Arranged Mafia Marriage

Theresa

“Who are you?” His blue-almost-indigo-colored eyes bore into me. Considering he’s been unconscious for two weeks, he shouldn’t seem this alert. But nothing about this man has been predictable from the moment I laid eyes on him.

“Don’t you remember? You stepped in front of me; you took a bullet for me.” Shit, hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, honestly, but it’s the only thing I have been able to think of in the time I have sat here staring at him.

“Bullet?” He tilts his head, then winces.

“Your temple,” I gesture to the bandage around his head, “the bullet hit your temple. You lost a lot of blood and they had to put you in an induced coma so that you could heal faster.”

The expression on his face doesn’t change. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. He raises his gaze back to mine, then glances around the room, before staring at the glass of water on the side table.

“Oh, are you thirsty?”

He doesn’t reply. Simply looks at me again.

Of course, he’s thirsty. What an insane thing to ask. His gaze tracks me as I reach his bedside. I raise the glass of water and hold it out. He stares from my face, to the glass of water, then back at me.This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

“Oh, right.” I lower the glass until the edge of the straw stuck inside it brushes his mouth. He parts his lips and sips from the straw. The tendons of his throat move as he swallows.

Awareness prickles up my spine. I’ve stared at him so closely over the past couple of weeks that I know every ridge of his face, every crease at the edges of his eyes, the jut of his nose, the strong squareness of his jaw, the way his lower lip is pouty and fat and almost too feminine for the rest of his face; the way his dark hair curls over his forehead, how his long lashes brush across his cheekbones, the width of his shoulders which strain against the hospital gown they’d draped on him, the tan of his skin, still dark, even after all this time in the hospital, hinting at his bloodline. A bloodline that I know well, considering I had been in love with his triplet before he’d died. A man I’d crushed on since I had been a child. A man who is now gone, never to return, and instead… This man, with the face of my past love, had appeared out of the blue to take his place. It has to be a sign, surely, that his path and mine have crossed. Xander is dead but this guy is alive. And he saved me from the bullet. Surely, there is no logical reason he’d do that… Not unless he felt pulled toward me, even though neither of us knew each other. Of course, I know who he is now, but the intensity with which he’s watching me indicates he has no clue about how we are connected.

When he slumps against the pillow, I place the glass back on the bedside.

“Uh, I think I need to call the doctor.” I shift forward in my chair before rising.

“The doctor?”

I nod, “You’ve been in a coma for two weeks.”

He frowns.

“Basically, since you got shot, you’ve been out. We, uh, had to rush you to the hospital-”

“We?” His scowl deepens.

“We, as in me-even though I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, seeing as I was covered in your blood-and your brothers were-”

“Brothers?” His gaze intensifies. “Did you say my brothers?” he asks with slow deliberation.

“Yes,” I nod. Surely, it’s okay to tell him about his brothers, right? I mean, he does know about them, doesn’t he? Why else would he have sought them out and intruded on the gathering at Christian and Aurora’s place?

Unless he doesn’t really know about their existence, or that of his triplets, or the fact that one of them is dead. Oh, crap. I swallow. Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken to him, and called the doctor instead. Surely, it isn’t good for him to get all worked up, and that’s exactly what I’m causing right now.

His eyebrows knit, a wary gaze in his eyes. He clenches and unclenches his fingers and my gaze is drawn to his arm. Scars run up the length of his forearm. They should be ugly, except there are tattoos inked into either side of the blemishes. I have had two weeks to study them while he was unconscious, and I still find them fascinating. The designs are flames that have been drawn into his skin. The patterns enhance the scars, showcase them, and turn them into a work of art. It must have been painful though. It looks like he had been badly burned, and a while ago, by the state of the blemishes.

“What happened?” I burst out.

His features tighten. “None of your business,” he snaps.

I firm my lips. “Jeez keep your shirt on, I was only trying to be sociable.”

“Well, don’t be,” he rasps. His voice is rough, probably because he hasn’t used it over the last two weeks, but hell if it doesn’t sound sexy. Damn it, the man is recovering from a coma. He has no business being this attractive. And you have no business wanting to jump into bed with him when he’s this weak.

“Okay then.” I pull out my hair tie, and my hair flows around my shoulders. “I think it’s best I get the doctor.”

I turn to leave, then gasp when he grabs my wrist. Electricity travels out from the point of contact. I glance down at where the darkness of his fingers contrasts with the paleness of my skin. It’s as if I am the one who’s been unwell, considering my pallor.

“For someone who’s been unconscious for two weeks, you seem to have retained most of your strength,” I mutter.

“No doctor,” he rasps. I glance up to find his face is definitely a few shades paler than earlier.

“You are in a hospital and you’ve just emerged from a coma. I really do need to call the doctor.”

“No,” sweat beads his forehead, “no doctor.” He glances between my eyes. “Please,” he seems to force the word out, “no doctor.”

“Look, I am not sure why you are having such a panicked reaction to the idea of a doctor checking you out, but they saved your life. If it weren’t for them, you might be dead.”

There’s still no response from him. His hold on my arm seems to tighten. Jesus, this man must have been in peak physical condition if he’s this strong emerging from a coma. To be fair, he had moved so quickly when he’d stepped in front of me that I hadn’t even realized what was happening. Not until I’d heard that sickening thwack of the bullet piercing through his flesh and then… I swallow. Then, a part of me had known how close to death I had been. As he had stumbled back, I had known he’d stepped in front of me to protect me. I had jumped forward to try to catch his fall and had half collapsed under the weight of his body before sinking to my knees with him sprawled across my lap. And even then, I had not known who he really was, until Christian had taken off the stranger’s mask and I had seen Xander’s face, as if resurrected from the dead. My heart begins to race in my chest as I take in the features of the man on the bed. Even now, I can’t believe just how similar the two of them look.

Christian and Xander were twins, but they hadn’t been identical. But this man, he resembles Xander so much, it makes my chest hurt just looking at him.

“Okay,” I nod, “no doctor…for now, but someone is going to come and check in on you, eventually.”

He doesn’t reply, doesn’t let go of my arm either. “Who are you?” he asks again. “Do I know you? Have we met?”

“Not until you stepped in front of me and took the bullet.”

He winces.

“Does it hurt?” I glance at the bandage around his head, “Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have agreed not to call the doctor. Look, I don’t want anything to happen to you, okay? They need to come and check you out and make sure that you are okay and-”

“I’m okay,” he rasps.

“You don’t look okay.” I take in his features, which have definitely gone paler in the last few seconds. “You look like you are about to lose consciousness again, and that’s not good, that’s really not good, I-”

“Will you calm the fuck down, woman?” he growls.

“Excuse me?” I stare. “What did you say?”

He blows out a breath, “I am fine. I don’t need you making a fuss over me.”

My chest rises and falls. I’ve been waiting for him to wake up all this time. I had practically chained myself to the bed and kept vigil and prayed that he’d open his eyes, and now that he has… He tells me to fuck off?

“Let go of me,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Not until you tell me how the hell I came to be in this hospital room.”

“That’s what I have been trying to explain, if you’d put your paranoia aside for one moment and listen to me.”

“Paranoia?” He scowls, “What the fuck gave you that idea, anyway?”

I glance down at where his fingers are still curled around my wrist, and his grasp tightens.

“You’re my insurance,” he says in a hard voice. “I am not letting you go until I understand what kind of a situation I’m in.”

“You’re in a hospital and I should have called a doctor, who’s going to be pissed that I didn’t at the first sign of your waking up; that’s the kind of situation you are in,” I scold. “Now, will you let go of me, please?”

“Why are they keeping me here? Who are these brothers you spoke about?”

“You don’t remember?” I study his face. “And for the record, as I have already explained, no-one is keeping you here. You were shot, so they brought you to the hospital-‘

“Who’s they?”

“The paramedics who your brother Michael called?”

“Michael?” He frowns, “And he is…”

“Your oldest brother.”

“How many brothers do I have, anyway?”

“Um… five? No, there’s four, actually.”

“Which is it, four or five?”

“Four,” I bite the inside of my cheek. “Xander, your triplet-”

“Hold on, did you say triplet?”

Oops, I hadn’t meant to reveal that yet, but he’d have eventually learned about it, one way or the other, right? So, it’s okay for me to tell him that he has a triplet. I mean, he must have known, considering he turned up at Christian and Aurora’s wedding, right?

“Umm, yea… and then, you have two half-brothers, so including you, that makes it seven brothers again.”

“Again,” he scowls, “what do you mean by that?”

“Xander is…you know-”

“No, I don’t know.” Sweat beads his forehead and his grasp on my arm loosens. “What happened to Xander?”

“He’s… uh… ” Damn, it’s not easy to break the news to him, and especially when he’s only just woken up from a coma. Speaking of, how the hell can he be so lucid so soon? “It’s best you hear about it once you recover completely.”

“Tell me…now,” he begins to slur. “Tell me…” his eyelids flutter, “I…in-insist.” He releases me, then slumps back against the pillows. His features go slack. I hesitate, watch as his breathing deepens. Best to call the doctor now, before he wakes up again and insists that he doesn’t want anyone to examine him.

I turn to leave, and that’s when the window of the hospital room shatters. The glass pieces scatter across the floor as a man jumps into the room.