Page 36 of His Savage Vow
She looks away, her jaw tight, but I see the fear, the want, the same damn inevitability chewing at me. “If we start blurring those lines, it’s going to get messy,” she remarks.
“It’s already messy,” I tell her, my voice low now. “You’re in this whether you want to be or not. Stop pretending there’s a clean way out.”
For a long moment, neither of us speak.
Finally, she says, “Fine. But if we’re doing this, taking Kirilldown, then we have to do it smart. No heroics, none of that cowboy shit from the pier. I don’t want you to die for this revenge.”
I give her a small, dangerous smile. “Then we better make sure the fire burns hot enough to flush him out.”
And in my gut, deep down I know that if the mole catches even a whiff of this plan, we’ll be the ones burning.
15
“Relationships aren’t magic, sweetheart. They’re just two folks choosing to do the best they can through the good times and bad together, day after day.”
—ROBERT MONROE
Constance
By the next morning,Maximo is back to pretending he’s fine. In his case, that means limping to the bathroom when he wakes up, refusing my help with the stairs, and brushing off every wince like it’s nothing. The grinding of his teeth as he stomps around on his injured leg sounds like a squeaking mouse.
“Get your jacket,” I tell him, blocking his path to the study after we finish breakfast.
Maximo archesa brow. “Why?”
“Because you’re going to the clinic.”
He gives me that flat, unreadable look that he probably uses to intimidate men into paying protection money. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Vitoli said you need a chest x-ray. He didn’t say wait until your ribs heal on their own while you swagger around like you’re fucking fine.”
“Constance—”
I fold my arms over my chest. “You can either walk out to the car, or I’ll have Enzo help me drag you there. Your choice.”
Maximo stares at me for a few long seconds before muttering something under his breath and stalking to a nearby closet. He grabs a sports coat that matches his slacks, and I silently celebrate my small victory.
The clinic is a quiet, discreet little building. There’s no waiting room full of strangers, no receptionist peering at us over glasses. Dr. Vitoli handles us personally, running the scans while Maximo slouches in his chair like he’s been sentenced to death by boredom.
Dr. Vitoli brings the x-ray films into the room and places them on an old-school lightboard. I pretend to know what I’m looking at while the doctor explains the images to us. “You’re lucky there are no fractures. Now, the bruising is severe, but your lungs look good. I recommend you rest, ice the affected areas, and try not to get shot again this week.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Maximo mutters dryly.
The doctor then cleans the stitched wound in his leg, and thankfully says there’s no signs of an infection, but that he would prescribe an antibiotic just in case.
On the drive back to the estate, he’s silent until we hit the gates. I was beginning to get concerned, when he turns to me and says, “I don’t think I’ve told you that you handled yourself well during the raid.”
I glance over at him. “That almost sounds like a compliment.”
“It was. But?—”
I groan and roll my eyes, knowing it was too good to be true. “Here it comes.”
“We can’t do that again. You were reckless. I was reckless. That’s what my men are for. Capos, soldiers—they’re paid to cover my ass.”
“Your men didn’t have a Bratva gun pointed at them,” I shoot back.
“And next time, neither will you,” he says, his tone like steel.
