Chapter Four: St. Aurelia
Skylar woke to machines.
Beep.
Breath.
Beep.
Her face burned under thick bandages. Her throat felt scraped raw. Her left hand was trapped.
Not trapped.
Held.
Dominic sat beside the hospital bed, his hand wrapped around hers.
The private suite was dim. Frosted glass. Armed guards outside. Carmela asleep in a chair under a blanket.
Dominic’s white shirt was stained with old blood.
Hers.
And some of his.
Skylar pulled her hand away.
It took everything.
Dominic let her.
Good.
“How long?”
“Thirty-six hours.”
Her voice was broken.
“Carmela?”
“Safe.”
“Bianca?”
“Alive.”
“Matteo?”
Dominic did not answer fast enough.
Skylar turned her head despite the pain.
“Where is he?”
“Recovering.”
“From what?”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Vesper-9 exposure.”
Skylar closed her eyes.
“So there were more delivery systems.”
“Yes.”
“And you still trusted him?”
Dominic looked away.
That was answer enough.
She tried to sit.
Pain split through her skull.
Dominic stood at once.
“Do not move.”
“Do not command me.”
The words landed harder than intended.
His face shut down.
Skylar breathed through the pain.
“Bianca said you ruined me.”
Dominic was silent.
“She said you did it to save me.”
Still silent.
Skylar looked at him.
“Say something.”
“I did.”
Two words.
One blade.
The machines seemed louder.
“You planted evidence?”
“No.”
“But you allowed it.”
“Yes.”
She stared.
“The narcotics record?”
“Matteo planted it under Lorenzo’s order.”
“And you let it stand.”
“Yes.”
Her fingers curled into the sheet.
“My license.”
“Yes.”
“My father’s insurance.”
“I tried to restore it quietly.”
“You watched me drown.”
Dominic flinched.
At last.
“Yes.”
Skylar smiled.
It hurt her cheek.
“Good. You can still tell the truth.”
His hand closed around the bed rail.
“They were going to take you.”
“Because of you.”
“Yes.”
“And instead of warning me, you erased me.”
His voice lowered.
“I made Lorenzo believe I had used you and discarded you.”
“You chose for me.”
“Yes.”
“Again.”
He absorbed that like a bullet.
No defense.
No excuse.
Only the terrible stillness of a man who knew he deserved the wound.
Skylar looked away.
“Leave.”
“Skylar.”
“Leave before I need strength.”
He stayed one breath too long.
Then the chair scraped.
At the door, he stopped.
“You can have your license back.”
She did not look at him.
“I do not want gifts from thieves.”
“No gift.”
His voice was rough.
“Evidence.”
The door closed.
Skylar finally let the tear fall.
It slipped beneath the bandage.
And burned.
