Page 3 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
“What about having a doctor see her?”
“A shrink? I already offered. She refused.”
“Who’s in charge here, you or her?”
De Rossi huffs. “What do you want me to do? Put a gun to her head? She’s not a mark. She’s my sister. I can’t force her to talk to someone if she doesn’t want to talk.”
“The change of scenery will be good for her.”
“I hope so.” He looks up at the ceiling and exhales a long breath. “I know she never stopped feeling guilty about what happened to her friend, Imogen. I’ve told her it’s not her fault a million times, but I haven’t been able to get through to her. Vale told me she thought Mari was starting to let go of it, but then Lazaro appeared again and dragged her right back down to that dark place.”
No fucking shit. Martina got away from Lazaro in New York, but her friend wasn’t so lucky. Survivor’s guilt can destroy someone from the inside out if it’s not properly dealt with.
I clench my jaw. This is a problem. How bad is she? I can protect Martina from external threats, but unless I handcuff myself to her, I’m not going to be able to keep her safe from herself. I have to know she’s not going to slit her wrists as soon as I leave her alone.
An unpleasant sensation spreads through my chest at that thought. I don’t know the girl, but she seems like a nice kid. The idea of her being so down on herself… It’s not right. I’ve got to get her to snap out of it. Do something to get her spirits up.
Plus, she needs someone to take control of her situation, since she’s clearly incapable of getting out of it herself. And by someone, I mean me.
After all, Damiano needs to focus on the task at hand—outsmarting Sal and his cronies—which means the quicker I can take Martina off his mind, the better.
“Are you going to tell me where you’re taking her?” he asks.
“Better not. The less people know, the better.” My gaze slides to the hidden camera placed on the bookshelf just above De Rossi’s shoulder.
He notices what I’m looking at and makes an incredulous sound. “How are you able to spot it so quickly?”
“I know what to look for. Tell me that’s not connected to the Internet.”
“Local network only, just like you said.”
“Good. Martina will be somewhere safe, and I’ll be keeping a close eye on her.”
De Rossi rises, grabs two clean glasses off a shelf, and pours us a finger of whiskey each. “I’m not sure being around you won’t just worsen her mood,” he jokes, handing me the drink. “Maybe practice smiling before you meet her. She’s not used to your sour face.”
“She’ll be fine if she’s managed to live with yours.”
He lets out a low chuckle and tips his glass at me. “To change. The only constant in our world.”
“To change.”
I throw back my whiskey and check the time. “We should be leaving soon.”
De Rossi stands. “I’ll go get her.”
Leaving the office after him, I make my way back to the living room and stop in front of the sliding doors that lead out to the pool.
The sight of it triggers a memory of the girl.
Yes, a girl.
Although when I saw Martina by the pool the last time I came around, that wasn’t the first descriptive word that came to mind.
I place my forearm against the glass and press my forehead into it.
She was lying there in a yellow bikini that barely contained her curves, and before I realized who she was, my cock stirred at the image of me peeling it off her with my teeth. Then Damiano reintroduced us, and I pushed that image far out of my head. The first time we met, she was a gangly thirteen-year-old with braces and a pair of prescription glasses that made her look like a bug, so I latched onto that memory instead.
Still, one would have to be blind not to appreciate that she’s bloomed into something quite spectacular since then.
