Chapter 18 #2
There are no casualties, I want to scream. None who matters anyway. Just the three men who tried to kill me. The ones who shot Adrian. And I'm not exactly broken up about that.
But I can't scream.
So I take a deep breath and put my phone down.
My food is gone.
My coffee is cold.
The trap is set.
And I'm about to walk right into it.
I push my chair back and stand up. I don't bother to announce what I'm doing.
I just walk out of the kitchen and make my way up the stairs, my feet heavy.
The hallway is just as I left it. Dim. Quiet.
Adrian’s door is shut.
I stand in front of it for a full minute, my heart hammering against my ribs, before I finally raise my hand and knock.
“Come in.”
His voice is a low rumble, rough with pain or lack of sleep. Or both.
I turn the knob and push the door open.
He’s sitting up in bed, propped against a pile of pillows. He’s wearing a dark gray T-shirt that stretches across his chest and shoulders, and the sheets are pooled around his waist, revealing a slice of toned stomach and the stark white of the bandage on his side.
There are two men and a woman in the room.
I recognize them as part of Adrian’s team. They’re standing in a semi-circle at the foot of the bed, all in dark suits, all radiating a quiet, professional intensity.
They all turn to look at me when I walk in.
Adrian’s gaze is the last one to meet mine. His eyes are cool and unreadable, but I see the flicker of something in them. Surprise? Annoyance?
I can't tell.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice a little too thin. “I can come back.”
“No,” Adrian says. “We’re done.”
His people don’t argue. They just nod at him, then at me, and file out of the room, one after the other, their faces like stone. The last one closes the door quietly behind him, leaving us alone.
Silence descends.
It’s heavier this time. Loaded with unspoken things.
I’m still standing by the door, feeling awkward and out of place. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what to do with my eyes.
I look at the floor.
Then I force myself to look at him.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“I’ve been better.”
His gaze is steady, and it’s making it hard to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For last night.”
I don’t specify what I’m sorry for. I’m sorry for everything. For the kiss. For the pain I caused him. For the mess I made of everything.
A muscle in his jaw works. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“I do.”
“No,” he says, his voice flat. “You don’t.”
He's dismissing it.
He's putting it in a box and shoving it in a closet, just like I knew he would.
And it hurts.
It hurts more than I expected it to.
I want to argue with him. I want to make him acknowledge what happened. I want him to admit that it meant something.
But I can't.
Because what if it didn't?
What if it really was just the adrenaline? What if I’m the only one who can’t stop thinking about it?
What if I’m just a client who had a trauma response, and he’s the professional who handled it?
A horrible thought occurs. What if he's reacting like this because it's not the first time it's happened to him?
My stomach roils.
I can't think about that.
I can't.
“I came to talk to you about the briefing,” I say, my voice tight and clipped. I am Caterina Conti, damn it. I can do this. "Teresa said you were refusing to rest."
His eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s surprised by the sudden shift in topic. He recovers quickly. “Teresa talks too much.”
“She’s worried about you,” I say.
“She shouldn’t be.”
“Well, she is. And so am I.”
“Caterina—”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice a little sharper than I intended. “Don’t ‘Caterina’ me. You were shot last night. You need to be resting. Not running an operation from Luca’s guest room.”
“That’s not your decision.”
“It is when it’s happening in my family’s house. And when it involves my security.”
“You hired me to make those decisions.”
“And I’m un-hiring you from that decision for the next twenty-four hours,” I say, the words coming out with more force than I knew I had. “You are off duty. You are a patient. You will rest. And you will take the pain medication.”
I’m standing here, in this room, with this man, and I am giving him orders.
I am challenging him.
And I have no idea how he’s going to react.
A slow, dangerous smile touches his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“And how, exactly, do you plan on enforcing that?”
My mind races.
I have no idea.
But I’m not backing down.
“I’ll sit here,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’ll sit in that chair and I will watch you. And if you try to get out of that bed, I will call Teresa. She seems pretty determined to kick your ass." I add, "I’ll even help her."
His smile widens, a little bit more genuine this time. A little bit more amused.
“You’re threatening me.”
“I am.”
“With Teresa.”
“And your mother,” I add, feeling a surge of triumph.
His smile vanishes.
He looks at me, a long, considering look that makes my skin tingle. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” I say.
We stare at each other.
The air in the room crackles.
This is better.
This is safer than the memory of his kiss, better than the shame and the confusion.
This is a fight I know how to win. This is a battle of wills. A power play. This is the language I speak.
This is the language I need to speak right now to survive the morning.
Finally, he lets out a slow breath and leans back against the pillows. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“You win.” His voice is flat. Defeated.
But I don’t feel triumphant.
I feel… something else.
Something I don’t want to name.
“Good,” I say. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”
"Twenty-four hours, Caterina," he warns. "Then I'm out of this bed."
"I'll take it," I say.
I turn to leave, feeling a strange mix of victory and disappointment. I wanted to win. But I also wanted…
I don’t know what I wanted.
I hesitate with my hand on the doorknob.
“Is there anything you need?” I ask, my voice softer now. “Before I go?”
I can't bear to turn back and face him.
There's a hesitation before he says, "No." Then, "No, I'm good."
But I'm not good.
I am so far from good.
"Alright," I say, and I make my escape.
I close the door behind me and lean my forehead against it, my eyes closed, my heart pounding.
I have no idea what just happened.
I have no idea what I'm doing.
I just know that I have bought myself twenty-four hours to figure it out.
And I’m not going to waste a single second of it.