Page 33 of Beautiful Broken Obsession

Once I’m out I find the doctor is waiting. He looks harried in black slacks, and a button-down blue dress shirt with blood on his sleeve. Milos—without asking or saying a word—lifts me onto the bed. Then steps back.

The doctor shines a thin flashlight into my eyes. “Any dizziness or a headache? How are you feeling?”

“Fine. No dizziness or headache at all.” Okay, isn’t he done with the flashlight yet? I try to close my eyes and pull away from him, but his grip tightens.

“As I thought. Your concussion was severe. You are far from recovered.”

“I feel fine,” I argue.

Anger flows from Milos, yet it’s the doctor who answers. “If you were fine, you would have been able to take longer than six seconds of the light. A concussion can take months to recover from. It’s good you will have this coming week off school. The need to focus and complex thought will cause headaches. If you had gone to school you would have severely set your recovery back.”

He finally turns off the flashlight and the moment he does instead of feeling better, pain flares, causing me to grasp the side of my head.

He grasps my chin and pulls it straight up. Almost immediately the pain lessens, but it still hurts. “See, the impact of your injury is reminding you where it came from. Is the pain sharp or dull?”

I close my eyes. “Both.” I moan.

“You need at least a week in bed. If you push yourself, it will take longer to heal,” he warns. “You will sleep now.” It’s an order.

I give in. “Okay,” I whisper as I try to figure out how to get the comforter and sheets out from under me. The bed had been made up after I left it.

I’m in Milos’s arms, I want to snuggle into him but too fast I’m back under the covers. A hand goes over my forehead. “Sleep.”

Sighing, I let the dark overtake me.

Chapter11

Celia

When I wakeup I find Koshka purring on my chest. “Hi, pretty girl,” I whisper as I stroke her sleek fur. She meows as she nuzzles me. It takes a few minutes to sit up. Yawning, I check my phone to find I’ve been asleep for almost two hours. My head still aches. I really thought I was better.

On the side of the bed is a carafe of ice water and a matching small glass I’m certain is crystal. I’m suddenly thirsty at the sight of it. As I pour the water into the glass, the distinct clink tells me I’m right. I’m in awe of how rich Milos is. The restrained display of wealth actually screams rich in a way glaring, garish things never do.

I mean the guy owns a freaking helicopter and a private jet, for fuck’s sake. Carlo always traveled out to Vegas to see his nephew who ran Vegas on the jet the casino there owned. He had to fly commercial to see Johnny, the current Don, every time he went over the last year since Johnny got sick with lung cancer and decided to stay in New York. Although Carlo hated it, as underboss it was his responsibility.

The wealth is almost all Milos, as I found out from a soldier in the Outfit I pumped for information. While his grandfather started everything, the family was in constant feast or famine mode. It was one of the reasons the Outfit was wary of getting involved with the Levins. But since Milos began taking on more responsibility, the business in Chicago grew stronger. And ever since Milos took over aspakhan,when his father and grandfather were killed in a hit when he was twenty-five, the family has only grown richer, stronger, and more influential.

I’m jealous at how well the Levins hid in plain sight. While who and what Carlo was is a poorly hidden secret, there were no hints of Bratva to the Levin name.

A soft knock at my door.

“Come in,” I call as I sip the water.

Milos leans against the doorframe, his eyes running over me. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” I try to lie, but those eyes narrow so I admit, “My head still hurts.”

“I will retrieve the painkillers he left for you. You will need something in your stomach before you take them. What would you like?” The question is gentle.

“Um…” God, now it hurts to think in the slightest. “Some yogurt sounds good.”

A nod, then he’s gone.

Koshka follows him at a run. Rude. But I’m happy to know she loves him. Cats are incredibly picky about who they like. It isn’t enough for him to buy her a room full of stuff—if he didn’t care for her, she wouldn’t give him the time of day, let alone run after him.

I decide to use the restroom while he’s gone.

Opening the door, I find Milos with Koshka in his arms, giving her scratches absentmindedly while she purrs up a storm. Without thinking I get close as I pet her. “She’s so happy. You don’t regret taking her, do you?” I ask as I look up at him.

---