Page 29 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
More rage courses through me. More violent urges.
“What happened?” I ask, clenching my teeth. “Tell me what he did.”
“Caelian… just go. I want to be alone.”
“What did he do to you?”
Nevaeh furiously shakes her head side to side, suddenly looking fit to burst. Tears well in her eyes and she rolls her lips together as if stifling whatever threatens to get loose. Her wrist lays flush against my palm, so fucking dainty and delicate compared to the size of my hand, that more rage burns through me.
I do what feels right—my thumb rubs the inside of her swollen wrist as if hoping to soothe.
And, I suppose, thatiswhat I’m hoping to do.
Soothe her. Comfort her. Make her feel better in some way. Though I don’t know how, and though this is far from my area of expertise.
“Tell me,” I say in a quiet rumble. “Tell me what he did tomia bella ballerina.”
“I was just trying to… I was just coming by to see where you were.” The rest of what she says is drowned out by the frustrated cry that bubbles out of her.
My arms enclose around her in an embrace that’s primal and protective. My hand comes up to cup the back of her head as I hold her close, and she spills tears on my shoulder.
So, Enrico was trying to keep her from coming to see me. She must’ve been curious as to my whereabouts after I disappeared for a few days.
Ms. Poitier had warned me she was growing more restless.
“Listen to me,bella,” I say, pulling away enough to peer into her watery eyes. “If someone ever puts their hands on you—my guards or anyone else—you come find me. I want to know about it. The only one who gets to touch you is me. Is that understood?”
She sniffles, making my pained heart twitch in my chest. “But how will I reach you? You disappeared and no one would tell me anything. They said you were unavailable.”
That is the messaging I had given. The instructions I’d left for them to relay to anyone who would be looking for me. Perhaps I should’ve caveated that with Nevaeh in mind. Though she’ll do as I say and what I want when I want, it could be a problem if I disappear like I had. If Enrico had no problem hurting her this time, who could say it wouldn’t happen again?
My mind is made up.
“If you need me, you call this number,” I say. I snatch the notepad and pencil on her bedside table and jot down my most private means of contact. “Onlyif it is an emergency, Nevaeh. Only if you truly need me and can’t find me.”
She takes the torn piece of paper into her uninjured hand with a nod.
I move to stroke her cheek out of affection. More affection than she probably realizes I have for her.
She flinches in reaction. Tension pulls at her full mouth, though she says nothing. She still doesn’t like me or want me touching her—in fact, she probably can’t stand that she’s forced to interact with me. While she was searching for me, it was for the reasons Ms. Poitier stated. Boredom and frustration.
I withhold vocalizing my irritation even if it lives on my face.
“Very well,” I say, standing up from the side of her bed. “I’ll send the physician up. He’ll take a look at your wrist. Ms. Poitier will also be up to help get you ready. We’ll have dinner at six.”
* * *
Dinner is eaten in silence. Nevaeh sits on one end of the long table. I’m on the far end of the other side. Umberto serves dish after dish. As much of a feast as the kitchen staff normally prepares on any given night. Antipasti and gnocchi soup. Cheeses and fruit. Stuffed artichokes and marinated zucchini. Braised veal and Sicilian-style swordfish. The table is covered with an array of Italian options for every taste and appetite.
Yet Nevaeh barely touches a crumb. She resembles a doll not only in how beautiful she looks—Ms. Poitier’s dressed her in a cream-colored cashmere sweater that contrasts wonderfully with her darker complexion—but she’s as poised and immobile as one as well.
I forego a knife and fork and tear into my shank of veal with my teeth. My chewing’s aggressive and uncivilized, though I couldn’t give less of a fuck.
Irritation’s once again prickling up my spine due to Nevaeh’s defiance.
What she’s protesting this time, I’ve got no fucking clue. The girl seems determined to starve herself if it means proving a point.
“Eat your food,” I say, gesturing to the platters and dishes sprawled out between us.