He smiles, but it looks menacing as hell. “You don’t have to hide when I come into the house.”
A very uncomfortable silence falls between us, and the minutes feel torturously long.
Edoardo’s phone rings, and he quickly answers. I hear Leo’s voice again, and suddenly the urge to talk to him strikes.
Nope. He’s responsible for the hell you find yourself in.
Anger rears up in my chest, but every time I hear the timbre of his voice, the urge grows.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask Edoardo if I can speak to Leo, but thankfully, he ends the call, and the urge passes.
Other voices come from the direction of the front door, and I glance over my shoulder.
“The doctor is here,” Edoardo informs me.
A man carrying a black bag comes rushing in. He talks to Edoardo while he sets the bag down on the island. Opening it, he removes antiseptic wipes, an injection, and a small vial.
“Hello, Mrs. Toscano,” the doctor greets me. “I’m going to tend to your hand.”
I almost tell him I’m not Mrs. Toscano, but end up replying, “Okay. Thanks.”
“This will hurt,” he informs me as he starts to clean my palm. “Are you allergic to anything?”
“No,” I mutter before sharp bolts of pain shoot through my hand and wrist, making me clench my jaw.
Turning my head away, I stare at one of the cupboards.
“I’m giving you an injection for pain because you need stitches.”
I nod and brace for the sharp prick.
God!
The injection makes the pain worse before it starts to fade.
I keep staring at the cupboard while the doctor works on my hand, and after a few minutes, he says, “It looks like you sprained your wrist.”
“Are you sure?” Edoardo asks.
I look at my hand and see the cut is two inches long. The sight of the stitches makes my stomach feel queasy, and I glance away again.
Holy crap. No wonder it hurts so much.
“Don’t use your left hand for anything, and keep it as still as possible,” the doctor instructs as he wraps a bandage around my palm. “I’ll give you painkillers. Take two every six hours or as needed for pain.”
I’m guessing the doctor is on Leo’s payroll, but it doesn’t stop me from being polite. “Thank you for taking care of my hand.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Toscano.” He looks at Edoardo and switches over to Italian.
The men walk out of the kitchen, and it has me slipping off the stool. I cradle my left hand against my chest as I pick up the box of painkillers.
Wait. I can’t go to my room yet.
I walk to the doorway between the kitchen and foyer and watch as Edoardo lets the doctor out of the mansion.
When the guard turns around, I ask, “Do you know how long it will take to get the new phone?”
He checks the time on his watch. “Probably another thirty minutes.” He gestures to the staircase. “If you want to go rest, you can. I’ll bring the phone to you when it arrives.”
