Page 45 of The Don

“This isn’t open for negotiation.” I pointedly look at her plate and say, “Eat.”

Eliza picks up her fork and cuts the egg into tiny pieces before popping some into her mouth and pushing the rest around the plate. “Why?”

I sit back in my seat and cross my legs as I stare at her. “For your safety.”

“My safety?” she repeats in a trembling voice.

“Yes. When you’re with me, I know you’re safe.”

She looks around the room, then nibbles on another piece of egg. “Am I not safe in your home?”

“It’s an extra precaution, Amorina.”

Eliza’s shoulders sink as she looks down at her food. Her fork clunks against the plate as it falls. “He’s back, isn’t he?”

“No, but I need to keep you safe.” I stare at her perfect face and see her youth and the remains of the innocence Adrian stole. She’s too young for me, but I’ll do anything to keep her safe from that fucker. I won’t give him the opportunity to get within an inch of her.

“Okay,” she concedes as if I was asking. “Can I bring Storm?”

I’ve already accepted that where Eliza goes Storm follows, and that brings me some comfort because I know the dog will tear anyone apart if they get too close to her. “Yes, but he sleeps on the floor.”

She sinks into her seat. “Okay. But I have my own conditions.”

A smirk tugs at my lips. She’s finding her own strength, and I like that. “You do, do you?”

“After breakfast you have to allow me to look at your wound.”

“It’s a scratch.”

She turns to look at me and arches a brow. “I’ll move into your room, and Storm can sleep on the floor, but you need to let me check your wound.” I open my mouth to agree but she rapidly adds, “And you need to take your antibiotics until they’re gone.” Eliza still can’t maintain eye contact with me, but she’s trying. Her conditions aren’t intolerable. However, regardless of whether I agree with them or not, she’s moving into my room. But she needs to feel like she has a voice, something I suspect Adrian took away from her.

“Terms accepted.”

She smiles triumphantly. The happiness in her eyes is enough for me to agree to any goddamned thing she wants. “Thank you.”

Dante returns without Storm. “The dog is in the guardhouse having his breakfast,” Dante says when he sees Eliza peer behind him.

Meekly, she lowers her eyes and silently continues with her breakfast.

I shrug out of my jacket, then take off my vest before unbuttoning my shirt. “Does it hurt?” Eliza asks from inside the bathroom.

“No,” I say as I take my shirt off and throw it on the bed.

Storm is sitting protectively by the door, looking out. I walk over to him and scratch his head.

Eliza is rummaging around in the medical kit as she walks into the bedroom. “Are you...wow.” She stops walking when she looks up to see me.

“What is it?”

Her blue eyes scan down my body and stop on my chest. Eliza clears her throat and slightly shakes her head, like she’s trying to dislodge a thought. “Nothing.” She clears her throat again. “Um.” Eliza’s wide eyes blink rapidly. “Come here and let me examine you.” She sits on the edge of the bed and waits for me to walk over to her. When I do, she opens her legs and I step between them. “Turn.” Eliza’s hands tremble as she places them on my hips and turns me so I’m standing where she wants me. “I’m going to remove the gauze.”

“Do what you have to.” I stand tall and rigid, watching her breath hitch as she carefully peels the tape from my body and gently removes the covering. Her chest is rising and falling quickly, and she keeps nipping on her lower lip. My Amorina is quite responsive when she’s close to me. “How does it look, Nurse?” I tease.

She tilts her head up to me, her blue eyes ablaze with heat. She purses her mouth together before sinking her teeth into her lower lip. “It’s quite red.” Eliza lifts her hand and with the softest of touches runs her finger over the stitches. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” my voice is thick with lust. She doesn’t move her head, but her eyes look up at me, then back to the wound. God, I want to wind my hand through her hair, bend down, and claim her mouth.

“I’m going to...” she clears her throat, then drops her hand to her lap. “I need to clean it.” Eliza turns to the medical kit and rummages through to get the disinfectant. She dabs some on a cotton ball and lifts her hand to my wound. “This might sting,” she warns in a tiny voice. My pulse quickens as she tenderly pats the disinfectant around the wound.