A Flower Between the Thorns: A Mafia Romance [REWRITING]

Chapter 18: healing

Fleur's pov:

Fillip has been recovering for a whole month now; his work was conducted by both Christian and Luc. Surprisingly enough, they didn't set the world on fire already. Who would have thought?

Sebastian had returned; however, Fillip had insisted that I would be the one taking care of his wound. It's safe to say Sebastian was truly offended: 'She doesn't even have any medical knowledge,' along with some angry Italian indecipherable words.

'You weren't even here when he got shot; I was the one who sewed him up.' I had gotten offended too.

'Shut up. Both of you. I want to sleep; it's going to be Fleur, and that's it.'

That was it. I have been taking care of him ever since. Cleaning his wound and changing his clothes when he's too tired. I'm 100 percent sure he was acting half of those times, but I didn't mind seeing his defined torso from time to time. Feeding him and all. We just removed the stitches yesterday because Sebastian said so.

According to Fillip, this was a doctor's pass to get back to work. When I entered his room, he was getting up and getting dressed on his own.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Perplexed, he looks down at himself, "I- I...think I am getting dressed."

I almost slapped him, and he grins proudly. What a terrible joke to begin with. "I am not joking with you; where are you going?"

"To work, it took me too long already." He reaches for his suit jacket, but I snatch it off his bed before he does.

"Not long enough."

"Fleur. My jacket."

Does he really think I would give it to him?

"Fillip. No."

He sighs, aggravated, then tries to pull his jacket from my hand swiftly, but I am sure he forgot he got shot less than a month ago. Maybe the incident altered his brain cells, so he ends up groaning and retreating backward instead. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked annoyed at me.

"Get back in bed."

"You are giving orders now?"

"You got shot, so yes, I am." He got shot because he was doing something for me. The least I could do was take care of him for a while.

"I am good now, Fleur, and you helped me enough, but I need to get going." He replies in his normal cold tone while turning to his wardrobe to pull another jacket out of it.

"You are going to work like that?" I asked, pointing at his white shirt when he turned back around. He had already put on his jacket. This time, when he looks down at himself, he's truly confused, and then his eyes darken with anger from the realisation. He's bleeding. Starting by taking off his jacket, he threw it on the floor furiously; then he took off his shirt and also threw it on the floor, letting out an audible, pained groan.

Grunting as he sat down on the bed. "Well?" he asks me, pointing at his bare side. "Will you fix this?"

"Only if you aren't going to then get up and go to work and bleed to death, ask nicely while you're at it."

His nose flares and his jaw ticks as he looks at me in extreme fury. His eyes hold too much anger, but truly, I know what's behind all that. Helplessness; he can't bear feeling weak any longer, because how dare Fillip De Marco the New York City don ever depend on someone? It feels like he's shackled, and he can't do anything about it. No one knows he got shot; apparently, Raffael hadn't told Alberto he shot Fillip. Maybe he still has some loyalty to him after all.