Chapter 12
Dominico
It is worse than I thought. The doctor explains the backlit X-rays in his office, highlighting Lily's numerous injuries from the last couple of years.
A broken arm. Three broken fingers. Fractures throughout her body, including her ribs, ankles, wrists, and clavicle.
Then there are the visible injuries that I have already seen, which the doctor indicates are so extensive that it is one of the worst cases of abuse he has encountered—something a doctor has remarked about me before.
However, the latest scars from being Don and bringing the famiglia into the powerful position we are in now overshadow those injuries.
What is also surprising is that while most of these injuries are new, some of them are older—much older—from when she was young.
"The nurse is administering a corticosteroid injection, and I will provide you with a prescription for anti-inflammatory medications. She requires physiotherapy. I can arrange for someone to meet with her twice a week.” I give a curt nod, and the doctor immediately picks up the phone to make the necessary arrangements .
This concerns the injury that has brought us here—a historical kneecap fracture accompanied by severe post-traumatic osteoarthritis.
The doctor states that the ligaments and tendons damaged in the incident that caused this injury never healed properly, and long-term corrective surgery may be necessary if physiotherapy does not yield results.
While the details of this injury remain uncertain, I am aware of who is behind it and the rest. The slowly simmering rage that has built since I saw Lily limp into the hall this morning has reached a boiling point as I stand, staring at the evidence of the abuse that little Lily Valentine has been forced to endure.
It's no wonder she sought refuge in the dark.
And there is no darker place to be than with me.
Matteo, who I want to kill for even allowing her to walk down the stairs in that state and then deigning to put his hand on her back, stands slightly behind me.
Still alive, for now. I knew it was irrational to feel the amount of jealousy I had felt seeing another man's hand on a woman I barely know, but it was fucking there.
And while it was, no man would touch her. Friend or foe.
The disgust on his face as the doctor recounted Lily’s injury history helped to quell my anger toward him.
The silent implications of what had happened to her, the stark reality of her abuse staring back at us in such an intimate way, made it difficult for anyone not to react.
To see the history of someone etched deep into their bones.
To truly see inside them in this manner. It was surreal. And rage-inducing.
We did not abuse women. That shit stopped with the man I called father.
When I was old enough, he never laid another finger on my mother.
It was why I always had such a low opinion of him.
Of anyone who did that. To me, they were lower than the gutter rats that fed on the dead bodies in the warehouse.
It was also why I was vehemently against this sex trafficking ring that was taking over my city.
Abuse of women and children was a hard limit for me, one I would kill to eradicate.
The mafia might be monsters, but we were a different kind, and we had some scruples.
“Dante is here.” Matteo’s words coincide with the door to the consulting room swinging open as my capo enters, leaving a herd of giggling nursing staff and even some patients in his wake.
The ladies adored this man—tall, dark, and handsome, with a smile as lethal as his skills with a knife.
This is probably why I have kept him far from Lily. Until now.
“When I heard you were at Agathas, I came immediately.” Dante's eyes meet mine before drifting to the X-rays, the levity on his face disappearing swiftly.
The rage I feel has another companion. Dante feels as strongly about this as I do; having grown up in foster care, he, too, experienced things none of us speak of.
The fact that he can smile now is sometimes surprising, given everything he has endured.
Only Nero and I know the true extent of the horrors he faced.
“Have we received that footage yet?” Dante drags his gaze from the pictures to meet mine.
“You will have everything and more when you get home. They are finishing deep dives on the penthouse owner and all associated parties.” Good. I wanted to know the individuals capable of such violence intimately. Then, I would exact my revenge.
I want to assign some sort of impersonal motive to this. A motive as plain and as uncomplicated as wanting to make a piece of shit woman abuser who is clearly in a position of power and wielding it incorrectly, as a bully would, pay for their crimes.
But it is not detached. The wrath I feel is directly linked to the one at the center of it.
The brown-haired, whiskey-eyed flower in the next room.
The woman who is infiltrating my being without my consent.
A known intruder who I cannot stop. Who I don’t want to stop.
Yet, love in my life is dangerous. A weakness to be leveraged, which is why I have avoided it for so long.
And it hasn’t been problematic until now.
No one had appealed to me nearly as much in all the years of my existence. Not until now.
“Fuck,” I say aloud, drawing concerned looks from the three men in the room. Doctor Andrews appears most perturbed, pocketing his cell before speaking.
“Physio has been arranged. Twice a week starting tomorrow. The session tomorrow will primarily be an assessment. She can go home, but she must keep off the leg until the swelling subsides.”
With a glance at Matteo and a nod of my head, he leaves to prepare the vehicle parked at the back of the hospital.
We had a special arrangement with Agathas.
We made generous donations to finance the best medical equipment and expand new wings, and in return, we received discreet service off the books.
“We were never here. If anyone finds out about this, I will assume it is from you. And we know what happens then,” I warn. Doctor Andrews' face pales noticeably at the threat.
“I would never,” he assures, his voice quivering slightly.
“Fine. Dante, sort the doctor out, and I'll meet you outside.” I leave the room as Dante hands the doctor a white envelope with enough money to buy silence and some.
When I enter the private room next door, Lily is not sitting in the hospital bed as I had expected her to be, but instead, sits in the visitor's chair, her leg propped up on a small table.
Her blank gaze meets mine, and irritation wells up, which I shove down. The last thing she needs is me being an asshole. But since we left the dining hall, she has shut down, concealing her emotions from me. It's something she excels at. She could easily be a skilled poker player.
“Time to go.” She gently lowers her propped-up leg back to the ground, and I can see that the swelling has already improved.
She moves as if readying herself to stand.
“Don’t. The doctor said you must stay off your leg until the swelling subsides.”
Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time in hours, there is a hint of emotion. Anger.
“I have heard that before, and it’s fine. I can manage. I don’t need pity. Not from you.”
“Not from me,” I repeat, smirking at her words. “If not pity, then what do you need from me?” I tease, taking a few steps toward her.
She blushes and then looks away. Mmm, what indeed.
I can already see how my proximity affects her.
She is practically panting, the swell of her breasts moving up and down much faster, and a beautiful red flush covers her chest and cheeks.
Her nipples are pebbled, pushing against the thin material of her dress, and then there is a slight squeeze of her thighs. She has an itch she cannot scratch.
I know I can. That moment we shared at Eve's has been looping around in my head, torturing me.
The sweet taste of her pussy had lingered on the tip of my tongue long after I popped that same finger I had fucked her with into my mouth.
Even now, it taunts me, like a delicious meal you cannot forget.
It was a mistake. It had left me wanting more.
Craving her. I want to get on my knees, push that dress up and eat that beautiful cunt out until her legs quiver and she creams all over my tongue.
The thought of it makes me hard. So fucking hard it's painful.
I had never gotten on my knees for anyone, but for her, I would.
That thought fucking scares me. But instead of running in the opposite direction, I scoop her up into my arms, her familiarity in them hitting home.
“ Il mio fiorellino , the last thing I feel for you is pity. And the last thing you feel for me is indifference. So stop trying to hide your feelings.”
Her eyes widen, and her blush deepens, yet she holds my gaze—brave little Lily.
We walk out of the room and down the corridor, the looks of astonishment we receive unchanged since our arrival.
“I could have walked,” she says softly, her eyes fixed on my face.
“You could have, but this is much quicker.” She doesn’t respond, but instead, her gaze drifts to where her hands are around my neck—the same as earlier when we left the hall. The desire I had seen before, masked by whatever facade she felt she needed to maintain, is back.
That’s when I feel it, the slight shift of her hand before her thumb strokes my neck.
Her eyes widen as if she is just realizing what she has done.
“It’s fine. Touch me whenever and wherever you want.”
Her eyes meet mine, and she blushes yet remains silent.
I smile, and her gaze falls to my mouth, surprise evident on her face.
“You smiled.” I did, indeed. Not a regular occurrence, admittedly.
“You should smile more often. It makes you look less scary.”
“Are you scared of me?” I nearly find myself holding my breath in anticipation of her response.
“I should be,” she mumbles, “but I’m not.”
Relief floods me. I don’t want her fear. I want something else. What, I am not sure of. But not her fear. I didn’t want to be lumped in with those same fuckers who had abused her. That would be a fucking insult if ever there were one.
We approach the car, with Matteo ready and holding the back door open. I slide into the vehicle, but instead of placing her in the seat beside me, I keep her cradled in my arms .
Dante's eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror from the passenger seat. My behavior is strange. He knows it. I know it. I have never been this possessive of a woman before.
I don’t know if it's just tiredness or plain old defeat, but either way, she doesn’t even resist the situation. Instead, she falls asleep, even snuggling into my chest.
That’s when I feel it. The overwhelming sense of protectiveness engulfs me, causing my hands to pull her closer.
And in my mind, one possessive thought forms.
Mine.