Reign (The Italian Cartel Book 3) by Shandi Boyes

Author:Shandi Boyes [Boyes, Shandi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-10T18:30:00+00:00

23

Roxanne

“The faucet is as finicky as shit, but if you like your showers scalding, you’ll be happy.”

Rocco balances his drenched shoulder onto the doorjamb separating my room from the attached bathroom before running a towel over his wet head. For a woman unprepared for guests until ten minutes before we arrived, India laid out the welcome mat. My room is made up as if it’s the presidential suite at a ritzy hotel, the bathroom is brimming with toiletries that took care of the gory scent bounding out of Rocco the past three hours in less than ten minutes, and we devoured a feast fit for a king.

I could almost pretend I was whisked away for a weekend of indulgence if the right man was humming in the shower the past five minutes.

Rocco hasn’t let up on his endeavor to force a response out of Dimitri one bit the past three hours. He attempted to feed me strawberries dipped in chocolate, wipe away the dribble of a juicy steak from the bottom of my lip while chewing on his own, then sat so close to me, even if I wanted to forget I was only just freed from a baby-farming trade, I couldn’t.

The only good that’s come from his constant attention is not having the time to think about how much has changed in the past three days. I said to Dimitri I wouldn’t walk away from him as the woman I once was, but even I didn’t have a clue how honest my statement was.

I’m not close to the woman I used to be. I don’t necessarily believe that’s a bad thing. However, I’m confident walking away from Dimitri will hurt, nonetheless.

Ignoring the pain stretched from my heart to the lower half of my stomach, I maneuver out of the cross-legged position on the floor I’ve been huddled in the past hour, then pad to Rocco’s half of the room. He watches me, forever on alert, but seemingly at a loss on which direction he should take this time around.

We haven’t stumbled anywhere near the shitstorm we feel brewing on the horizon. We bunkered down instead, preferring to ride out the storm in a shelter instead of walking into it without fear as we suggested only hours ago. It’s cowardly for us to do, but when you’re facing a storm as brutal as this one, only a fool would pray for impact instead of doing everything possible to avoid it.

“I really wish you’d let someone take a look at your foot,” Rocco says when I stop to stand in front of him. “The ice helped with the swelling, but for all we know, it could be a twisted wreck beneath the surface.”

“It’s fine,” I assure him for the hundredth time this evening. I can barely feel its throb. Not only has the swelling settled, nothing can compare to the pain in my chest. It’s as bad as it comes. “We iced and strapped it. What more could it need?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rocco answers, unaware I wasn’t asking a question.

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