When we walk into the house, Rosalie lets out a deep sigh of relief. She glances around as if she hasn’t seen the place for years.
Jesus, it’s good to see her in my space again.
“How does it feel to be home?” I ask.
The corner of her mouth lifts. “So, so good. You have no idea.”
Her reply lets my chest swell with satisfaction.
I’ve become her home.
When we reach the top of the stairs, I turn left, and it has Rosalie asking, “Where are you taking my luggage?”
I keep walking. “To our bedroom.”
“What?” she gasps behind me.
“Did you really think I’d let you stay in the guest room, moya Malen’kaya Roza?” I place the bags in the walk-in closet. “We’ll just have to make space for your clothes. We can do it tomorrow.”
“You’re moving me into your bedroom?”
I shake my head, and wrapping my arms around her, I smile down at her. “Our bedroom.” I press a kiss to her forehead, then add, “Besides, Luna already moved in.”
There’s a flicker of excitement on her face. “Where is she?”
“She’s at my parents’ place. I’ll go get her tomorrow.”
My eyes drift over her, and even with the swelling and bruises, she’s still fucking exquisite. I also notice she’s lost weight.
“Time to feed my woman.”
A blush creeps up her neck as I take hold of her hand and pull her out of the bedroom. When we reach the kitchen, I lift her onto a stool at the island, then open the fridge. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything that’s quick.” She gives me a sheepish grin. “I’m starving.”
“I can see that,” I grumble. “Didn’t they feed you?”
Rosalie’s quiet for a moment before whispering, “I couldn’t stomach food.” She brushes a hand over the back of her head. “And I had a concussion that made it hard to keep anything down.”
My body freezes, and there’s an instant burst of rage. “A fucking concussion?”
Looking uncomfortable, she waves her hand as if it doesn’t matter, then adds, “From all the punches and slaps.”
My eyebrow lifts dangerously high as I shut the fridge. “You can eat after we’ve visited the hospital.”
“What? No. We can go tomorrow,” she tries to argue.
I shake my head, grab hold of her waist, and lift her off the chair. Taking her hand, I drag her out of the house and bundle her into the SUV.
Glancing at Joseph, I say, “We’re going to the hospital.”
“Yes, boss,” he replies, signaling to his team that we’re leaving.
Uncle Alexei had an entire hospital built after Aunt Isabella got injured. It’s state-of-the-art, and I don’t have to worry about unnecessary questions.
It’s only a ten-minute drive, and when we walk inside, the nurse quickly stands up. “Mr. Vetrov.” Her eyes go to Rosalie, then she says, “Dr. West is in surgery. Can I get Dr. Stern for you?”
“Please.”
She quickly calls Dr. Stern, then leads us to the private suite that’s reserved for our family.
A minute later, Dr. Stern comes rushing in. “Mr. Vetrov. What can I do for you, sir?”
I nod to Rosalie. “She has a concussion and might have a broken arm. Give her a full medical.”
“Had a concussion,” Rosalie mutters, looking very uncomfortable.
“What’s the patient’s name?” The nurse asks.
“Rosalie Manno,” I answer.
Dr. Stern looks at the nurse. “Get Mr. Vetrov whatever he wants to drink while I take care of Miss Manno.”
“I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
“Of course,” Dr. Stern says. “This way.”
We follow him to the radiology department, where Rosalie is asked to change into a gown.
I step into a room with her and quickly help her out of her shirt and leggings. When I pull the hospital gown over her shoulders, I grin, “I can get used to dressing you.”
The corner of her mouth lifts in a shy smile, making her look fucking adorable.
I’ve caught onto the fact that she’s self-conscious around me. I’m unsure if it’s because I killed people in front of her today or something else.
My gaze sharpens on her face. “We’re good, right?”
Confusion fills her eyes. “Yes. Why?”
I shake my head. “Just checking.”
We leave the room, and while they’re taking the X-ray and a bunch of other tests, my eyes remain glued to her.
I start to pick up on small things – how she flinches when a man comes near her, how she keeps fidgeting and glancing around her as if she’s constantly on guard, but mostly, how the traumatizing emotions keep hitting her in waves.
It’s clear the ordeal Rosalie suffered the past four days took one hell of a toll on her, and more than ever, I regret not getting to her sooner.
It takes a couple of hours before Dr. Stern is done with Rosalie, and we’re escorted back to the private suite, where he says, “She’s broken her wrist, and there’s a hairline fracture in her forearm. I’m going to set it in a cast that she’ll wear for six to eight weeks.”
Rosalie’s shoulders slump, and she looks miserable from the news.
“There isn’t any swelling on her brain, which is good news.” Dr. Stern locks eyes with her. “No more bumps to the head. Take it easy for two weeks.” Then he smiles at me. “Other than that, the bruises just have to heal. I’ll let you know if her bloodwork shows any abnormalities.”
“Thank you.”
I take a seat in the armchair while Dr. Stern sets Rosalie’s right arm in a cast.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I shoot Luca a text.
Rosalie’s wrist is broken, and she has a hairline fracture in her forearm. She also has a concussion.
He replies within minutes.
I’m sorry to hear that. Also, you already killed Greco. Don’t get any ideas. Things are volatile with the Cosa Nostra. Get some fucking sleep. It’s four in the morning, in case you haven’t noticed.
“All done,” Dr. Stern says, pulling my attention back to them. “Try to keep the cast dry.”
“Okay,” Rosalie murmurs as she slides off the bed.
My eyes lock on the cast covering her wrist and forearm, and it only causes my anger to flare back up.
Christ, I really fucking wish I could kill Greco again.
The fucker deserves a million deaths.
“Thank you, Dr. Stern.” I shake the man’s hand, then wrap my arm around Rosalie’s shoulder and steer her out of the hospital.
When we get back home, I order, “Lie down on the couch while I make the food.”
“I want to sit here,” she argues while taking a seat on a stool.
Because it’s already so fucking late, or early for that matter, I fix us a couple of sandwiches. Setting the plate down in front of Rosalie, I mutter, “Eat everything, so I can get you to bed. You must be fucking tired.”
“Yes, Mr. Vetrov,” she sasses me.
My cock instantly hardens, and I give her a look of warning, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
Frowning at me, she asks, “What do you mean?”
I wait for her to swallow the bite she took, then answer, “You calling me Mr. Vetrov makes me hard as fuck, but you’re in no condition for sex.”
Her face flushes, and she tries to hide behind her sandwich.
Tilting my head, my eyes narrow on her. “Why are you uncomfortable around me?”
Rosalie quickly shakes her head, her eyes widening. “I’m not.”
I give her a pointed look. “Bullshit. You look nervous. What’s going on?” When she starts to shake her head again, I ask, “Is it because you saw me kill?”
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “I understand why you did it.”
“But?”
Her features tighten with nerves. “You’re intimidating.”
“I intimidate you?” I ask, not liking the sound of that at all.
“It’s weird to explain.” She sets the sandwich down. “I know you won’t hurt me, but after seeing how good you are at fighting… and killing, it’s hard not to be intimidated.” Her shoulders slump, then she mutters, “It doesn’t help that I’m so damn weak.”
I move closer and gently cup her cheek. When she looks up at me, I say, “I can train you. With the right exercise, you can get stronger.”
There’s a flicker of hope in her soft brown eyes. “Really? You’d do that?”
I point to her cast. “Once that’s off.”
The corner of her mouth lifts. “Okay.”
I nudge her plate closer. “Eat.”
It’s quiet while we finish our food, and once we’re done, I place the plates in the dishwasher, then make sure everything is locked. Taking hold of Rosalie’s hand, I switch off all the lights and pull her up the stairs.
When we walk into the bedroom, I ask, “Do you want to bathe or shower?”
She looks down at the cast on her arm. “That’s going to be difficult.”
A wide grin spreads over my face. “Not if I help.”
She scowls at me. “You’re not bathing me.”
Taking a step closer to her, I wrap my fingers around the back of her neck and lean down until my mouth brushes against her ear. I feel a tremble ripple through her body, then drop my voice low as I say, “I’m bathing you, moya Malen’kaya Roza. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Her breaths speed up while her left hand grips hold of my shirt. “Okay.”
Pulling back, I wink at her. “I love it when you obey me.”
She narrows her eyes. “You play dirty, Mr. Vetrov.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “So do you, moya Malen’kaya Roza.”
Rosalie tilts her head. “I like it when you call me ‘Little Rose’ in Russian.” A cute expression settles on her face. “Can you say something else?”
“Ya lyublyu tebya,” I tell Rosalie I love her for the first time.
“What does that mean?” she asks.
I shake my head, then give her a playful grin. “I’ll tell you another day.”
Her bottom lip pushes out as she pouts, and God, if it’s not the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. “Don’t do that,” I demand.
“What?” She pouts again.
Pulling her to my chest, I grind my teeth from the effort it’s taking to not squash her against me.
Fuck, I love her so much, and I’m so goddamn thankful she’s back in my arms.
Willingly.
