Chapter 27
CALIGULA
I wake up drowning in Damiano’s scent.
The smell hits me before my eyes even open, sending pleasant sparks straight to my balls despite my fuzzy head. And I know immediately where I am—not just in bed, but in his bed.
Damiano’s bed.
The room takes shape slowly as consciousness returns. I stare at the windows for a long time, taking in the absolute lack of view, before it occurs to me that the shutters are still down. My pulse quickens when I realize I’m not alone—and then just about stops when I see it’s not Damiano Orsini.
A woman leans over me. A petite blonde with a messy bun and pink scrubs, holding a digital thermometer. She’s got kind eyes, but beneath that, the alertness of a health professional.
“Good, you’re awake,” she says with a smile. “You gave everyone quite a scare.”
“I did?” I rasp.
In the corner of the room, a shadow shifts, and I give a startled jerk.
It’s him. Damiano.
“Easy now.” She presses a hand against my forehead, and I lean into the touch slightly—her fingers feel nice and cool. “Yeah, you’re still burning up. I’m Darla, honey. I’m a nurse. Do you know your name?”
“Cal,” I say.
“Very good!” She sounds so pleased with me that I smile back at her. “So, I hear you passed out. When’s the last time you had a proper meal?”
I blink. “Yesterday? Maybe...”
Her eyes are still kind, but they narrow as she looks to the side. She’s smart enough not to turn around and openly glare. But she seems so nice, I don’t want her to do anything that might get her hurt.
So I try to sit up. “I was in the shower—” The world tilts and I collapse back against the pillows.
“Don’t do that,” Darla says gently. “You need to rest.”
Across the room, when it swims back into focus, Damiano looms like a thundercloud, arms crossed, face cold. But his eyes—Christ, his eyes are burning holes through me with the same intensity as the first night I was in his house.
“Do you have any underlying conditions?” Darla asks, following my gaze briefly before refocusing on me.
“Just the usual.” I let my voice carry a hint of flirtation. “Apparently I’m irresistible to beautiful women.”
She laughs. “Well, that’s not in any medical textbook I’ve read.”
In the corner, Damiano’s hands are clenching into fists.
“So, is this something you do part-time while you build your career as a supermodel?” I continue.
Darla’s smile widens. “You can flirt as hard as you like, it won’t change your blood pressure reading.
” She adjusts the cuff around my arm. “Since you ask, I’m a registered nurse, but I’m also in medical school to become a doctor.
I do some freelancing here and there. Off-the-books work, mainly for people who… well. Prefer their privacy.”
People like Damiano. People who can afford to keep their secrets buried.
Darla turns to him. “Could you grab me a fresh washcloth, please, Mr. Orsini?”
He hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave us alone together, before turning and stalking from the room. The door closes not much quieter than a slam.
As soon as we’re alone, Darla leans closer, all her smiles evaporating. “If you’re in trouble, Cal, I can help you. I have friends who can get you out of here.”
I let myself imagine it: walking out of this steel-shuttered house, disappearing, breathing fresh air again.
But there’s ten million dollars on the line.
And the killer is waiting out there somewhere for me.
I think of the golden cage, the collar. Of Damiano’s hands—teasing me with the plug, spanking me until I came, sliding inside me.
I think about him taking a knife for me.
I signed away my autonomy in return for ten million and protection for a year. And he has protected me, hasn’t he? At the opera. And he didn’t leave me lying on the floor of the shower. He got me medical help. I’m not in his basement anymore—I’m in his room, his private sanctuary. Back in his bed.
I even have clothes on. Pajamas that fit, though the legs are a little short.
A surge of reckless confidence flares within me. He’s still controllable. I just need to find the right strings to pull. As for this nurse, maybe she means well, but…
“These friends of yours,” I begin, keeping my voice light. “Are they good friends?”
“They’re very good friends. They’re paying for my tuition while I study.” Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. “The Morellis.”
Nausea rises sharp and fast. There’s no way in hell I’ll put myself in debt to the Morelli Family.
“I’m fine,” I tell the nurse. “Damiano and I…we just get a little carried away sometimes. New relationships are intense, you know? We’ve been so busy getting to know each other that we forgot about little things like eating. ”
I watch her expression shift from concern to skepticism. “New relationship energy, huh?” She slides a business card onto the nightstand anyway. “Just in case.”
The door opens and Damiano returns with a washcloth. The nurse slips straight back into professional mode, taking it from him and dipping it into a bowl of water on the nightstand.
“Cal needs rest and careful treatment,” she tells him firmly as she wipes down my hot face. “Meals in bed, plenty of fluids, and gentle handling. Take it easy on the, uh, ‘getting to know you’ activities for a few days.”
He nods curtly, but I catch the way his jaw ticks at her phrasing.
“Dami needs some help, too,” I say. “Show her, Dami.”
He stares at me.
“Your arm,” I say sweetly. “Let the nurse have a look at it.”
She turns to him expectantly. “Is there something else I can help you with, Mr. Orsini?”
“It’s nothing.” She stares him down. After a moment, Damiano strips off his shirt, all the while glaring at me. “Just a cut.”
He’s tied a new bandage around it, and while this one isn’t stained red, he still hisses when she removes it. “You’ve pulled your stitches,” she says severely, examining it. She glares up at him. “You should have called me in when—”
“Well, you’re here now,” he snaps. She doesn’t cower away from him, just makes him sit on the chair in the corner again while she douses him with disinfectant and then cuts out the old stitches.
“You’ve been too active,” she tuts as she cleans the wound and then sews him up again. Damiano stares at me the whole time, and I watch with pleasure, hoping it hurts like hell.
The bastard deserves a lot more pain than that, but this will do for a start.
“I’ll leave you with a course of antibiotics,” she says after plastering over the wound again and bandaging him up.
“Thank you,” he says shortly. He escorts her to the door as close as a shadow, and I don’t miss how he positions himself between us until they leave the room.
“Rosa will take you down,” I hear him say, and then he comes back into the room, staring at me once more as he shuts the door behind him.
The moment the door clicks shut, he stalks over to pick up Darla’s card, holding it between two fingers as if it might contaminate him.
“She offered you a way out,” he says, voice deadly quiet. “Why didn’t you take it?”
I meet his eyes. “Because I signed my name to a contract. And that means I gave my word as a Clemenza. I won’t break it.”
“Even if it breaks you?”
Various feelings rush through me—irritation, arousal, something that might even be pity for this fool standing before me.
“I spent months running. Always looking over my shoulder, never knowing if I’d wake up dead.
While I’m here, I have food, a bed, and I don’t have to worry about an attack in the night. And you…”
“I what?”
“You gave me your word, too. You said you’d protect me—and you did. I might not like you very much, Damiano Orsini, but I do actually trust you. You proved I could. Besides,” I add, “I’d literally die before asking the Morellis for help. Luca D’Amato killed my grandfather.”
“Did you love the old man that much?”
Whatever medication Darla gave me seems to have loosened my tongue, because the truth spills out unguarded. “I hated him. But love and hate have nothing to do with Family. Family is about loyalty, first and last.”
Something shifts in his expression—approval, maybe even respect. “I need you to answer some questions. And no fucking lies.”
“Alright. On one condition.”
“You don’t get to—”
“You haven’t even heard my condition.”
He glares. “What is it?”
“I won’t lie to you, as long as you don’t lie to me.
” I run my hands over the quilt. It’s homemade, and the ridges and bumps help soothe me.
“Do whatever else you want. We both know you can—and will. Just…don’t lie to me while I’m here.
I’d rather have the truth, no matter how terrible it might be. And I’ll give you the same courtesy.”
It takes a second. But he nods. “Agreed.” He sits on the edge of the bed and fixes me with that searching stare he gets. “Who is hunting the Clemenzas?”
“You asked me that before. I don’t know. Do you?” I study his face right back.
He just shakes his head. “But you don’t need to worry. You’re safe here.”
“How reassuring,” I reply. “My very own beast, keeping me safe from all the other monsters out there.”
His lips curve slightly. “You must be feeling better. The sarcasm is back.” He stands and turns toward the door, then pauses. “Get some rest,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ll come back later, and I’ll have more questions for you then.”
When he’s gone, I pick up Darla’s card, turning it between my fingers thoughtfully. He left it here. Why? Is it a dare?
A test?
I saw approval in those cold eyes when I told him loyalty was the only important thing. I said it partly just to see how he’d react. To slide a suggestion in, see if he’d enjoy it. He did.
But I also meant it. I gave my word.
I will keep it.