Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Capisiti?”
It took all my strength not to smile because Don Mancini really had no idea who I was. But I played the game and kept my eyes on the prize. “Yes, Don Mancini.”
7
FRANCESCA
I was at the desk upstairs when one of the maids called up to me. “Frankie, you’ve got a laceration downstairs.”
“Again?” Yesterday, Salvatore got a nasty cut from a broken wine bottle, and now I had another patient on the roster. I’d just made an order from the hospital for more supplies because I’d been flying through them with all the injuries that had happened recently.
I left the office, headed down the stairs, and reached the entryway.
Wolfe stood there, a towel clamped around his forearm, and he wore a playful grin on his lips. “Hello, Nurse.”
“You didn’t learn from yesterday?”
He gave a slight shrug. “Guess not. Gonna stitch me up?”
Something about this seemed suspicious. What were the odds of two cuts in a row from the warehouse? “Come on, follow me.” I walked outside and down the stairs, feeling his mountain of a presence behind me.
We went to the side of the house where the cellar was located, the spot where I triaged most of my patients. He went down the stairs, and I pulled out one of the chairs at the table. “Take a seat.”
He wordlessly sat down, the towel still clamped around his arm.
I grabbed all my supplies and pulled up the chair next to him so I could work on his forearm.
It was the first time I’d been this close to him. That distinct presence of his was even more potent at this proximity. He gave off an indescribable heat too, as if he were his own personal sun. And the way he smelled, like a man who had been working in the warehouse all day, but also with a hint of a man’s cologne, creating this musk that affected me like an aphrodisiac. “Let’s take a look.” I removed the towel and saw the long cut up his arm. “How’d this happen?”
“Another wine bottle.”
I lifted my eyes and looked at him.
He stared back, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Another wine bottle?” I asked suspiciously.
“Yeah,” he said. “That I may have intentionally cut across my arm so I could see the hot nurse.”
I went still when I heard what he said. “You did not…”
His grin widened.
“That’s crazy.”
“Well, I’m a little crazy.” He gave a shrug. “At least, that’s what I’ve been told…often.”
I held his stare, momentarily lost in those espresso-colored eyes, paralyzed by that confession.
“If you don’t patch me up soon, I might bleed out all over this table.”
My eyes dropped back to his wound, and I put the cloth back on it to stanch the flow.
He grabbed my suture kit and opened it with his teeth, just the way I did sometimes. “Don’t worry. I won’t pass out like Salvatore. Seen a lot worse than this.”
I removed the towel and got to work, cleaning the wound with alcohol first and noticing the way he didn’t flinch when it should have stung. He didn’t show any discomfort when the needle poked his skin, even though I didn’t numb him first. He seemed impervious to pain.
“Where did you go to school?”
“Florence.”
“Was it always your ambition to work for your father?”
“No. I wanted to work in a hospital, but he needed me, so…”
He stared at my face, while I kept my eyes focused on the wound across his forearm.
“You said you get shot a lot. I’m guessing you get stabbed a lot too?”
“Probably going to get stabbed a lot for the foreseeable future.”
My eyes stayed on his wound, but I knew he was smiling. I could hear it in his voice. Could feel it in the energy around him. “I’d rather you not do that. Your ink is too beautiful.”
“You’re into that, huh?”
I shrugged as I continued to work.
“You know, if you’d rather I not cut myself every time I want to see you, maybe you could give me your number.”
My eyes flicked back up to his.
He continued to smirk, the most handsome and arrogant smirk I’d ever seen a man wear. Being this close to him made me feel weak, and I didn’t know how I was able to keep everything together. I only managed to suture his wound because of all the muscle memory I’d built from working in the trenches. It was second nature at this point. “My father would kill you if he found out.”
“Really? Because you strike me as a grown-ass woman who can make her own decisions.”
“Oh, I can,” I said. “But because he already doesn’t like you, any reason to kill you is a good reason.”
“Let me worry about that, alright?” he said as he continued to stare at me. “So how about that number, Francesca?”
I finished the last suture then secured it in place before I grabbed the gauze, feeling a tightness in my chest when I heard him use my full name. Something no one else ever called me, not even my own father.