Junior

“Gio!” My brother’s on the floor, groaning.

“Ow. Fuck.” Gio groans.

I rush to his side and grab under his arm to help him up. “Hey, fratellino. Take it easy.”

Desiree positions herself on the other side him to help.

“I’m okay. ‘S okay,” Gio says, but he’s panting and wincing and can’t seem to stand up.

“Fanculo,” I swear.

“On three,” Desiree says, totally in charge of the situation, as usual. “One...two...three.” I pull as hard as I can, because I sure as fuck know Desiree’s not strong enough to lift my brother, and we get him up.

His yelp of pain goes right into the center my bones though. My brother’s no pansy. If he’s making sounds like that, he’s in serious pain, and can’t control his own responses to it.

“On his left side,” Desiree directs and we roll him over. She pulls off his bandage from the back, her lips forming a tight line.

“Is it okay?”

She uses her efficient nurse voice. “He tore the IV site and the stitches, but he’ll be fine. I’ll get him stitched and repacked.”

Gio looks at his wound in the front. “How long since I was shot?”

“Four days,” I tell him.

He cranes his head to look at Desiree. “I’m lying here with two holes in my gut while you’re boning my nurse?” he asks me in Italian.

“Shut the fuck up,” I say, but it doesn’t have the force behind it I usually use. I’m relieved to hear Gio talk again.

“Well, she’s hot, I’ll give you that. I’d bang her—”

“I said shut up.”

We’re both speaking Italian, but Desiree gives us a suspicious look. “Are you talking about me?”

“He said you’re beautiful.”

Gio shoots me a startled look, like he can’t believe I just made nice to another human being.

“That’s the drugs talking,” she says easily, and it occurs to me that it’s not the first time a patient has said that to her. I have to swallow down a mouthful of jealous prickles. The kind that make me want to mark my territory so firmly no guy ever looks at her again.

I catch Gio studying me and attempt to make my face blank. Or angry. Fuck—what did my face used to look like before Desiree? I don’t feel like the same man I was a week ago.

“So who came over from Italy?” Desiree asks conversationally as her hands fly over the wound, cleaning, bandaging. “Your father?”

“Our grandfather moved the family over when our father was ten.”

“And you all still speak fluent Italian?”

“He went back to Sicily to marry our mother—it was sort of an arranged thing, so we’re first generation American on both sides,” I explain and frown when I catch Gio watching me again.

“Where’s Paolo?”

“He’s around. Want to see him?”

“Nah, just making sure he’s okay.”

“Yeah, he’s good. You were the only casualty on our side.”

He glances at Desiree. “And on theirs?” he asks me in Italian.

“She speaks Spanish,” I warn, also in Italian. Which means she can probably understand us. But I tell him, anyway. “All dead.”

Desiree stiffens.

Fuck.

Gio nods and watches as Desiree preps his other arm for the IV. She inserts the needle and gets the drip running. Gio closes his eyes when the painkiller hits him, the taut lines of his face relaxing.

“You want the TV on or anything?” I ask, but he doesn’t even open his eyes, just shakes his head, sinking into rest again.

I look at Desiree. Things are getting too intense between us. Every minute I’m with her I fall in deeper—and I can’t. As much as I want to claim Desiree forever, she wants—needs—a different man. And if I’m going to let that happen—let her walk away when this is all through, I need to stop acting like we’re dating or a couple. We need a chance to catch our breaths. No wine and pasta and a hard fucking on the countertop tonight. But the what-to-do options are pretty limited considering how housebound we both are. “How about pizza and a game of gin rummy?” I suggest as we walk out of Gio’s room.

She shoots me a funny look. “Um, yeah. Okay.” Her voice sounds surprised, but willing.

“Joker’s wild,” I tell her.

Her soft laugh is sweet and yielding. “Joker’s wild.”