Bred In Violence (A Mafia Romance Book One) #𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝟏

Chapter Nine

                               Raphael

I paced so many times I had lost count as I waited for Charlie. My anxiety exceeded anything I have ever felt. Sophie was still the same; the only difference was the change in her breathing. It had become soft, content like she felt a sense of safety. Her face looked peaceful but what scared me was the fact that she was still asleep.

I heard a knock.

"Come on in," I called out.

Charlie walked in with what I figured was his medical bag. Black and worn out, looking like it had seen better days. I looked at it with what he must have thought was disgust because his face fell from me to his bag and back again.

"Don't I pay you enough to buy a modern medical Bag that is worthy of your station?"

"Haven't you ever heard old is gold?" He retorted in an amused voice

"I doubt that phrase was coined for your medical bag, Charlie. Don't be delusional" He said nothing; I figured he couldn't have anything reasonable to defend this bag. It would have been a desperate endeavor anyway.

"Raphael," he greets me with a slight bow choosing to ignore my opinion of his bag. I hated formalities, but I have to live with them lest I'm considered soft, nice, or worse weak.

"I guess this is the young woman Romano tells me about?" He asks as he continues walking towards the bed. Putting his bag on the bedside table, he looks at me for permission to touch her.

"May I?" He asks

"Go ahead, that's why you're here," my voice sounded catty and impatient.

Touching her forehead with the back of his hand, I guess to find out if she was running a fever, Sophie pushed her head subtly towards his hand like she was searching for comfort, and from that moment, I knew what jealousy felt like.

I wanted to kill Charlie right there, right then. Did she prefer him to me?

"She doesn't have a fever' I heard him say. What happened?" He asks, waiting for an answer, yet knowing he might not get it.

I decided he needed to know the truth. I wanted him to have all the facts before diagnosing her, so I told him everything that had happened that evening.

"She is in shock," he concluded.
"She just needs to rest, and it may help if you told her why you carelessly told an assailant to shoot her."

"Are you crazy? " I asked him angrily, "you want me to tell her about me, about my life, who I am, and what I do? She will be so scared. I'm sure she will do something stupid like go to the police. I can't believe you just suggested that!" I was staring at him, my face showing disappointment and disapproval.

"I'm sorry, that is not what I meant." He said, his voice hard with a tightness on his mouth; like he was aggrieved, I thought he could suggest something like that. Charlie was one of us. He understood the art of discretion.

"Just tell her your revised version of the truth, make her understand you did not mean it and make sure she doesn't build a cocoon around her to shield herself from the unpleasantness of that day. Force her to face it if you must. She is just in shock; she will be okay in a couple of hours; it might help if you talked to her through it."

"Wait,... Talk to her while she's still asleep? And tell her what exactly?" He asked, looking panicked. It was comical, which made Charlie's eyes sparkle with amusement.

"I'm glad my dilemma amuses you."

"It's not so hard, tell her anything, your love for soccer, basketball, or your sense of loyalty. Anything, but it has to be positive. Something endearing, if you can think of any.