Playing with Fire (12 page)

Finally she cracked a smile, and she was quite pretty, even if it was in a wholesome way that was more Midwestern country girl than anything else, as she moved around the bed and took his pulse. She took out her stethoscope and listened to his chest. “Your parents are outside, but I wanted to see you first and confirm you are up for visitors.”

He wasn’t sure.

“For the record, a visit with my mother can send a person to the hospital even if they haven’t recently been shot.”

She smiled at his dry tone. “Shall I tell them ten minutes is the time limit of their stay?”

“God bless you.” After a brief hesitation, he said, “Doctor, is anyone else waiting to see me?”

“Long dark hair? Very striking?”

“Yes.” His voice sounded hoarse.

The doctor opened the door to his room but leaned back in as she was leaving and said with a conspiratorial air, “She was here most of the night in the waiting area, and I advised her to go home because she wasn’t going to get to see you. I have every confidence she’ll be back.”

Had to be Reign.

He was an idiot, but it made him happy. “When she returns, please
let
her see me?”

“I’ll let the nurses know.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

God, he felt weak, and there were about fifteen tubes coming out of him, the catheter being the worst of it. The idea of someone handling his dick while he was unconscious didn’t thrill him, but at least he was alive. That second bullet had almost done the job.

And he was left wondering why.

He didn’t really dabble in the family business. True, he was in law school so he could be useful to his father, uncles, cousins—he’d started out with an accounting degree for just that purpose. It was just that he couldn’t see how he’d made an enemy that powerful without his father hearing about it.

It really wasn’t a surprise his mother had at some point gone home and changed her clothes from the flowing long dress she’d worn on the boat. Her hair hung in perfect symmetry just at her jawline and was a carefully colored deep auburn shade—not her natural hue. Even her makeup was flawless, and she carried a purse that he was fairly sure had cost thousands of dollars.

In general they got along, but he had no illusions. First of all, he’d ruined her party by getting shot, and secondly, he was pretty sure his relationship with Reign—wait, his
former
relationship with Reign—was now obvious.

This just was not going to be the best conversation of his life, so it was better to take the initiative.

“Do you know why?” He directed the question at his father, who had walked in with a grim expression behind his mother. “Because I’m fairly certain it was not about anything I’ve done.”

“There’s nothing on the street.” His father shook his head. In his youth he’d also been blond, but his hair had gone to gray; he’d kept himself fairly fit and was a scratch golfer. If there was a connection in New York City or Jersey he had it, and at the moment he didn’t look all that forgiving about the incident.

He looked thoroughly tired and pissed off.

“I have people listening. When they hear something, I’ll take care of it. You have my word.”

From Salvatore Ariano Sr., that was quite a promise.

“I don’t really care about revenge.” Sal shook his head. “I’m just trying to make sense of it.”

“Then you are the only one in this room that doesn’t care about revenge.”

Sal laughed a little, and it hurt his stomach like being branded with a glowing hot piece of iron. “Okay, but let’s just say I’m not so much interested even in who did it as in not having it happen again.”

Unthinkable at the moment. He’d never been shot before and didn’t wish to repeat the experience. Sal added, “You really have no idea?”

“Honestly, Son, I don’t. This blindsided me.”

“How well do you know Reign Grazi?” His mother had sat down in the chair next to the bed. She reached over and touched his face, but her fingertips were cold and her expression hard.

“This isn’t her fault.”

“Salvatore, I don’t think that was the question.”

“Intimately,” he responded because he really wasn’t much of a liar anyway, and his mother always knew if he even tried it. Under the hostess persona she was pretty shrewd. “Like if she would consider it, which she won’t so don’t panic, I’d marry her.”

If he wasn’t on some pretty heavy painkillers he’d never have said that, but there it was. A machine beeped into the silence following that admission.

“Over my dead body,” his father muttered after a moment, his face shuttered.

“I’m kind of thinking her family feels the same way.” Sal pushed the button for more morphine. “Lucky me. This Romeo and Juliet bullshit is archaic.”

“Don’t be a smartass. Maybe Grazi heard about you and his daughter and ordered the hit.”

“And risk Reign’s life? No way. I happen to know he adores her. Those bullets could just have easily hit her. I want you to do me a favor and find out if, for any reason, there’s a contract out on her.”

“She was there with Fattelli.” His father’s voice was crisp and unforgiving.

He’d known all along how they would react, but luckily, it was the least of his problems at the moment.

“Oh, I noticed.” Sal was starting to fade a little, zoning out. “That was a lovely moment for me, as you can imagine. The evening only got better. I can’t decide if seeing her with him or getting shot was the worst part.”

His mother reached over and risked her manicured nails to clasp his hand. “Don’t even say that.”

With an ironic tone, he said, “Are we now worrying about my possible broken heart, my near-death experience, or how I feel?”

If she answered, he didn’t hear it. Thankfully he drifted into la-la land.

*   *   *

Reign listened carefully and heard the prognosis with a lightened sense of what she hadn’t realized was such a heavy worry.

The doctor said, “He’s stable and we’ll move him to a general surgery floor in a few hours. Obviously he lost some blood and that’s why he is so out of it. Don’t take that as a bad sign. He came through the surgery beautifully, and we are optimistic the rest of his recovery will go the same way.”

Several nurses bustled past, one of them pushing a cart, the wheels rattling on the linoleum floor.

“Thank you.” Reign said, her voice breaking a little. “No one else will tell me anything.”

“He wants to see you.”

She wanted to see him too. “How perfect. That’s why I’m here.”

“I understand you’re part of the reason he came through so well.” The doctor was young and pretty, wearing scrubs and the usual white coat, her gaze assessing. Absolutely business-like, but the assessment seemed to weigh in some judgment.

She’d done a lot in her life that tested her ability to deal with fellow human beings. Reign lifted her shoulders. “I did my best to stop the bleeding.”

“You must have been effective enough, because he is still alive. Are you a nurse?”

“Sal would never bow out without a fight, and no, I’m a fashion designer.” She held out her hand. She should actually be at her studio right now because she’d been commissioned to come up with a proposal for a wedding gown for a friend of Giovanna’s, but her assistant had keys. “Reign Grazi.”

“I wondered.” The doctor slid the file in her hand onto the desk and gave Reign a brief shake. “I realize this is New York, and I’ve heard his family name before, and I’ve even heard yours … but my life would be easier if you all might get along a little better.”

“Sal and I,” Reign said with a small smile, “get along just fine. Can I go in?”

“Ms. Grazi, I have a feeling he would like nothing better, so please go ahead.”

Given permission, she tentatively pushed open the door to Sal’s room a few minutes later. He was reclined against the pillow, his face still fairly pale, but he opened his eyes immediately and smiled at her. “Oh. Hi. Wow, you look great.”

She did love him. Even with bandages swathed across his bare chest and his hair definitely unruly—not to mention the shadow of a beard—he was good-looking, but that wasn’t the reason. That light in his eyes and his boyish smile weren’t an act. Sal
was
a nice guy.

Reign knew she had a definite weakness for him. But loving someone and being in love with them—not the same thing.

As the saying went, there was always a “but.” Their families hated each other. It wasn’t a light enmity either, and it needed to be addressed. He was also younger—enough to give her pause. She wasn’t at all sure Vince would be okay with it, though she didn’t live her life for him entirely.… Her son liked Sal, she knew that. Would he like Nick?

Oh hell, it was complicated, but she needed to see that Sal was really going to be okay.

That was what mattered.

He tried to smile and didn’t quite succeed, but it touched her anyway. He said, “I like the dress. Looks good on you.”

Form-fitting and dark blue, above the knee, with a hint of white at the lining of the bodice … she liked it too. “I designed it.”

“I guessed that already.”

She crossed over and kissed him. Not on the mouth, but with long lingering pressure on his cheek while she caressed his good shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He felt solid, male, and best of all … alive. He said, “Pretty good.”

“Let’s make a pact to never go through that again. Deal?”

Sal reached across and caught her hand. “Deal. Sit here on the bed with me, not in the chair.”

She did as he asked, though his tall body took up most of the space. He interlocked their fingers. “Fattelli out there waiting for you?”

“No. I came alone.”

“You shouldn’t.” He was dead serious. “They could come after you in other ways. Blow up your car, your house.… Please tell me you’re staying with someone else.”

“I’m going to stay with my sister for a few days.”

“Why not stay with him?”

“That suggestion from you of all people?” Reign lifted her brows.

“You’d be safer.” Sal’s fingers tightened. “If this has anything to do with your father, they could go after her too. Or Vince. It’s good he’s in Long Island right now. Sounds like he’s having fun.”

That startled her. “You talked to him?”

“After the shooting at your house. He obviously knew nothing about it and I didn’t tell him either. I like the kid. I was just checking in.”

Because his father wasn’t there for him, you stepped in
. Reign’s fingers tightened a little around his also. “That was nice of you. He’ll hear about it eventually, but I just don’t want to ruin his vacation. It isn’t like he’s unaware of the Life and certainly knows his grandfather is in jail and why, but I’ve done my best to give him a fairly normal childhood.”

“He’s eighteen, Reign. That means no longer a child.”

Not new information. She was still adjusting to the idea of her son moving out one day. She’d essentially been a single parent most of his life, so the bond was very close.

She essayed a bright smile. “Yes, I know. He’s like you, though, going off to college. It’s going to cost me a fortune. Did I tell you I’m being considered for a design position with a firm that handles clothing lines for a major chain? Might be the right time to score that job. I love boutique design and unique pieces, but having my own brand? That’s a dream of mine.”

His eyes reflected that he completely understood. “How amazing.” Then he visibly winced. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant—”

“I know what you meant.”

“Make his dad pay half.”

She shook her head. “The less we have to do with Ray, the better. I think Vince has learned the hard way to agree with my point of view.”

Sal’s eyes closed briefly. “I remember that day when I had to make a choice, but I suppose this is the life I know. I took it to the middle of the road. I’m in, but not like Fattelli. He’s very old school. From Sicily. You do realize that, right?”

“I am sleeping with him and that’s about it.”

“Ouch.” Sal loosened his grip on her hand.

“You okay?” In alarm, she stood. “Should I call the nurse?”

“No, not the problem.”

“Sal,”—her voice held a tone of rueful amusement—“did you think I would suddenly become a nun? He’s … interesting.”

“And very good-looking and Italian. I get it.”

“So are you.” She smiled again, but she was fairly sure it was strained this time. “It’s pretty unlikely he’ll fall in love with me, that’s the difference. I’m not thinking that’s his style.”

Sal was getting tired. She could see it in his face, and hell, the man
had
been shot twice. It seemed like everyone, including him, thought that maybe he’d taken those bullets even though they were meant for her.

“You’re too guarded,” he muttered.

“Only because once, I wasn’t guarded enough.” She gently pulled her hand from his. “Listen, I think you should get some rest. I’ll be back tomorrow. I brought your cell phone.” She fished it out of her purse and set it on the table by the bed. “It must have fallen out of your pocket on the boat. Call me if you need anything.”

“Stay with Fattelli.” He didn’t as much as glance at the phone.

She murmured, “I’ll think about it, but he actually hasn’t asked me. Look, I’ve got to go to work.”

Chapter

E
LEVEN

How the hell could he convince her?

Nick rubbed his jaw and contemplated his strategy. His apartment had been selected for both the prestigious address and the safety advantages: controlled entry and easy escape possibilities. Reign’s house, on the other hand, was on a nice residential street.

Her vulnerability bothered him, and in general he didn’t allow that in his life. The upgraded alarm system was going to be helpful, but it was a completely different scenario if a person understood the threat. He knew—no one knew better—that no one could protect himself all the time.

He pushed a button on his phone. Denton’s secretary answered and put him right through. “You hear about Ariano?”

The other man said, “Enough to make me leery of the company of Ms. Grazi right now.”

“But still no one is talking about it?”