“I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
“Of course,” Dr. Stern says. “This way.”
We follow him to the radiology department, where Rosalie is asked to change into a gown.
I step into a room with her and quickly help her out of her shirt and leggings. When I pull the hospital gown over her shoulders, I grin, “I can get used to dressing you.”
The corner of her mouth lifts in a shy smile, making her look fucking adorable.
I’ve caught onto the fact that she’s self-conscious around me. I’m unsure if it’s because I killed people in front of her today or something else.
My gaze sharpens on her face. “We’re good, right?”
Confusion fills her eyes. “Yes. Why?”
I shake my head. “Just checking.”
We leave the room, and while they’re taking the X-ray and a bunch of other tests, my eyes remain glued to her.
I start to pick up on small things – how she flinches when a man comes near her, how she keeps fidgeting and glancing around her as if she’s constantly on guard, but mostly, how the traumatizing emotions keep hitting her in waves.
It's clear the ordeal Rosalie suffered the past four days took one hell of a toll on her, and more than ever, I regret not getting to her sooner.
It takes a couple of hours before Dr. Stern is done with Rosalie, and we’re escorted back to the private suite, where he says, “She’s broken her wrist, and there’s a hairline fracture in her forearm. I’m going to set it in a cast that she’ll wear for six to eight weeks.”
Rosalie’s shoulders slump, and she looks miserable from the news.
“There isn’t any swelling on her brain, which is good news.” Dr. Stern locks eyes with her. “No more bumps to the head. Take it easy for two weeks.” Then he smiles at me. “Other than that, the bruises just have to heal. I’ll let you know if her bloodwork shows any abnormalities.”
“Thank you.”
I take a seat in the armchair while Dr. Stern sets Rosalie’s right arm in a cast.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I shoot Luca a text.
Rosalie’s wrist is broken, and she has a hairline fracture in her forearm. She also has a concussion.
He replies within minutes.
I’m sorry to hear that. Also, you already killed Greco. Don’t get any ideas. Things are volatile with the Cosa Nostra. Get some fucking sleep. It’s four in the morning, in case you haven’t noticed.
“All done,” Dr. Stern says, pulling my attention back to them. “Try to keep the cast dry.”
“Okay,” Rosalie murmurs as she slides off the bed.
My eyes lock on the cast covering her wrist and forearm, and it only causes my anger to flare back up.
Christ, I really fucking wish I could kill Greco again.
The fucker deserves a million deaths.
“Thank you, Dr. Stern.” I shake the man’s hand, then wrap my arm around Rosalie’s shoulder and steer her out of the hospital.
When we get back home, I order, “Lie down on the couch while I make the food.”
“I want to sit here,” she argues while taking a seat on a stool.
Because it’s already so fucking late, or early for that matter, I fix us a couple of sandwiches. Setting the plate down in front of Rosalie, I mutter, “Eat everything, so I can get you to bed. You must be fucking tired.”