Mafia Runaway Lover

Chapter 6

Once the introductions were done, Lisa offered to help Rose change.

Rose was still weak, her legs unsteady beneath her, so Lisa came to her side and eased her out of bed with a care that surprised her. For such a small girl, she was strong. She took Rose's weight against her shoulder without so much as a stumble, and she moved around the bandages as if she had done it a hundred times.

"The master instructed me to help you settle in, Miss."

"Thank you, Lisa."

"You don't need to thank me, Miss. It's my duty."

"No, really." Rose caught her eye in the dressing-table mirror. "Thank you. I feel as though you don't mind me being here. Not like the others."

Lisa's hands paused on the buttons. "The others, Miss?"

"Never mind." Rose looked down at her own fingers. "Maybe it's because I've lost my memories. I think I'm just more sensitive than I used to be. Everything feels sharper."

"I understand, Miss." Lisa's voice was soft, even. "Please don't worry. We have all been told to look after you."

She was gentle, Rose thought. Perfectly polite. But there was a kind of smooth wall around her, a distance that did not move however close she stood. Rose could not tell if it was shyness or something else.

As she helped Rose into a loose cotton nightdress, Lisa began to talk, perhaps to fill the quiet. She talked about the house first, the east wing and the gardens, and which stairs creaked. Then she talked about the master himself. The Don of the Vescari family. A man who never raised his voice, she said, because he never had to. The things she knew were small. The things she had heard were larger, passed between maids in the kitchens at night, half whispered and half boasted. How he had once shut down an entire port with a single phone call. How no one in the city dared lie to him.

Rose listened, wide-eyed. She loved it. She had never realized how hungry she was to know him, and these scraps, the things he had never told her, felt like treasure.

"They say his brother is the only one who ever frightened him," Lisa went on. "Damian..."

The name landed in the room like a dropped glass.

Rose went still.

She did not know why. It was only a name. But it was *familiar*, in the way a smell is familiar before you remember what it belongs to. Something cold touched the back of her neck.

And then a voice rose up inside her skull.

Don't forget what you're supposed to do as Rosaline.

"Hah!"

Rose jerked and clutched her head with both hands.

It was a man's voice. Low. Smooth. And it was not a memory so much as a wound reopening, the voice and the fear arriving all at once. A breath too close to her ear. Fingers around her wrist, not hurting, not yet. A smell of smoke and expensive soap. Her own heartbeat pounding in her throat like something trying to get out.

Then it was gone, and she was sitting on the edge of the bed with her heart thudding and her mouth dry.

"Miss?" Lisa was kneeling in front of her. Her face had lost its smoothness. "Miss, are you all right?"

Rose was panting. She tried to even out her breath.

"I should call a doctor."

"No. Wait, Lisa. Don't." Rose pressed her palm to her temple. "I'm fine. I think I... remembered something. But when I try to hold on to it, my head starts to hurt."

"Miss, are you sure—"

"I'm sure." Rose forced herself to smile. The smile was thin, and they both knew it. "Please don't worry."

She was not fine. A man's voice was echoing around the corners of her mind. Who was he? And what had he meant, telling her not to forget what she was supposed to do? What was she supposed to do? And why had her whole body turned to ice at the sound of him?

But she was so tired. The thought slid away from her like water through her fingers.

"Are you certain, Miss?" Lisa asked once more.

She was not only being kind. If anything happened to this woman in her first night, it would be Lisa who answered for it. She had also been told to report anything unusual. A sudden fit, a strange fear, a name that turned a woman white. It certainly counted as unusual.

But Rose was already waving her away.

"I'm sure, Lisa. You can go. Really."

"All right, Miss." Lisa rose, folding her hands. She hesitated at the door. "If you need anything at all, just call."

"Okay."

The door closed, softly.

Rose lay back and pulled the blanket up to her chin, her eyes on the canopy above. She tried to follow the thread of the voice, and it frayed at once. The harder she reached, the more her head throbbed. In the end, she let it go. She turned onto her side, cheek against a pillow that smelled faintly of lilies and of him.

Exhaustion took her little by little, like a tide.

---

When Rose woke, the room had gone dim and gold with lamplight.

Rafaello was sitting at the edge of her bed, watching her.

He had taken off his coat. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and his tie hung loose around his collar. He was smiling, a soft, tired smile, as if he had been there for a long time and had not minded at all.

She jolted upright, her heart leaping into her throat.

"Rafaell!"

The name came out clipped and breathless, like something that had been waiting at the back of her mouth. She slapped a hand over her lips, mortified.

Rafaello went still.

For a heartbeat, something crossed his face that she could not read. It looked almost like pain. Then it was gone, and he laughed, low and warm.

"Yes," he said. "That's right. That's what you always call me."

Rose's cheeks turned pink.

"Um. I fell asleep."

"I know, Rose."

"Why didn't you wake me?" She glanced at the dark window, then at him. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Not yet. How could I eat without you?"

He reached for her, and before she could think, his hand closed around her wrist, gently, and drew her across the blanket. She gave a startled little gasp as she found herself settled on his lap, one of his arms steady around her back.

"Come here," he said. "I want my dinner."

Rose blinked up at him.

"Dinner? Here?"

"Yes."

"Like this?"

He did not answer. He only cupped the back of her head in one palm, and kissed her.

It was slow and warm and unhurried, just like before. The lamplight flickered over his lashes. The sounds of the house, the clink of a distant tray, the tick of a clock somewhere, seemed very far away.

And for that moment, Rose decided to forget everything else.

The strange voice. The cold hand at her neck. The nightmare that had followed her into sleep. She pushed them away, one after another, the way you close doors in a hallway.

She would think about them tomorrow.

For tonight, there was only the man in front of her, whose arms did not shake, whose heartbeat she could feel under her palm. She did not want to be afraid. Just for now, she wanted to be loved.