Page 76 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
It comes out too close to a broken breath.
Stefano places the rabbit in Erin’s arms. “Your job is to hold him until the doctor is done. Can you do that?”
She nods.
“Good.”
He sits in the chair near her, not crowding the bed, not leaving either. Present without taking over. Controlled without being cold. The balance is so unexpected that I keep glancing at him when I should be watching the doctor.
He notices.
He always notices.
Dr. Bellini checks Heath’s temperature again, listens to his lungs, checks his throat, his ears, his hydration, the stiffness of his neck, the clarity of his responses when he can get them. Heath resists at first, weakly.
Maya, not agent. Aunt.
The word keeps pressing against my ribs while I hold Heath’s hand through the exam.
When Bellini asks how long Heath has been sleeping poorly, I look at Omar.
Omar answers. “Since he arrived.”
The doctor pauses. “Every night?”
“Most.”
“Night terrors? Panic on waking?”
“Yes.”
“Eating?”
“Some,” I say. “Not enough.”
“Fluids?”
“Same.”
Bellini’s expression remains professional, but his eyes tell me enough. After he finishes examining Heath, he gives him feverreducer, pushes fluids in careful sips, and checks the reading again after several minutes. Heath remains miserable but more aware. His fingers stay loosely around mine.
Bellini steps toward the window with Stefano and Omar.
I follow.
No one tells me not to.
Smart.
“He is not in immediate danger,” Bellini says quietly. “The fever is moderate and likely worsened by exhaustion and dehydration. I see no signs right now of anything severe, but I want him monitored closely today. Fluids. Rest. Light food if he tolerates it. Keep the room calm.”
My knees threaten to stop being useful.
I lock them.
“He’ll get better?” I ask.
“Yes,” Bellini says. “Physically, he should improve over the next day or two.”
