is wrong?”
“I just…” God, I feel so pathetic, but I really don’t want to be alone with Una. “Can you stay?”
“You will be fine, Adelina. You survived my stitching with no anesthetic.” A line sinks between his brows, and I fully expect him to walk away, but instead, he takes a seat beside me. I jump when his hand lands on my thigh. “Stop bouncing your knee.”
“Sorry.”
“You are acting strangely.”
“Una doesn’t like me.”
“She doesn’t know you.”
I duck my chin.
“You are much more than you seem, Malyshka.”
Well if that isn’t a back-handed compliment. “And what do I seem?”
“Like a spoiled mafia princess.”
“Thanks.” Dick. “Look, I don’t want her to stitch me,” I whisper, bringing my face closer to his because I don’t want her to overhear me.
“I would not let her hurt you,” he says simply.
Those glacial blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment, everything else is lost. Warmth and safety wash over me because I know he would never let anything bad happen to me. I feel it in the depths of my soul. I’m dumbstruck with the truth that this cold, psychopathic Russian has become the only person I fully trust. He’s not cold; he’s just broken.
The tension leaves my body, and I inhale a deep breath before releasing it. “Okay.” I nod. “I’m fine. It’s fine. You can go.”
His head tilts to the side, as though studying some strange creature he’s never encountered before. After a few seconds, he stands and leaves without a word.
I sit anxiously until Una returns. Her hips sway with every step, and I wonder if she ever wears anything that doesn’t make her look sexy and scary. She places a box on the coffee table and pulls out a clear, sealed package. Inside is a suture needle, a scalpel, and some thread. I’ve never been scared of needles before, but the experience on the train with Sasha has engrained a certain fear over the whole situation. I watch silently as she takes out a sterile syringe and draws clear liquid from a bottle. She sets the shot on the table before turning to me. Placing a hand on my neck, she forces it to the side and slides the strap of my top down my shoulder. I hiss when she rips the dressing off my shoulder with a swift tug.
