God. He looks dangerous as hell.
He grips me by my elbow and leads me to the kitchen, where he wraps a dish towel around my hand.
I watch as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. Unfortunately, he speaks Italian and I can’t make out what he’s saying, but then I hear Leo’s voice come angrily over the line.
The guard locks eyes with me. “What were you doing out on the rocks?”
I swallow hard on my chaotic emotions and fear as I admit, “I dropped my phone.”
I think he relays my answer to Leo and listens for a few seconds before he ends the call. When he makes another call, I glance down at my aching hand, the blood already seeping through the fabric.
Shit. It hurts.
“A doctor is coming,” the guard suddenly says in English, then he takes hold of my hand again, and tightens the towel even more.
I let out a painful whimper, then snap, “Careful!”
I’m surprised when he says, “I’m sorry. We need to stop the bleeding while we wait for the doctor.”
He makes a tight knot at the back of my hand, then dials another number. While he’s on the phone, I walk to one of the stools and sit down.
God, why did I drop my phone?
My eyes snap to the device in the guard’s hand.
I know Mom’s number off my heart.
When he ends the call, I ask, “Can I use your phone?”
“Sure.”
My eyebrows fly up because I expected him to say no. When he holds it out to me, I quickly take it before he can change his mind.
I type in Mom’s number and press dial. It rings a few times before she answers, “Hello?”
“It’s me, Mom. I dropped my phone, and it smashed to smithereens on the rocks.”
“Haven! God, I was so worried. Is this Leo’s number?”
“No, he’s not back yet. I’m using one of the guards’ phones.”
“We’re getting you a new phone,” the guard informs me, making my jaw drop. “I’ve sent a man to buy one.”
“I’m getting a new phone. I’ll call you as soon as I have it,” I relay the news to Mom.
“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon, sweetheart.”
I end the call and hand the device back to the guard. He puts it in his pocket before he looks at my hand again.
When I hiss with pain, he murmurs, “Sorry.”
With the shock of the fall fading, I begin to feel uncomfortable with the guard. I recognize him from the two times I’ve seen him come into the house, but I never stuck around to talk to him.
His eyes touch on my face, then he says, “My name is Edoardo. I’m in charge of security here at the mansion.”
In other words, it’s his job to make sure I stay put and don’t escape.
Last week, I would’ve made a run for my bedroom, but I’m so freaking starved for human interaction, I remain seated on the stool, and say, “I’m Haven.”
