Blade

Chapter 68: Bad Guy Energy

Blade

“You took a hit from falling glass,” the doctor says, pressing lightly around the bandaged area on my ribs. “No fractures, just deep bruising and a few cuts. You’ll be sore for a while, but you’ll heal fine.”

I don’t answer. I just sit on the bed, smoking a cigarette, a wildfire of anger burning everything inside me.

He notices the cold, wicked look on my face and clears his throat before speaking again. “Don’t strain yourself. No heavy lifting or sudden movements for at least a week. Keep the wrap on for that time, and change the dressing every day. Try not to put too much pressure on it so you don’t reopen the wound.”

I shove him back hard enough that he stumbles, almost falling. Rising from the bed, shirtless, I move past him and walk toward the large floor-to-ceiling window.

Franco reaches out, placing a hand on my shoulder, but I shoot him a glare and shrug him off, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke before turning my gaze to the vast property outside.

“Thanks, doc,” I hear Franco say. The doctor mutters something under his breath, then packs up his things. A moment later, the sound of the door opening and closing echoes faintly behind me.

The broad wrap around my left ribs and side, holding pressure against the bruises and shallow cuts, along with the smaller bandage on my upper arm where glass nicked my skin, only adds to my frustration. But they’re the least of my problems.

"Blade, I know you're upset and you have every right to be—"

"Upset?" I snap, turning to glare at him as I take a long drag from my cigarette. "I'm beyond livid, Franco. If you meant nothing to me, I’d have already put a bullet in your skull."

"Then do it," he bites out, jaw clenching hard. "If that’ll make you stop being pissed at me, then go ahead, Blade."

I let out a cold laugh, stepping closer and blowing smoke in his face, but he doesn’t even blink. "Don’t tempt me," I say, giving him a hard shove that sends him stumbling back. I turn away, heading for the table, eyes locked on the bottle of beer. It takes everything in me not to grab it, so instead I pour myself a glass of water and drain it in silence.

"You, Nico, and I have never kept anything from each other," I finally say, setting the glass down. "We’ve always told the truth, no matter how hard it was. So why did you keep this from me?"

"Non era mia intenzione, lo giuro," he says quickly. "Sienna told me not to tell you or anyone. I refused at first, but she trusted me, man."
(It wasn’t my intention, I swear)

"E che dire della fiducia che ho in te?" I snap, and he looks away briefly, swallowing hard. "Does that mean nothing?"
(And what about the trust I have in you?)

Franco stays silent, refusing to meet my eyes. My anger boils over as I walk up to him and grab his shirt collar, forcing him to look at me. His eyes look shattered, completely lost.

"This is about Sienna’s safety. The woman who means everything to me. The woman I’d die for without hesitation. The woman I love so damn much," I say, and his eyes widen slightly at my words. The realization hits me hard, but I push it aside. "You should have told me, no matter what she asked of you. If anything had happened to her, anything at all, I would never have forgiven you."

Franco’s throat bobs as he tries to find his voice, but nothing comes out. His hands clench at his sides, trembling slightly.

“I admit I messed up,” he finally says in a rough voice. “But I was just trying to help her in any way I could. She told me she’d tell you once we found the person who’s been sending those threat messages.”