Chapter Ten.
Letting the door click into place at my back, my first reaction was to do something quick, a sharp comment, a biting one, but I swallowed it. Instead, I smoothed out my face and nodded.
"I'm sorry," I said, making my voice deliberately flat. "It won't happen again."
He looked at me as if I was an annoyance, something he hadn't yet figured out how to handle.
"Sorry for yourself," he growled. " You lack respect for privacy, sorry won't fix things that could have been avoided in the first place. You're Just unruly."
I flinched at the insult, icy and bitter like ice water trickling down my spine. But I didn't flinch. I'd suffered worse. He could spew words as daggers all day long and I'd still stand tall.
I took a deep breath, trying to keep the atmosphere from exploding totally. He glared, tense as a spring wound too tight. Something had happened, and he just might be transferring aggression. I knew better than to poke an angry bear, but I couldn't leave it alone, either.
"Is everything all right?" I asked, warily. "You seem… off."
His head snapped up again. Eyes locked on mine, colder now. Flat. Hollow in a nasty kind of way. "That's none of your business," he said. Each syllable hit like a gavel. "You're here to do a job, not to concern yourself with things that don't involve you. Know your place. Respect boundaries and do your goddamn job."
The way he said it, like I was some tool he wasn't particularly fond of having to use, sent a bolt of flame through me. It burned from the center of my chest outward, reducing the tightly wrapped professionalism that I had around myself like armor to ashes.
I clenched my fists, grinding my jaw down hard. My voice was rough, cold as I looked into his eyes and did the unthinkable. "Go fuck yourself."
For the first time since I'd known him, Vincenzo looked surprised. His facade slipped for a moment. His eyes widened by just a fraction, nostrils flaring, brows creased. Then I turned and walked away, the words hanging in the air like gun smoke.
I didn't slam the door. I wanted to. Oh, God, I wanted to. But I was not going to let him have that satisfaction. I made my way out with measured calm, chin set high, shoulders squared. My boots thudded on the floor as I walked down the hall.
I turned the corner to the stairs and Marco was coming in the opposite direction of the hallway, running. We did not greet each other as my shoulder collided with his as we slid past one another, hard enough to be felt. He half-turned, as if to say something, but I didn't look back. Didn't even blink. My stride didn't miss a beat. But my heart was pounding.
I strolled the clinic wing in silence, the hallway bright and cool. Antiseptic smell lingered in the air, a pungent contrast to the turmoil raging inside me.
Once I was inside, I dumped my bag on the metal desk in the corner and dropped into the chair beside Alessandro's bed. He remained unconscious, recovering slowly.
I placed the back of my hand against his forehead. No fever. Even breathing. Stable. The only serene face in my life right now, and he wasn't even conscious.
I leaned back and exhaled a hard breath.
"Asshole," I growled.
I removed my gloves and set them aside, and began playing with the IV drip and checking his vital signs. All proper protocol. But my hands were shaking.
He didn't have to speak to me like that. He didn't have to be cruel. I was merely attempting to be kind. That was the worst of it. I had witnessed that glint in his eye, that barely held anger. And in spite of everything I had learned about him, about what he could do, I had tried to express concern.
And he'd flung it back in my face.
"Bastard," I cursed under my breath, brusquely adjusting the cuff on Alessandro's arm.
I got up and walked around the small room, chewing on the inside of my cheek. My thoughts were like runaway horses, loud and wild, crashing into each other.
How dare he? How dare he talk to me like I'm beneath him? His words cut through my head, a slicing cold blade tearing where the agony crushed rthe most.
My fists clenched at hips, nails in palms.
And even when rage ran hot through my veins, a balancing colder feeling started to take its place: fear.
It coiled in my stomach like a snake, tightening with every thought. What if I had gone too far? What if I had pushed too hard? Done too much?
This was not any man. This was Vincenzo Lombardi. A man who could kill me with just one command. A man whose silence could seal a fate. I might have come here on documents that were all forged, on a forged name, and skill with the value that got me something, but it was all going to mean nothing if he decided that I was trouble. A swish of his fingers and I would be gone without a trace and things would just move on like nothing ever happened.
What if he is a man who does not believe in second chances?
I swiped a hand over my face and sat stiffly in the chair again. My stomach groaned. I hadn't been afraid when I had killed those men. I hadn't felt it when I had written the truth on their bodies. But now? Now I was shaking.
This wasn't fear of dying. No. This was the fear of failure.
The mission could fall apart in one day. Everything I had worked for, everything I had lied about, could fall apart because of a stupid comment and my temper.
I looked once more at Alessandro. His chest rose and fell in an even, slow rhythm.
I needed to make things right.
Somehow. But
I didn't know how and that was the most terrifying part of all.