Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
The water cut off, and I was glad to finally have something else to focus on.
Until there was a loud rap at the door.
“Keep your ass on the couch,” Silvano called from inside the bathroom, making my lips twitch again.
That is until he came striding out of the bathroom.
Wrapped only in a white towel, slung dangerously low on his hips, his skin still dewy, his dark hair wet.
Clearly, my fantasy skills needed some work. Because nothing I’d imagined came close to how good this man looked without his shirt.
Thin, sure, but very, very fit.
I found myself thinking about how I could trace a finger—or tongue—between the indents of his muscles.
I wasn’t even saved when he turned his back to me, because the man had a nice, strong back too. With muscles that moved under the surface of his skin in all sorts of delicious ways as he reached to unlock, then open, the door.
No one came in, and I settled back into the couch as he spoke to whoever was there for a moment before closing the door and locking it again.
“Everything alright?” I asked when he turned to face me, something tucked in his hand. Did my voice sound as airless as I thought it did?
“Your meds,” he said, opening his hand to display an orange pill bottle.
“My meds?” I asked, brows knitting.
“Pain meds,” he said, placing the bottle down on the coffee table next to the iced tea, then immediately making his way back to the bathroom.
Alone, I reached for them, feeling my stomach drop when I saw my name printed on the label.
But… how?
I hadn’t been to the doctor.
“Don’t be a fucking hero. Take a pill and go to sleep,” Silvano said, coming back out suddenly, making me jump, almost dropping the bottle in the process.
“How did you get these?” I asked as I glanced up at him.
To find he’d traded the towel for a pair of low-slung sleep pants.
And only the sleep pants.
The man would show me no mercy, it seemed.
“A doctor,” he said, rolling his eyes like it was a stupid question.
“But I didn’t see a doctor.”
“Sure you did.”
“Fine, but I didn’t see another doctor.”
“Out of curiosity, are you always a pain in the ass?” he asked, making a snort escape me.
“I’m not a pain in the ass. I’m asking a valid question.”
“They’re legit pills. Want a phone to look ‘em up on?” he asked, then turned away before I could answer, and came back with a phone in a box. Like… a burner phone. “There. That’s yours. Look them up. Hell, look up your medical records if you want. You were seen this afternoon by a Dr. Giordano of New Jersey. And he gave you a script for ten pills. Now, I’m going to get some sleep. Think you should take a pill and do the same.”
With that, he was up in his loft, and I was left staring at the pills. And the phone.
And something occurred to me right then that maybe I should have pieced together before.
Whoever Silvano Costa actually was, there was one thing I knew for absolute certain.
He was a criminal.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Silvano
She was a bit of a slob.
I mean, that probably wasn’t fair. She was hurt. So she couldn’t bend down to collect things she dropped. And she didn’t want to get up to constantly bring things to the trash. So she kept little piles of doom wherever she was planted for any length of time.
Then there was Storm.
Hair everywhere. Trails of water from his bowl all the way across the apartment. Little tufts of fluff from the insides of his toys that he loved on a bit too much.
I hadn’t shared a space with anyone since I was a kid.
It was proving to be an interesting experiment.
It wasn’t that I minded. Cleaning had always been kind of cathartic for me. And with living alone with a penchant for being neat by nature, the place didn’t really need much TLC on the daily.
Six days into Millie crashing on the couch, though, I was vacuuming and mopping daily, taking the trash out more, scrubbing the bathroom. And doing a lot more dishes.
Between the cleaning and walking Storm, it was filling the days that would otherwise be empty.
Actually, it was hard to remember what the fuck I actually did with my life before they came to stay with me.
We didn’t discuss a timeframe for them leaving. Partly because I didn’t want her to feel like she had to try to rush through healing. Though, as the time went on, I had to admit that there was some small part of me that just… didn’t want her to go.
I mean, she would, eventually.
But I wasn’t minding having her around.
It was different to have someone to share a meal with, to bullshit with. We never discussed important topics. I still had no idea who was after her or why. We talked about nothing shit. Food preferences. What to order for lunch or dinner. TV shows and movies.