Page 175 of Mafia And Maid
I can’t move. I can’t speak.
“Fuck!Fuck!”
The heat I felt a moment ago vanishes. And I try to reach out toward it, needing its comfort.
But I’m being dragged under.
Camillo’s voice echoes in the distance. “Get home. Now!”
A soothing hand brushes the side of my cheek, cupping it. “Please, Rosa, please! Ethan needs you. I need you…”
His words fade in and out as I’m dragged deeper and deeper into the void...
***
A warm hand brushes my temple, smoothing the strands of hair away from my brow. “Please…Rosa.”
I open my mouth to say something, but the dryness of my throat makes it come out as a raspy sound. My eyelids crack open, and my gaze squints into the soft, warm light of a table lamp. Soft silken sheets are wrapped around my body.
I blink, trying to clear the blinding dots away.
“Fuck.” It’s a soft, breathy sound of relief, and it’s quickly followed by some muttered words in Italian I don’t understand. “Nulla è difficile per chi ama.”
“Camillo…?” My voice is hoarse, and I rub at my throat, wincing at the sting.
“Shh, baby.” Camillo’s worn expression meets my face. His thumb brushes away the tears I didn’t realize were there. His lips press to my forehead. “It’s all over now...”
Over?
I struggle to sit up a little. The pillow behind my body helps, but the room spins as I do. Camillo’s gentle touch supports me until I’m upright. The T-shirt that drapes over my body isn’t mine, and it’s not what I was wearing this morning.
“What…?” I grab at Camillo, horror picking up my heartbeat. “Where’s Ethan?”
“Safe. He’s safe.” Camillo covers my hand with his own. “I got to him before he could see what happened here. He’s with Juliana and Cate for now.”
The questions burn the tip of my tongue, but a soft knock on the door stops me. “Camillo, your brothers want you to eat. Oh, thank God…” Cate’s eyes widen and her voice breaks as she sees me. “I’ll let the others know that you’re awake,” she says softly.
Camillo doesn’t even look at her. His dark eyes roam my face, over and over, cataloging. “Shit, Rosa,” he murmurs, pressing kisses all over my face. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
It’s then that I see the dried blood on his knuckles. Mine? His? “What happened?”
“We can talk about it later.”
“No. Now.”
“Rosa.”
“Please? Is he…?” I swallow, my voice dropping. “Did you kill him?”
“Yes.”
I nod, unsure what to say.
“I’ll leave you alone.” He stands before I protest and makes it to the door.
I stumble out of bed after him, my limbs tangling with the sheets. “Wait!” I clutch at his arm. His muscles tense under my hand. “Why are you leaving?”