Between Loyalty and You

Chapter 2 (Elena's POV)

By the fifth day, I could make it to the bathroom without help.

By the sixth, my father had apparently decided I couldn’t be trusted to choose where I lived.

“Luca’s house,” I repeated.

Papa stood at the foot of my hospital bed, holding my overnight bag.

“Until you’re stronger.”

“What’s wrong with your house?”

A pause.

Nothing had happened since the shooting, but the corridor outside my room had acquired two men who never seemed to need sleep.

“Repairs,” Papa said.

“To what?”

“Elena.”

“Someone shot me. You can answer a question.”

He put the bag down.

For a moment, he looked his age.

“We’re changing the security arrangements.”

“Then I’ll go to Florence.”

“You can barely put your own shoes on.”

“I have friends.”

“And stairs.”

Four flights. No lift.

I hated that he knew exactly when to use it.

The door opened before I could respond.

Luca entered carrying a folded coat.

Mine.

He laid it across the chair beside me.

“The car is ready whenever you are.”

“Apparently, I’m moving into your house.”

He glanced at Papa.

“Did he ask you?”

“No. He announced it.”

“I explained—”

“You said repairs.”

Luca pulled out the chair.

“Would you give us a minute, Matteo?”

Papa looked offended.

Then he looked at me.

“I’ll get your prescriptions.”

I waited until he left.

“Do you always manage him that easily?”

“No.”

“You make it look effortless.”

“Years of practice.”

He sat.

I folded my arms carefully above the dressing beneath my blouse.

“Tell me the truth.”

“Someone entered your father’s house with a weapon. Until we understand how, I don’t want you recovering there.”

“And yours is safer?”

“Yes.”

No boast. No attempt to comfort me.

Just certainty.

“There’s a room on the ground floor,” he continued. “A nurse will stay until you no longer need one. You’ll have privacy.”

“Will I?”

He met my eyes.

“Yes.”

I looked toward the window.

Beyond the glass, people crossed the hospital courtyard carrying coffees and flowers. A woman argued into her phone. Someone laughed.

I wanted to be irritated by something ordinary.

“My father is leaving, isn’t he?”

Luca was quiet.

“He’s checked his phone every thirty seconds since breakfast.”

“He needs to go to Switzerland.”

“For business.”

“Yes.”

“The kind nobody explains to me.”

“That would be a fair description.”

I looked back at him, surprised.

“Is he in danger?”

“He’ll have people with him.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I know.”

At least he didn’t insult me with a lie.

I picked at the edge of the blanket.

At twenty-six, I had built a life far enough away that I could sometimes forget how carefully my father chose his words.

One evening at home, and I was back inside the silence.

“How long?” I asked.

“Your father expects a week.”

“I meant at your house.”

“As long as you choose to stay. Once the doctor clears you to travel, I can arrange Florence.”

I studied him.

“No arguments?”

“I’ll probably have an opinion.”

“That sounds more believable.”

He stood and held up my coat.

I let him help me into it.

Luca’s house sat above the lake, behind iron gates and a long avenue of cypress trees.

I have visited twice, both times for crowded lunches. I remembered polished floors, excellent food, and being afraid to spill anything.

Without guests, the place felt different.

Quieter. Almost unfinished, despite the paintings and furniture.

A woman with silver hair waited in the entrance hall.

“Signorina Bellini.”

“Elena, please.”

“Rosa.” She took my bag from Luca before he could object. “Your room is ready.”

She led us along a corridor overlooking the garden.

There were fresh flowers beside the bed, a blue armchair near the windows, and a bathroom with a shower large enough to hold a committee.

On the bedside table lay my book.

I stopped.

“How did that get here?”

“Your father brought some things from your room,” Luca said.

“My phone?”

“In the drawer. Charger, too.”

Rosa opened the wardrobe to show me my clothes.

Someone had unpacked the soft trousers I usually reserved for painting days.

Relief caught me unexpectedly.

I had been preparing to spend another week in borrowed hospital dignity.

“The nurse is Anna,” Rosa said. “She’ll be here shortly. Would you like lunch?”

“Yes, please.”

“Good. He said you might refuse.”

I looked at Luca.

“He seems to have confused being injured with being unreasonable.”

Rosa smiled.

“You’ll find lunch helps with both.”

She left us alone.

Luca placed a small bell beside my book.

I stared at it.

“No.”

“It’s temporary.”

“I have a phone.”

“If you feel faint—”

“I’ll call.”

He considered arguing.

Then he picked up the bell.

A small victory, but mine.

Papa said goodbye after lunch.

He checked the windows, the bathroom, and the distance between the bed and the armchair.

Finally, I caught his hand.

“Stop inspecting. You’ll find a loose tile and cancel your flight.”

He sat beside me.

For a while, he held my fingers without speaking.

“I don’t like leaving you.”

“Then tell me why you have to.”

His gaze dropped to our hands.

“There are things I need to put right.”

“Things that got me hurt?”

His shoulders shifted.

I wished I hadn’t asked it like that.

But I didn’t take it back.

“I’ll explain what I can when I return.”

I had heard versions of that promise all my life.

He kissed my forehead.

At the door, Luca was waiting.

Papa clasped his shoulder.

“Take care of her.”

“I will.”

There was no hesitation.

I watched them embrace, and the conversation on the hospital floor returned to me.

Your father is going to kill me.

After Papa left, Luca remained in the doorway.

“Do you need anything?”

I almost asked him to stay.

Instead, I shook my head.

That night, a tray fell somewhere down the corridor.

I was out of bed before I knew I had moved.

Pain tore through my side.

I caught the edge of the dresser, knocking a glass onto the rug.

The bedroom door opened.

“Elena?”

Luca stopped when he saw me.

I couldn’t seem to get enough air.

“A tray,” he said. “Rosa dropped a tray.”

I heard him.

My body didn’t believe him.

He came closer, slowly.

“May I help you sit?”

I nodded.

His arm settled around my back, careful of the wound. He guided me to the bed and crouched in front of me.

I stared at the buttons of his shirt.

Open collar. Rolled sleeves.

No blood.

I concentrated on that.

“I thought—”

“I know.”

Heat rose into my face.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

Anna appeared in the doorway. Luca shifted aside while she checked me, asked about the pain, and made certain I hadn’t disturbed the dressing.

By the time she left to fetch my medication, my breathing had steadied.

Luca picked up the glass.

Fortunately, it hadn’t broken.

“Would you like the door open?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He put it on the dresser.

Then he turned to leave.

“Could you stay for a minute?”

He stopped.

“Of course.”

He took the blue armchair and drew it nearer the bed.

I pulled the blanket over my knees.

“This is embarrassing.”

“What is?”

“All of it.”

He waited.

I looked at my hand, still trembling against the cover.

“Yesterday I needed help washing my hair. Today a noise frightened me so badly I nearly pulled myself apart.”

“You were shot six days ago.”

“I know.”

“You’re allowed six days.”

Something in my chest loosened.

He reached for the book on my bedside table.

“Are you enjoying this?”

“The ending’s supposed to be terrible.”

“You haven’t finished it?”

“I like to know whether I should get attached.”

He glanced at me.

“That must save time.”

“Usually.”

He opened the book where I’d folded the corner.

I expected a comment about mistreating it.

Instead, he began to read.

His voice was lower now, without the clipped authority I associated with him. After a page, I stopped listening to the words and listened only to that.

When Anna returned, he waited while I took the tablets.

Then he read another page.

I woke sometime later to find the book closed beside me.

The chair was empty.

Light from the corridor crossed the rug, and beyond the open door, Luca was speaking quietly on the phone.

“No,” he said. “Matteo said he looked toward the table.”

A pause.

I lay still.

“Elena saw his face.”

My fingers tightened around the blanket.

Luca listened for a long moment.

“Then find out who put him on the staff.”

His footsteps moved away.

I stared into the strip of light.

All day, I had argued about where I would recover.

For the first time, I wondered whether recovery was the only reason I was there.