12. Aria
Chapter twelve
Aria
I’m just relaxing when there’s a knock on my door.
Nobody in this house?Elio’s house?ever comes to my door at this time of the night. The raps come again and curiosity makes me drop the mug of tea in my hand to head straight for the door.
The knock comes again, louder and insistent. I approach the door cautiously, my fingers hesitating at the door knob.
“Who is it?”
“Just open up already.”
Elio.
A sigh of relief escapes my lips but at the same time, irritation finds its way under my skin. What the hell is he doing here, and at this hour?
I unlock the door and yank it open, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but the words die on my lips.
He’s a complete mess. Again.
There’s blood trickling from the gash on his forehead, and his split lip is already blue and swelling. His shirt, half-buttoned, is hanging loosely from his shoulders, as if he has lost so much weight between the night before and now.
“W…what happened to you?” I gasp, reaching out to touch his lip. My hand doesn’t get there because he snatches it up midway.
“That’s not the best way to welcome your guest,” Elio lets out a huff of breath in a scoff, and I shake my head as he brushes past me into the room.
“What do you think you’re doing? You should be on your way to the hospital, not finding your way to my room at this hour!”
“I don’t need a damn hospital and I certainly don’t need you whining at me,” his voice is gruff and shaky, as if he is in so much pain.
“You’re bleeding, Elio. Fucking bleeding all over the rug! And just after you almost had yourself killed yesterday.”
“I don’t need a lecture right now either!” A soft gasp escapes my lips. It is the first time he’s ever raised his voice at me since we met. I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of why he would come into my room and yell at me, especially when he is hurt this way.
I stomp out of his presence and grab a towel to dab at the trickles of blood which have seeped into the beige rug in the center of the tiled floor.
“You can do all of that mopping later. Or leave it for the staff. Seeing you all over the place like this makes me uneasy so find a place to sit.”
The unbelievable jerk.
I’m tempted to ask him to stand up and get out, but seeing how he’s leaning heavily against the sofa, blood dripping steadily down the side of his face, my heart fails me.
Instead, I ask him, “Does your head hurt?”
“Is your hair black?” he snaps. I grab two pills of Ibuprofen I always have in my bag, and hand them over to him. He pops them into his mouth while I open the mini refrigerator to get a bottle of water.
When he has gulped down more than half of the bottle, I ease it away from his hands and dash out the door to the room where he’d been treated just yesterday ?the stitch room as he calls it. Grabbing the essentials I need, I hurry back to the room.
I’m no doctor, and here I am doing doctor duties. He grimaces when I soak a small portion of cotton wool and begin to dab away at the blood on his face.
“It’s funny how you think this gash in your head is going to close itself up if you just sit around and don’t go back to the doctor to look into it.” I know he doesn’t want to hear it, but how can I just sit back silently?
“I already called the doctor. He said something about applying pressure on the area,” he responds gruffly.
I throw him a tentative glance and press my lips into a thin line. “What pressure did you apply on your head, Mr. Donatelli?”
He stares at me blankly and says, “I’ve been through worse. This is just a piece of cake, so stop nagging.”
I still over his temple, soaked cotton wool in my hand. “Do you ever get tired of stroking your own ego?” My lips are scrunched up in a frown.
I swipe angrily at the wound on his head, causing him to shut his eyes tightly in agony.
“You’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met. If you keep your mouth shut, maybe you won’t upset me and cause me to poke at your wound.”
I can sense his muscles tense up at my words but he falls completely silent and doesn’t retort like he normally would have.
When I fix an adhesive bandage onto his head wound, my fingers travel lightly over his shirt, teasing his chest. He raises a brow at me, but I refuse to catch his eye. I have to concentrate on finding other wounds or scratches on his body without actually concentrating on his broad, muscular chest.
“Didn’t realize you were so eager, Princess. If you want, I can take you right here on this couch.” There’s a smirk dancing on his lips despite the state of his face.
“Oh, grow up,” I snap. “I’m just checking to see if you have any other hidden bruises. Besides, I’m not going to patch you up through your clothes.”
“Relax. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” He pulls off his shirt with a wince, and my breath hitches.
Yes, his arms are built like barrels beside his broad chest and hefty torso. Small, golden hair streaked with grey creases his chest and the middle of his stomach, traveling down to his navel.
I forbid my eyes from trailing past his navel and look back to his arms.
From where I stand, there are thick, black scars behind his arms. I grab one of his arms and turn it around. I can’t believe my eyes.
This guy must have gotten at least a thousand floggings because of the map lines drawn all over his back and the back of his arms.
“God…who did this to you?” I suck in sharp breaths, trying to hold back my emotions at the sight.
“This was a very long time ago. Nothing to get riled up about.”
I clench my jaw, biting back the wave of insults dancing on my tongue.
“Why did you even come here? Out of all the places you could have been tonight, why choose to come to my room?”
His eyes flicker, and for a moment, a look of uncertainty flashes across his face.
“I…I don’t know.” His voice is quieter than it was a few minutes ago.
“You don’t know?” I repeat, hardly believing my ears.
“Yeah, well, that’s the only answer I’ve got,” he says flatly.
“What if the cops round up the investigation and call you in for questioning? How would you explain what happened to you?”
“The investigation is a formality. They can’t prove the contraband is mine. Besides, my legal team told the prosecution that it was planted by one of my business rivals. I’ll watch them try to debate against that, especially since it’s the first time my business or character is being questioned.”
There’s an impressed smile on his face, as if he’s confident about having the power to manipulate the law at his will.
My brows crease as I take this man in, trying to make sense of this incarnation of evil seated in front of me. Before I can snap at him, he opens his eyes and fixes them on me in a blank stare.
“You owe me, Aria.”
I release a deep sigh of exasperation and lower myself onto the orthopedic mattress on the bed behind me.
“What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“You haven’t given me any information on the mafia families your father is onto like you promised you would. Are you trying to play a smart game here?”
My whole body goes rigid, my stomach twisting with anger. “My father only regained consciousness...”
“It’s been too long…”
“He’s recovering! The man is on heavy IV drips and rounds and rounds of medication. You expect me to bug him with an investigation in his condition?”
He relaxes back into the sofa, holding his head in his hand as if my words are a sledgehammer, slamming into his brain.
“You’ve had plenty of opportunities, Aria. You didn’t even need your father awake to get that information. You’re his daughter, after all.”
“I’m his daughter, all the more reason I cannot meddle in his affairs, especially now that he’s not there to cover it up if anything goes south,” I snap back at him.
I rise to my feet, walking the length of my room like a prowling animal.
“You’re just a scaredy cat,” he scoffs.
“Oh, you think I’m scared?” My fists clench into balls at my side.
“No, Princess, I think you’re weak,” he spits out like it is some sort of disease I have.
“Get out,” I say, my voice trembling with fury. I can no longer hold it in.
“I want you to understand what’s at stake, Aria,” his voice is commanding, like a father speaking to his unruly toddler. “This isn’t some game, or a bet, or even an adventure. This is real. People are at risk of dying, people I care about, so if you’re not willing to step up, then you’re just useless to me.”
“Useless?” I repeat after him. “You arrogant, self-centered bastard. Do you think I enjoy being dragged into this mess of yours? Do you think I don’t want to keep myself and my father alive?”
I can see the muscles in his jaw constricting, but he says nothing.
“You don’t get to waltz into my life, bark orders, and hold me accountable to debts I know nothing about,” I continue, my voice trembling with rage. “You want information? Fine. I’ll get you every freaking piece of info I can lay my hands on, but henceforth, don’t you dare insult me, threaten me, or accuse me of playing games…”
I’m sure I would have kept at it if he didn’t stand up at that moment. He just stares at me when he gets to his feet, chest heaving, then, without another word, stalks out of the door and slams it so hard that it rattles on its hinges.
I plop back onto the bed, cradling my head in my hands. I know I won’t be getting much sleep tonight.