Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
43
ANGELO
“What is it?” I glance at Mariella briefly before I get distracted by the incoming message on my phone.
Between searching for Ray’s hidden stash of notes and information on Aegis, my men have been busy texting me updates. I also have two more meetings in the city this afternoon, and I’m irritated that my sister called me back here—and even more so that she wouldn’t tell me why.
“Your wife is sick,” she snaps.
That captures my attention.
“What do you mean?” I look up at her.
“She has a fever,” Mariella says.
“Is it a virus?” My gaze drifts down the hall to our bedroom door.
“Yes. It’s an emotional terrorist named Angelo.” She glares at me. “You have to stop treating her like she’s nothing more than a fucking baby incubator for you.”
Those words sting, and it pisses me off because she knows what’s at stake here.
“I don’t think she’s just a baby incubator,” I grit out. “You know what the treaty entails. This isn’t a goddamned fairy tale. It’s business.”
“And you’re a goddamned liar.”
“Watch your mouth,” I warn her.
“You can’t let go of what happened,” she huffs. “You’re so hell-bent on revenge you haven’t even considered that maybe Abella had a good reason for doing what she did.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What do you know?”
“Ask her.” She gestures down the hall.
“She won’t fucking tell me. That’s the problem.”
“Well, maybe if you quit being an ass—”
“Mariella.” I drag in a breath, trying to find my patience.
“You have no idea how strong she’s had to be.” Mariella’s voice cracks. “She’s carried enough pain for one lifetime. She doesn’t need it from you, too.”
I swallow, turning away as tension settles in my chest. But Mariella isn’t finished. She fires off one final blow.
“Mom would have wanted you to fix this.”
I start down the hall, and Mariella trails after me.
“Love you, asshole.”
“Love you too,” I mutter.
When I crack open the door to the suite, I pause on the threshold. Abella’s in bed, teeth chattering as she shivers in her sleep. She’s buried in the comforter and still can’t get warm. The sight of her so unwell punches me in the gut. I don’t fucking like it.
“I just gave her some Tylenol,” Mariella whispers from behind me.
“I’ve got this,” I tell her. “Check in on us later.”
She nods and leaves me alone with Abella. I kick off my shoes and strip off my suit, tossing it onto the chair before I round the bed and climb in behind her.
When I press my body against hers and wrap her in my arms, she stirs, glancing up at me with watery eyes. Her face is red and her eyelids are puffy, which is a good indication she’s been crying. It only makes me feel worse.
“You might get sick,” she rasps.
“I don’t care. Go back to sleep, dolcezza. I’ll keep you warm.”
She barely has the energy to nod before she falls back to sleep. After a few minutes of absorbing my body heat, her shivering mellows out, and the vise around my ribcage loosens.
I sweep my hands over her back, massaging the tension that’s gathered there. When I bury my face against her hair and breathe her in for the first time in two weeks, it’s like a drug to my system.
I couldn’t let her go right now if I tried.
Settling in for the long haul, I close my eyes as my phone vibrates across the room. I didn’t cancel my meetings, but I don’t care.
Abella sleeps, and I stay with her, checking her temperature and feeding her sips of water throughout the night. When she finally wakes up the next day, she groans as she peels her face off my chest. She turned in her sleep at one point, draping herself over my body and using me as her pillow. She was so comfortable there, I haven’t moved her, but now we’re both hot and sticky.
“Hi.” She blinks up at me with drowsy eyes. “You’re still here.”
“I’m still here.” I smooth some of her wayward hair out of her face. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she says softly.
I reach over and swipe the water off the nightstand, opening it up before I hand it to her. She takes a long drink and watches me share the same bottle when she’s finished.
“How long did I sleep?” she asks.
“Sixteen hours.”
Her eyes widen as panic sets in. “Oh God, I need to call the office. My clients—”
“It’s already taken care of,” I assure her. “I had Andrew get in touch with your assistant and clear your schedule for the week. They’ll handle the most pressing concerns.”
“I can’t,” she protests. “I have so much to do.”
“It’s not up for negotiation.” I squeeze her hip. “You need to rest.”
She searches my eyes, and I know she’s wondering if I’m saying it for her sake or the baby she’ll have inside her.