30
Nicole
I don’t trust Dante. How can I when just yesterday I was at the hospital and doing fine, and then this morning he shows me a video telling me that I’m going to die?
The video is fake. It has to have been manipulated.
His men could have easily created the video and somehow switched identities to make it look like my papa.
I know Papa. He may be harsh and cruel at times, but he would never hurt me, his only daughter.
And the doctor. He works for Dante and would do anything ordered of him, including drugging his patient.
When the pills come, I won’t take them. That will be a fight for later. I can tongue the drugs and flush them when no one is watching.
I take a few sips of water after nibbling on crackers to suffice Dante. The last thing I want is for him to force me to eat, but I’m not hungry.
How can he expect me to want to eat after what he’s told me?
He stands from the mattress, and I let him leave.
“I’ll be back later to check on you,” Dante says. He presses a kiss on my forehead.
I try not to flinch.
Dante steps out of my room and shuts the door. I don’t hear the click of the lock.
I hurry out of bed and dress for the day.
There are footsteps on the opposite side of the door, just outside the hallway. Voices are muffled behind the thick walls.
Is Dante talking to one of the guards?
Are they discussing me?
I swallow the rest of the glass of water. I’m more thirsty than hungry, but I don’t want Dante to feel any hint of satisfaction that I’ve managed to get fluids or food in me.
If he cares at all, it’s about the baby that I’m carrying. He doesn’t give a damn about me.
There’s a sharp knock at the door, and I race back toward the bed.
“Your medicine,” Dante says, showing me the bag from the pharmacy. He opens the stapled paper bag, tearing the top and flipping it upside down to drop the pill bottle onto the mattress.
I reach for the bottle, but he snatches it before I can examine the prescription.
He reads over the instructions and then hands me a pill.
I reach for the nearly empty water glass, and he takes it to the bathroom sink to fill. “You’ll need to drink a full glass of water with each dose.”
“What did the doctor prescribe?” I ask, reaching for the pill bottle.
Doxycycline.
I’ve never heard of it specifically, but it sounds legitimate, like an antibiotic.
He wouldn’t give me a pill to make me miscarry, would he?
“Here.” Dante hands me the glass of water. “The instructions also say it could upset your stomach. I’ll have our chef, Savino, prepare you something to eat. Do you think you can stomach lunch?”