Page 25 of His Prize

“Uh, no. It’s just me.”

“You said you were bleeding?”

I paused. “I was trying to separate a whole chicken and slit my finger open. Now, there’s blood everywhere, and I can’t bend down to clean anything. And Israel isn’t here, and I didn’t know who else to call.” I felt just as weak as my words, and I loathed every second of it.

“Ten minutes. Get upstairs and stay there. Once you hear us leave, you can come back down. And next time? Follow your recuperation guidelines.”

Then, the line hung up.

I slid the phone back into its slot before my forehead fell against the wall. Fucking hell, even some random woman on the other side of that line knew what I was up to and that I shouldn’t be doing it. Was everyone in this damn city privy to my recuperation orders? I didn’t know whether to be upset or offended. I didn’t know whether to be sad or furious. All I knew was that Israel was out on a date, I couldn't get out of bed without help, and I had become nothing more than an inconvenience.

Again.

“He’ll never want to come back to you like this,” I murmured.

If he were out with that Esposito girl again, he’d never want to come back to me. She could stand on her own two feet. She could probably cook a fresh meal for him. She could make love to him any which way she pleased because her body wasn’t beat up from the floor up. I wobbled out of the pantry and passed by the mess I’d made. It would take me damn near ten minutes just to get back up to the bedroom. Where maybe I just needed to stay.

“Fuck this shit,” I said through my sniffles.

You have to get stronger. More competent. That’s what Israel wants.

I pulled myself up the stairs and cursed how sore my body still felt.

You have to get strong again. None of this weak woman shit.

I thanked my stars that Israel wasn’t here to witness me having to use the wall to scoot all the way to the bedroom.

You have to prove to him that you can come back from stuff like this. Because this won’t be the first attempt on your life.

I collapsed onto the bed, bloodied apron and all. I cried into my pillow, trying to release all of the stress and the tension I’d been carrying around since getting out of the hospital last week. Everything felt so dark and bleak. All I had was some random woman popping in and out during the day to annoy the piss out of me. Oh, and make me kiddie meals.

You have to think logically. Don’t get wrapped up in your emotions. Israel wouldn’t want that.

“Israel,” I whispered.

I curled up in bed and managed to pull the covers over my head. I heard the elevator whirring downstairs, and I closed my eyes, blocking out everything that was about to happen. All I wanted was for Israel to love me. All I wanted was for us to be a family. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that task would be this hard, and part of me felt like giving up.

If you give up, Alice wins. Alice gets your prize. Don't do that.

I didn’t know how much more I could take, though. How many personal blows I could sustain. Now, more than ever, I understood why mafia Dons kept their weak spots hidden. I finally realized now why Israel kept himself so closed off emotionally to people—because this was the kind of torture that I’d never be able to handle. Fuck me, hurt me all you want. But, if someone did this to Israel? I’d spin out of control. I’d have the entire city slaughtered just to make sure he never got hurt again. And that kind of thing was career-ending. That was the kind of vulnerability that got someone pumped full of lead in this line of work.

Yes, I need to close off emotionally. I have to become a logical creature to survive this.

And in order to empathize enough with Israel to get him to see that we were perfect for one another.

“Miss Bonnie?” A familiar voice sounded at my door, but I couldn't move.

“Yes?” I asked.

I heard footsteps coming toward me. “I’m the woman from the phone. Do you have anything bloody on you?”

I looked down at myself. “Yes, my apron and my shirt.”

“All right, here’s what I need from you: I need you to sit up and close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

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