Page 76 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

Tabitha’s knees buckle, and Dante catches her waist. She releases one hysterical laugh-sob and flings both arms around Dr. Shah, then kisses his nurse.

The nurse freezes, then laughs. “I’ll put that in my performance review.”

Tabitha blushes, giggling behind her hand. “Sorry, I’m just so grateful?—”

“No worries. I understand completely.”

Dante fans imaginary flames. “Anytime you want to thank a woman, make sure we’re there to see it.”

Tabitha smacks his stomach with the back of her hand as she rolls her eyes. To be fair, I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing her with another woman, but I’ll keep that under my hat for the time being.

Sal shakes the surgeon’s hand so firmly that I see carpal bones shift. Grandma Judy presses a crocheted scarf into his pocket. Dr. Shah promises to wear it “for luck.” They part from the waiting room.

Tabitha turns to me, tears streaking her cheeks, salt trails glimmering. “She’s safe.”

“Better than safe,” I reply, and my voice cracks. I clear it. “She’s future-proof.”

A sense of cold comes over my back, like someone’s watching me.

I flick my gaze over my shoulder to find Pietro Dumas, of all fucking people. No entourage this time—just him in a spotless cashmere coat, a surgical mask hanging from his fingers.

The others notice him too. Tabitha straightens, but her posture is perfect. She’s not intimidated. “I didn’t call.”

Pietro dips his head. “I’m not here on business. I wish to know your sister’s prognosis.”

Everything in me clenches. “You have no right to be here, Pietro, and you can’t threaten her sister?—”

“No threat intended.” But his expression softens along with his voice. “Tabitha?”

“She’s doing better than expected. A lot better.”

His shoulders relax, and I can’t tell if his relief is real or an elaborate act. But it seems genuine. He mutters under his breath, “Thank God.”

Tabitha, a smile on her face, pats his shoulder. “Thankyou.”

“What?” I ask.

“Pietro knows Erin’s surgeon. I’m sure he could have looked into it himself…” She glances at him. “Why ask me directly?”

“Because, sometimes, I need to treat people like people instead of assets.” He turns to me, offers a handshake. Last time we touched, tension crackled. Today, the handshake is firm, neutral. “Today is a good day. I’m glad you can spend it together.”

“That’s what families do,” Grandma Judy says, eyeing him curiously.

He smiles, nods, and leaves. No more commentary, no more answers. Why he showed up here, I’m not sure I’ll ever know. But Pietro Dumas does things his own way.

Then again, so do we.

32

SALVATORE

Erin isasleep in her hospital room—finally. Her oxygen holds steady at ninety-nine percent, and the machines aren’t ringing for help. She’s safe. Safe as she can be, and yet, it’s hard to imagine she feels safe right now. She looks impossibly small against the sea of crisp linens, but a plush snow fox is tucked beneath her good arm, and I remind myself that courage can be pocket-sized.

Tabitha kisses her sister goodnight. She whispers something to the girl that sounds likeconstellations, and Erin smiles without waking. My sternum gives a sympathetic ache. No twinge tonight, but still, every beat feels precarious.

Perhaps I could use some of Erin’s courage. Or is it the impetuousness of youth that allows her to be braver than me? The lack of understanding of the value in life? Or, like me at her age, does she feel invincible, even with the odds stacked against her?

Grandma Judy straightens the blanket’s edge, then turns—hands on hips, formidable in her cardigan. “Mr. Moretti,” shesoftly says, “I appreciate the cot, but the hospital pillows are flatter than communion wafers.”

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