Page 66 of The Woman in the Hollow
“Something that might help numb the pain.”
“I can do that,” he agreed.
I watched him leave before gawking at his kitchen, admiring the sprawling island, the commercial-grade range, and the massive refrigerator.
“Where are your appliances?” I asked when I caught him watching me look around.
“Appliance garage,” he said, dropping off the supplies by me, then walking over toward what looked like a floor-to-ceiling built-in, but he pulled up a door to reveal a hiding space for all of his small appliances. “I hate a cluttered counter.”
“It’s great. You really made the best kitchen.”
“Thanks. I haven’t had a chance to cook in it yet, but I’m looking forward to it. All right. I got you cranberry vodka mixed with some cran-grape. Figure that would be the least offensive way to drink enough of it to give you some pain relief.”
I didn’t know what to think about the fact that it was the exact right drink for me.
I drank down nearly half of it, feeling the heat spread through me as Dante got a basin full of warm, soapy water.
Then he was in front of me, carefully cleaning my face before dropping my hands into the basin, one at a time.
After the dirt was gone, Dante set up a standing, lighted magnifier, slid my hand under it, and reached for his tweezers.
“Might be better if you don’t watch,” he suggested before he bent over the magnifier.
I drained the last of my drink, then slid my eyes closed, trying to drift away from the sensation of the tweezers nipping into my skin, sometimes digging around to find the shards of glass he was trying to extract.
The problem was that I’d been awake the whole night before, and the alcohol was only making me more tired.
The world felt like it was spinning as I stared at the backs of my eyelids.
“You okay?” Dante asked, his voice soft.
“Tired,” I admitted, cracking my eyes open to find him adding some antibiotic cream to a fresh piece of gauze.
“Had a long night. Mentally and physically.”
“Yeah.”
“How about I get you something to eat, then you can take a nap?”
Should I be taking a nap in the house belonging to a ranking member of an organized crime family? No. But the idea of being home alone after being attacked filled me with dread.
What if they found out who I was? If they found my address? If they came back for me?
A shiver racked my system. The movement had Dante’s brows pinching. He set down the kit he was reassembling to reach out and press his wrist to my forehead.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I think it’s just… a lot.”
“It is a lot. And I can’t make you stay here, but I hope you will. You’re safe here. You can sleep without worry. If you want to go home, I can—”
“I’ll stay,” I cut him off, not wanting to hear the other option he gave me, because I would feel compelled to go with that.
“Good. I’m glad to hear that. Now, let me get you fed so you can get some rest. I hope you’re in the mood for pasta. My mom sent over like six different pasta dishes.”
“I’m always in the mood for pasta.” After having it so tightly controlled in my household growing up, I developed a borderline unhealthy obsession with it in adulthood.
“Perfect. Do you want another drink?”
