Page 82 of Dangerous Vows

He studies me for a moment like he sees more than I want him to.

“Physically? Yes. But she’s been through hell. That kind of damage—it doesn’t just heal with time.”

I glance at Amara. She hasn’t moved, but I know she’s awake. She’s always listening and always bracing for what comes next. She’s just surviving.

“Is the baby okay?”

“She’s not spotting. It’s early, it’s probably fine. Time will tell,” he shrugs.

“What else does she need?”

“Rest. Hydration. Someone to make sure she follows my instructions.” He gives me a pointed look. “Which is where you come in.”

“She won’t have a choice,” I muttered, slipping the medicine into my pocket.

“Spoken like a Borrelli. Now let me have a look at your arm.”

“It’s nothing,” I brush him off, but his stern look makes me pause, and I reconsider. I need to be healthy to take care of her. If I get an infection, it will compromise me and her.

“Fine.” I capitulate because Amara needs me. I gently run my hand down Amara’s, caressing her swollen face before we leave her to rest. We make our way into the house.

I sit in a chair, and the doctor chuckles, shaking his head, as he sits across from me at the kitchen table. “You boys are something else. Try to stay away from bullets, okay?”

“We try, Doc, we try,” I sigh. He cleans my flesh wound. It stings at first, then burns, and finally, the dull ache subsides after it’s wrapped.

“Change the dressing daily. Take these antibiotics,” he says, thrusting a vial into my hand.

“Thanks.”

“Good luck with the baby,” he says, standing and stretching his back. “She’ll need an obstetrician. There’s only so much I can do.”

“Thank you for helping,” I say, knowing Matteo pays him handsomely to be at our beck and call. He’s retired, so the cash is always welcome.

Doctor Summers is getting on in years, but he’s trusted. Matteo’s men blindfold him again and lead him out.

I stand and walk to check on Amara. I sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing my hands down my face, and I notice Amara still hasn’t moved.

I give her two pills and make her drink water before I place the medicine on the nightstand, my fingers lingering on the bottle before returning to her.

“You heard him,” I murmur. “You need rest.”

“Thank you for coming for me,” she says, and my heart breaks a little. She’s so weak. Did she really think I wouldn’t come for her?

What kind of monster am I that she believes she’s a burden to me?

Doesn’t she know I’d burn the city down for her?

Revenge hangsaround me like a chain, heavy and unrelenting. I can feel it in every breath, every heartbeat. The men who hurt her won’t get mercy.

They’ll get me.

I stare at the ceiling, tension pulsing through my body. My hands stay balled into fists beneath the covers, rigid and unmoving—wanting to punch someone or something.

Then the memories come—slow, suffocating, impossible to escape.

The way she used to sass me at the club. I loved the fire in her eyes when I pushed her buttons, knowing it was a look she reserved for me and me only.

“Are you always this mouthy?” I asked once, leaning over the bar.

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