There’s nothing.
It doesn’t appear as if anyone’s been here since Carmine and I were here before leaving for Denver last week.
Has it really only been a week?
The red roses Carmine got me are still on the sofa table, wilting. A pair of my heels lay on the floor next to the kitchen island.
This is the only safe place for me in the city. I need to call my father, but that will have to come later. I’m not even sure what my name is right now.
The adrenaline of the attack is wearing off, and I know I’m going to be sick. Nausea roils my stomach, and dizziness fills my head. I just want to sleep. I probably shouldn’t. I most likely have a concussion, but I’ll be fine.
Everything will be fine.
God, I hurt. More than I ever have in my life.
I swing by the kitchen to grab a bucket from under the sink in case I do throw up, and then stumble to the couch in the living room. The sofa is huge, deep, and so comfortable that Carmine and I took many an afternoon nap here, tangled up with each other.
We also fucked like rabbits on it, but I’ll think about that later.
The moment I lie down, I feel exhaustion overtake me. But the rest is fitful—I can’t get comfortable. I can’t catch my breath.
I really should call an ambulance. My father would not be pleased, but I’m alone, and something is very wrong.
I feel the anxiety building in my stomach. I reach for my phone, only to discover that I set it on the counter in the kitchen.
I want to cry.
Everything screams in agony.
And, suddenly, someone looms over me.
Chapter 4
~Carmine~
I’m in the middle of my second set of pull-ups when my phone rings.
I ignore it.
I’ve been pissed for days. Does Nadia think she can just waltz into my home, taunt me, and then breeze out again? That she can smirk at me and act as if I haven’t had her in every position imaginable? That I don’t affect her at all?
I won’t admit to anyone that she got under my skin.
But goddamn it, she did.
My phone rings again. When I drop to the floor, I accept the call.
“What?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir. You need to come to the penthouse.”
I narrow my eyes. “What happened?”
“Nadia’s here, sir. And she’s going to need you.”
“I’ll be there in thirty.”
I end the call and, without another thought, hurry to grab my keys and wallet, then get into my car and peel out of the driveway, headed toward the freeway.
I like living away from the areas where we conduct business. I like keeping things separate. My grandmother taught me the importance of that.
But in times like these, it’s a royal pain in the ass.
Thanks to traffic on the freeway, I make it to the building in twenty-six minutes, park in my reserved space, and take the private elevator up to the penthouse.
What in the hell is Nadia doing back here? Gathering the things she left behind when we went to Denver? That made sense.
But when I step off the elevator, I instinctively know that something is very wrong.
The space is still. The blinds are still closed, so it’s mostly dark inside.
I flip on a hallway light to illuminate the area and see Nadia’s blond head on the couch.
She’s lying down.
And when I approach her, every drop of blood in my veins boils.
“Don’t hurt me,” she moans. “Can’t.”
“Nadia.” I squat next to her and take in her bruised and bloodied face. “It’s Carmine. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Carmine?” She lets out a small gasp through cut and bloody lips. “Didn’t know where to go.”
“You came to the right place. No one will think to search for you here. I have to call my people to come in and take care of you.”
“No.”
“Yes.” I kiss her bloody hand. “I’ll take care of this.”
I pull out my phone and call our medical team. After they assure me that they’re only minutes away, I hang up and hurry into the bathroom where I wet a washcloth and return to start cleaning her face as best I can so I can see the extent of her injuries.
“Hurts.”
“I know.” My voice is clipped, even to my ears. It takes everything in me to be gentle.
All I want to do is get my hands on the piece of shit who did this and make them pay. Painfully. Slowly.
Horrifically.
The elevator slides open, and the three men we employ to handle our medical needs come marching in.
“Christ,” Malloy says with a hiss. “What did you do to her?”
“If you want to keep your job, you’ll never ask that again,” I bark as I step back and let them take over. At first, Nadia recoils from their touch, but with some soothing murmurs, she finally relaxes and lets the men examine her.
“I can’t tell if her vision’s been affected in this eye,” Malloy says grimly. “It’s swollen shut. I’ll need to take another look in a few days.”
He stands and pulls me aside as the other two continue working their magic with gauze and antiseptic.
“I’ve never suggested this before, and I know it’s not how we do things…” Malloy begins and then props his hands on his hips. “But she needs to be in the hospital, Carmine.”
I shake my head, but Malloy continues.
“She’s been beaten so severely; I don’t know if she has internal bleeding or a punctured lung. Her shoulder may be dislocated, and we might have to reset it. I recommend leaving the room for that one.”
“I won’t go.”
He swallows and shakes his head. “Whoever did this was obviously given an order to fuck her up and leave her just this side of dead. And that’s what they did. I have no idea how she even got herself up here.”
“Because she’s stubborn and damn smart. I’m not taking her to the hospital.”
“Sir—”
“No. We’ll take care of her here. Do your damn job, Malloy.”
His mouth flattens into a line, and then he nods once. “I’m going to give you a list of things to watch for. If even one of them shows up, you need to call an ambulance right away. I mean it.”
It’s brutal standing back and watching them care for her. I feel helpless. She screams when they move her shoulder, but it’s not dislocated—just wrenched badly. She whimpers when they poke and prod to see if anything is broken.
They hook her up to an IV and start pumping her full of antibiotics and morphine to help with the pain. Before long, she’s settled back on the big couch with fresh dressings, a blanket, and orders to stay and rest for at least a week.
I’ll personally see to it that she fucking obeys that order.
After my men leave, I return to her and gently brush her hair off her face.
“Sorry,” she murmurs drunkenly.
“For what?”
“You’re mad.”
I sigh and lean over to press my lips to her forehead. “Not at you. When I find out who did this, I’ll kill them.”
“Get in line.”
“Do you know who it was?”