Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Stella
I’m in a daze as we leave the pub. Adrenaline pumps through me and makes my skin tingle. The blood pounds between my ears, and my chest is so tight it feels like I can’t draw a full breath.
There haven’t been many times when I’ve been this terrified, but I keep my calm. This, unfortunately, isn’t my first shootout, nor were those the first men I’ve killed. However, the previous time, it wasn’t two against nine. My brother and his men were with me.
Tommy impresses the shit out of me, but he’s wounded now, and that’s entirely my fault. None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t come here. None of this would’ve happened if I’d kept my voice down. I’d been spiteful and wanted to annoy him as much as he annoyed me.
Now blood’s pouring from his thigh in a wound he’s lucky didn’t hit a major artery. My guess is a couple inches to the left, and it would have hit his femoral. He’d be dead by now.
“Stella!”
I recognize my brother’s voice, and relief washes over me in a wave so powerful it threatens to knock me to the ground. I recognize a rifle’s rapid fire. An arm wraps around my waist again and presses me backward.
I’m against a wall with Tommy facing me. His hand is on the back of my head, pressing my face to his chest.
“Don’t look.”
After what I just saw, if he’s telling me whatever’s happening is too gruesome for me to see, then it must be a massacre. From the number of guns I hear firing now, I’m sure I don’t want to see.
“Are you all right?”
His lips brush against the shell of my ear, sending a shiver along my spine. If this were any other situation, it would be erotic as hell, but I hear the anger in his tone. It turns my blood cold. I don’t know this man. I’m underestimating—or maybe I’m overestimating—his calm.
I don’t know how things will go once this is done and we’re far away from here.
I can imagine what my father and brother will do, but I don’t know Tommy.
It’s inevitable he’ll tell Manfredo. This might have been my chance for a painless death.
When Mano finds out what I’ve done, he might kill me on our wedding night.
He’ll fuck me long enough to prove we consummated the marriage and that I’m truly his wife so he can keep my dowry, then he’ll kill me.
Medieval for sure, but that’s the man he is, and that’s what happens when you live in a world that still has arranged marriages.
If my father can sell me to a wealthy bidder, then I’m only a piece of property.
Once I belong to another man, he can do as he pleases.
Once I leave Chicago, there’s nothing my father can do to stop Mano because my bodyguards will be whichever men Mano assigns to me.
It will all depend on what version of the truth Tommy shares with Mano, even which one he tells my father and brother.
Considering I’m on death’s doorstep, having a nickname for him seems pretty pointless.
I doubt he’s thinking fondly of me right now. I look at his wound again, barely able to see it from how close he’s holding me, but he definitely needs it stitching before he bleeds out.
“You need your wound tending to.”
“I’m fine.”
He doesn’t exactly snap at me, but yeah, he does.
I don’t blame him since he’s likely in pain and blaming me for all of this.
But it doesn’t change the fact he still needs to have his leg looked at.
The noise around us has stopped, and I hear my brother bellowing orders, his voice getting closer with each word.
“Edoardo, Tommaso’s injured. We gotta get him to the hospital.”
“I’m not going to a fucking hospital.”
While he spoke for only me to hear, the determination in his voice doesn’t reflect the pain I see in his eyes or the grimace he gives as he steps away from me.
“I don’t need a hospital, Ms. Rizzo.”
So back to that, are we? It shouldn’t surprise me. I doubt I’m his favorite person right now. Plus, my brother’s standing beside us.
“What the fuck happened, Stella?”
Tommy bristles, even though he says nothing. He’s pissed at me, but he doesn’t like the way my brother’s speaking to me. However, he remains quiet, knowing it’s not his place to intervene. The two of them might be equals, but I’m not Tommy’s family yet.
And even if I were, he still couldn’t countermand my brother when he’s “only” the underboss and would be my nephew through marriage.
“Stella, answer me.”
“Oh—well—um.”
I stumble over my words as my gaze meets Tommy’s. I wonder how he’s going to explain all of this. I’d rather he take the lead, and I merely agree with whatever he says. He’ll know better how to paint the right picture of this to keep the two of us out of trouble.
“I’ll explain all of that later. Tommaso still needs his leg looking at. If he refuses to go to the hospital, then we need to get somewhere I can stitch him up.”
“I don’t need you to sew any pretty bows in my thigh.”
“Well, you need somebody tying some pretty bows.”
My tone is just as snide as his. I don’t appreciate him rejecting common sense, even if he’s clearly angry with me.
“A skin stapler or some skin glue will do just fine.”
I gawk at him as though he’s lost his mind. He must have.
“There’s no way in hell a staple gun or some glue will fix a cut that deep. You’re lucky you didn’t sever an artery and bleed out in there.”
“Wouldn’t that have been most inconvenient for you if I had?”
I stand there blinking as my mouth hangs open. I guess now that neither one of us faces imminent death, that charm he had while he was being protective flew out the window. We’re back to how things were before the fight started.
When he rocks on his feet and looks unsteady, I decide.
“Get him into one of the SUVs before he passes out. Get me the suture kit, and I’ll just be done with this.
You don’t want my help? Then that’s just too damn bad because if you want to live, you’re going to take it.
You can either go along to get along, or I’ll have one of my brother’s men knock you out. Then you won’t be able to argue.”
Edoardo turns away again, bellowing commands. Tommy leans in, so his lips are close to my ear.
“You, little girl, are about to find out what a hot ass feels like, and I don’t mean one that’s going to get fucked. I mean one that’s going to get spanked.”
He turns away and hobbles toward one of our SUVs.
It shocks the shit out of me to hear him say that.
No man has ever threatened to spank me before.
I got a few from my mom and dad when I was little, but they were never more than a couple of swats.
Somehow, I don’t think that’s what Tommy has in mind.
And fucking my ass? I don’t even know what to make of all of that.
I watch him as he sits on the edge of an SUV’s trunk. One of my brother’s men hands me the suture kit.
“Thanks, Daniel.”
I don’t even spare him a glance as I watch Tommy once again grimace in pain. However, his expression says annoyance more than agony. I approach him warier than I have been in the past. I stare at him for a moment, and he cocks an eyebrow.
“I need you to lower your pants, so I can get to the wound.”
The jackass laughs like a fucking hyena. Instead, he grabs the torn edges of his trousers and pulls them apart, practically ripping them in two. I can see the hem of his boxer briefs. He pulls that up, so there’s plenty of space around the cut.
His leg is all muscle. It flexes as he turns, allowing his leg to extend.
I open the first aid kit and pull out the hand sanitizer.
I do my best to clean my hands before putting on rubber gloves.
I use the iodine to clean around his wound, then pull the sticky tape off the aperture drape.
This is hardly a sterile environment, so I use the disposable cloth to isolate the gash.
From his annoyed sigh, I can tell he thinks this is over the top.
The bleeding slowed, so I’m not as scared.
He doesn’t need an infection to kill him, though.
I ready the suturing needle and thread before I look at him again.
“Do you want a drink of something strong? Do you want a numbing shot?”
“No, I want you to get on with it, so I can get back to my hotel and take a nap.”
I want to say, “testy, testy,” but I can’t blame him for being this way.
I feel like he ought to be more appreciative of what I’m doing, but there’d be nothing to appreciate if it weren’t for me.
I’m responsible for what happened to him.
It forces a lump up my throat. All I do is nod before I swallow and look around.
“Can somebody hold up their phone flashlight for me? I need to see what I’m doing.”
He pulls his phone out and turns it on.
“No, I need somebody who will hold that light steady. I can’t have it moving around every time you flinch.”
An eyebrow goes up again as if to say, “I accept the challenge.” He won’t flinch is what he’s trying to convince me of. Maybe he will, maybe he won’t, but I could still do with two lights rather than one.
“Fine, but can I get somebody else as well? You don’t want me making this look like Frankenstein’s monster.”
His expression only grows grimmer with each comment I make.
I’m not making it any better, so I remain quiet, merely adjusting the angle of his phone and Daniel’s so I can use the two flashlights that are now held over his wound.
Daniel remains quiet just like he usually is.
I don’t expect any sound from him, but Tommy doesn’t react each time the needle passes through his skin.
He doesn’t flinch.
He doesn’t suck in a breath.
He doesn’t flex his leg.
You’d almost think he was unconscious if he weren’t watching every move I make. Plenty of the men in my family and the organization are stoic. They’ve been stitched up before with no painkillers or local anesthesia, but they always react a little.
Tommy does nothing at all. What the hell kind of shit has he been through to get him to this point? It would rattle me if I allowed myself to think more about it, but I won’t. I can’t afford to be distracted.
As an ICU nurse, I don’t stitch things up very often.
Any type of surgical experience I have after nursing school comes from taking care of Edoardo and my dad’s injuries when they come home from missions.
Usually, I have no idea what happened and what caused the wounds.
Ignorance is bliss. However, knowing what caused this to happen tonight threatens to make my hand tremble as guilt assails me once again.
But I force that aside so I can concentrate.
I take twenty minutes to stitch up the wound, which is as deep as I first feared. I’m certain Tommy would’ve liked me to move faster, and I think he even grumbled a few times about me enjoying his suffering, but that wasn’t it at all. I wanted to make sure I got it exactly right.
If I don’t, then he could wind up with a permanent limp or an infection. Neither of those are outcomes I want to accept. When I finish, I brush back hair that had slipped onto my forehead and clean up the suture kit, then peel off my rubber gloves.
He’s pale, and his brow’s a little clammy now. But otherwise, he looks entirely unaffected by what just happened. It’s disconcerting as fuck.
“You’re staring, Ms. Rizzo. Didn’t your mother teach you that’s rude?”
“Didn’t your mother teach you to say thank you?”
His grin is purely predatory as he swings his legs off the end of the SUV.
He glances at Daniel before tilting his head toward the other cars.
The man doesn’t hesitate to spin on his heels and find somewhere—anywhere—else to be.
When Tommy stands, he slides his hand into the front of my jeans and grabs the waist, tugging me toward him.
I stumble, making sure I don’t bump into his injured leg.
His hand clenching my jeans holds me in place while he reaches around with the other and lands a hard spank across most of my ass.
“Didn’t your father teach you not to play in the mob’s backyard? Didn’t your father teach you to go nowhere without a guard? Didn’t your father teach you not to mention the Mafia around another syndicate?”
A smack that makes my ass burn follows each question. He pushes me away after the fourth one, letting go of my jeans. I nearly trip over my own feet. He crosses his arms but leans to whisper in my ear.
“Do not think for even a moment that was your punishment. That was to remind you to think before you speak.”
“You have no right to punish me.”
I try for assertive or even indignant, but it comes out as barely more than a hoarse whisper.
“You’re as good as a Vizzini now. I’m the underboss. Anyone who doesn’t fall in line gets punished. Be glad you’re a woman, and a spanking is all I can dole out, Stella.”
I watch the muscles in his neck strain as he straightens. This is a man I should never underestimate. I’ve done it one too many times tonight.
“I’m not married to your uncle yet, so I am not a Vizzini. Not in name, not in anything. I’m a Rizzo. Touch me, and my father and brother’ll remind you who’s helping who with this marriage. You need my dowry far more than my father needs your muscle.”
“Bambina, you needed my muscles tonight.” He leans in again. “And you like watching, don’t you?”
He steps around me, and I’m certain there’s a sexual undertone to that along with the obvious insinuation that I think he’s hot. He is. But he’s also insufferable.
“I’m sorry, and thank you.”
I speak to his retreating back. He stops and looks over his shoulder.
“You’re welcome, and I’m glad I could help.”
Just when I think that settles things, he holds up his hand and stares at his palm for a moment. He scratches it before turning it toward me. An itchy palm. He still plans to spank me.