Page 9 of The Red Queen

The only reason he hadn’t made the decision years ago was he suspected the only solution to Antonio was a permanent one. As much as the boy showed no inclination to honour his father or the Savino name, he was the only blood link Giovanni had with his dead wife. The loss would hurt almost as much as Antonia’s death.

His thoughts returned to the woman in his cellar. She would be fierce, but controllable. He knew of her history, knew of her loyalty to a dead man. If he could turn her allegiance to him, perhaps she would help him find a solution to Antonio.

He laughed bitterly.

Wishful thinking. At the moment, his son and Desi had more in common than not. They both hated him and would prefer to see him dead.

Giovanni set his mind to business, working his way through several days’ worth of correspondence. It was a laborious and tedious task. Though he understood and could use technology, he rarely allowed it in his house. Computers and smart phones could be hacked. He wanted as few paper trails as possible to his illegal business dealings.

Only his legal businesses, the winery, the clubs, restaurants, and tourist tours, were on paper and computerized, giving him the appearance of a legitimate businessman. If anyone were to question his elaborate lifestyle of private jets, vineyards, and estate upkeep, he would simply say he came from old money, which wasn’t untrue. In fact, he came from a long line of successful Savinos. Most worked in the underground, as he did, and were smart enough to keep legitimate business as well.

Dr. Danilo arrived at the exact time he’d said he would. Prompt as always, which was part of the reason Giovanni liked the man. He didn’t have patience for tardiness.

“This way,” he said after greeting the man, who was several years older.

A short, round figure, Danilo gave the impression of a jovial, kindly man, with time to listen to and treat each of his patient’s ailments. Giovanni knew a different side to him. The side that worked for the mob and accepted hefty bribes as payment for quietly fixing wounds that might otherwise draw attention.

Before they entered the cellar, Giovanni warned him, “My guest is volatile. I will hold her if she shows any inclination toward attack, but please be careful. I fear if given a chance she would kill us both and run.”

The doctor gave no indication that hearing of an injured woman being held captive in Giovanni’s cellar was at all strange. Instead, he nodded and asked Giovanni to show him to his patient.

The moment they walked through the door, Desi launched herself at them in a flurry of kicks and punches that Giovanni could only admire, given she’d been shot twice, had a finger cut off, and should still be heavily drugged. She was younger than both men and her combat skills were impeccable, so she got in a few good hits before they subdued her.

Giovanni restrained her on the bed, his body covering hers. He held one of her wrists over her head in a twisting hold that could easily break the fine bones beneath her skin if she persisted. He used his body to pin her legs while the doctor examined her injured hand.

Desi glared daggers at Giovanni, baring her teeth in a feral snarl while the doctor worked. She didn’t once flinch as the stump of her finger was exposed, cleaned, and re-bandaged.

“The bullet is still in the shoulder,” Dr. Danilo said calmly as he reached for his bag, digging out forceps. “Hold her still, this is going to hurt.”

As the doctor dug in her shoulder, Desi grunted once but otherwise didn’t make a peep. Giovanni’s face was inches from hers and he could tell by her erratic pulse when she was in pain and when she was feeling relief.

Dr. Danilo pulled the bullet from her shoulder and set it aside, then cleaned and re-bandaged the wound. The two men shifted positions so the doctor could see to the wound on her thigh as well.

When the doctor finished, he pulled a needle from his bag. Seeing it, Desi screamed obscenities at them in Spanish and thrashed so hard she nearly threw Giovanni off. Apparently, breaking her wrist was more important than taking the needle. Finally, he realized she feared being drugged again, more than her own safety.

He gripped her by the chin and forced her to look at him. “It’s not a sedative. Calm down.”

“Putabitch!” she snarled, bucking underneath him.

He could feel his patience slipping and, since he didn’t want to do anything he might come to regret with this woman, he simply held her down while the doctor administered a powerful shot of antibiotics.

When they finished, Dr. Danilo stood first, releasing Desi’s arm. Heedless of her injury, she tried to strike Giovanni in the head. He ducked her fist and reached for his gun, placing the barrel against her forehead. He hadn’t wanted to talk to her this way, but she wasn’t making it easy.

“Calm down, Desiree.”

“Shoot me,” she growled, pressing her head hard into the barrel.

He would have thought her words were bravado except for the flash of hope he saw in her dark velvet eyes. She wanted him to pull the trigger. She wanted to die.

The knowledge was a punch to the gut, and Giovanni immediately climbed off her, rolling off the side of the bed. He’d known she was feral. That she would do her best to take him down, but he hadn’t suspected her of being suicidal. Would he have left her behind if he’d known? Probably. He’d wanted a woman of rare fire and a loyalty that he could twist to his purposes. This… wasn’t what he wanted. But he’d gone too far. She was under his roof and under his protection now. She belonged to him.

He kept his gun trained on her for the doctor’s safety as he escorted the other man from the room.

He closed and locked the door, and together they left the cellar.

They spoke in front of the house, the warm Italian summer air caressing them.

“She will heal,” Dr. Danilo said. “She’s strong and managing well despite losing a digit on her dominant hand. Her other injuries are mostly superficial and will heal. Make sure they stay clean.”

---