The Broken Angel (4 page)

Giulio raised his hand toward her elbow, but Samuel was faster and intercepted his hand from between the bars. Taken by surprise, Martina stared at her unlikely rescuer.

Samuel, his body angled sideways on the chair to keep his hold on Giulio, looked up at him. “You heard her.”

Giulio sneered. “I see you’ve got a new stray.” He jerked his hand free from Samuel’s. “This doesn’t concern you, cripple.”

Samuel didn’t flinch at the insult. “It does now.”

Martina would have touched Samuel’s hand to caution him from saying anything else, but it would have made things worse.

Giulio moved his eyes from Samuel to Martina, then started laughing in earnest while pointing a finger in Samuel’s direction. “Let me guess. That poor excuse for a man is the reason you’re here?” He suddenly shifted his weight from one leg to the other and lurched over Samuel, his fisted hand swinging low. The punch he threatened Samuel with hovered less than a centimeter from his nose. “I was just told by the police that my wife had to save you from three kids and you think you could stand up to me?” He laughed cruelly, then stared down at him for a few seconds. “Do you even know who I am?” He bent over, level with Samuel’s eyes. “I am Giulio Severi. I could send you to the emergency room and the police wouldn’t dare apprehend me.”

Martina noticed that Samuel hadn’t moved a muscle throughout Giulio’ tirade. Not even when the punch had almost made contact with his face. Samuel’s gaze hadn’t faltered, only a vein on his throat throbbed, betraying the emotions he must be keeping in check.

Giulio, in his conceitedness, was still berating Samuel when the nurse came back followed by a doctor.

“What’s happening here?” The nurse eyed the trio with a weary expression.

Samuel wheeled around to face the woman and the doctor. “She’s feeling worse.”

“Let me check your eyes.” The doctor, an older woman with taut features and a pair of no-frame glasses perched on her nose, had visited Martina upon her being admitted in the neurology ward. She passed Giulio to stand by the free side of the bed. “You look dazed.” She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned closer to Martina until her thin frame shielded Martina from the rest of the room. “Do you need help?”

The whispered question startled Martina, but she was thankful and nodded, worried Giulio could be eavesdropping.

The doctor turned to the nurse and tilted her head to the side, then turned to face Martina, patted her hand, and stood. She gestured for the nurse to come closer. “I’m afraid we’ll need to keep her the whole night. I’ll order a few exams to be on the safe side.”

Martina watched as Giulio listened to the doctor, his rage visibly growing. “I’ll take her somewhere else where she can receive better treatment.”

The doctor ignored him. Instead, she took a step toward Martina. “I recommend against leaving these premises.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere. My head’s hurting so much.” Martina was telling the truth. Even if she hadn’t smashed her head against a wall, she would have experienced the same searing pain between her eyes. The migraine specialist had told her they were triggered by stress. Even without laying a hand on her, Giulio still had the power to make her feel physically ill.

“You should come with me. I know what’s best for you, my love.” Giulio had the audacity to take her hand and caress it.

She snatched it out of his hold, her stomach cramping. “I feel nauseous.” She looked at the nurse from behind Giulio’s frame. “Could you please help me reach the bathroom?”

The nurse rushed immediately to her side. One hand on Martina’s forearm, the woman pulled her up, then accompanied her to the lavatory. Once inside, she closed the door behind them, her eyes worried. “Do you want me to call the police to get rid of your husband?”

Martina shook her head. “He’s my ex. And no, calling the police won’t do any good. But thanks.”

“You know there are places you could reach out to—”

Martina’s lips tightened. “I work in one of them.” She tried to smile at the woman. “If I can stay here for the night, it will help me a great deal.”

“I’m sorry we called him. His name was on the list of your contacts when we checked you in—”

For a while, Martina had been changing her preferences on every medical and legal form she had encountered, but they were too many to keep track of all of them. “I’ll update my contacts before I leave.” A knock on the door startled her.

The door was opened and the doctor appeared from behind it. “Your husband left.”

The pressure Martina felt over her chest suddenly lessened and she was able to breathe again.

“He said he’ll be back first thing in the morning to take you home.” The doctor gave her one last look, then turned away.

Martina asked the nurse to leave her alone for a moment. Once the door closed, she heaved in the sink. She hated herself for feeling helpless. They had been separated for two years, but any time he was near, she reacted as if she were still living under his roof. Her therapist said it took time to heal from a traumatic experience, but she was tired of the nightmares and the sudden panic attacks that ruined her nights and days.

When she reentered the room, she found the nurse and Samuel were still there. The woman asked her if she needed anything, and Martina opted for some tea and saltines to settle her stomach.

“Are you okay?” Samuel had moved from one side of the bed to the other, and had to wheel back to let her reach it.

“I’m fine. My headache isn’t that bad.”

Samuel’s lips turned up. “I’m glad to hear that.” He tilted his chair on the back wheels, keeping it steady only with the power of his arms. He moved it back and forth.

Martina admired his shapely, strong arms. She knew they were a common trait in people with his kind of disability, but his arms were particularly pleasant to look at. The tattoo of an ornate wing on his right one was hidden by the long sleeves of his shirt. The first time they had trained together, he had worn only a sleeveless top. She had thought it was cute. Sometimes, she too wished to have wings to fly away from her daily sorrow. “I’m sorry you had to be involved in that.”

He let the chair on the ground with a slow, controlled movement. “I’m sorry
you
’
re
involved with
that
.” He pointed his chin at the door.

“It happens even in the best families.” She attempted a chuckle, but a sound resembling a sob escaped her mouth instead.

****

Samuel saw how she was trying to keep it together, and his desire to hug her and kiss her pain away only became stronger. “I can stay with you tonight.”

She looked at him in surprise. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

She lowered her eyes to her hands. “But I’m sure your family wants you back.”

“Nobody’s waiting for me at home.” He stretched his legs under her bed and pushed the back of his chair against the wall. Hands behind his head, he canted it and regarded her with a grin. “So, your husband, ah?”

She grimaced as if he had just swore. “My
ex
-husband.”

He liked how she had stressed the “ex” part. “I guess he didn’t get the memo.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “I’m starting to think he can’t read. My lawyer has sent him dozens of official-looking pieces of paper.”

Samuel looked at the window. “Who does he think he is anyway?” He couldn’t stay still and kept bending and straightening his knees to push the wheelchair backward and forward. Earlier this afternoon, he had set out to have a good fighting session at Alexander’s, and despite the skirmish with the three brats, his body was still humming with pent-up energy. Acting the part of a cripple sometimes was hard and he always missed the weight of his wings. At the beginning, when the integration laws had been instituted, he had forgotten he didn’t have wings when in human form and kept moving around as if he had. He had looked like a drunk more often than not and Ludwig Barnes had suggested the cripple guise for him. Samuel had found it amusing because it fit. Not now. “He sounded as if he wanted to send me a message mafia-style.”

“Sorry about that.” She played with the hem of her sheet. “He likes to flaunt his family’s wealth and connections.”

“And they are?” Outside, the sun had almost set, and the commuting traffic was at its worst. Samuel pushed the windowpanes closed to shield the room from the constant honking and the smell of burning exhaust wafting up from the street several stories below. From his sitting position, he could only see the burnt-brown tiles of the opposite building’s roof, and the small terrace on the adjacent wing of the hospital where a few patients were smoking. He thought one man was looking straight at him, but when he looked back again, the man was gone.

Martina moved on the bed, rearranging her legs so she was angled toward him. “The Severis own half of Rome. They are a family of lawyers, bankers, builders, you name it. They have friends in all the right places.”

“Severi…” Samuel repeated the name a few more times in his mind. It still sounded familiar, but he was sure he had never met any Severi before. “It’s because of their connections that you haven’t been able to get rid of that ass?”

She let out a small laugh. “The prefect of Rome has dinner at their attic at The Spanish Steps once a week.” Her eyes went to her legs on top of the linen sheet. “When I called the police the first time, they—”

“What did you call the police for?” Samuel froze and let the wheelchair come to a halt before her bed.

She hugged herself. “You know… the usual.”

A sudden surge of rage left him breathless, but he kept his turmoil hidden. At first sight, he had classified her ex as a bully, but knowing he was also violent made him regret once again the loss of his powers. A full-fledged angel could have caused the arrogant bastard internal injuries by simply willing it.

She visibly gulped and hastily flung a solitary tear away from her right cheek, her eyes still on her legs. “The police never came to take my testimony. When I went to the precinct, someone listened to me for two hours straight without writing down a single word. Then I was called inside a room and told to stop spreading lies about one of the most illustrious families in Rome.”

Samuel felt her pain and made it his, his stomach contracting in painful cramps. He reached out his hand to brush hers, but at the last moment, he pulled it away. “Did you start training to defend yourself from him?” He had been looking at her from afar for a while. Even before he had thrown at Alexander that comment about Martina looking scarier than him, he had been studying her and wondered about her intensity. That day, six months ago, he had seen her starting her solo routine, and he had thought it was now or never and suggested he could spar with her instead. Alexander, worried about Ravenna, hadn’t noticed Samuel’s nervousness and accepted to call Martina as his replacement. Since then, when they didn’t spar—he had made sure to subtly scare away any other sparring partner she had trained with before they met—Martina punished herself with repetition after repetition of abs and legs routines. Sometimes, she worked out for two- or three-hour sessions without a break.

She nodded and a small smile graced her lips. “I met Alexander Drako one night at one of the Severi family’s high society gatherings. We immediately hit it off, and he proposed I trained at his place.”

Samuel felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of his friend’s name. He had never given a thought about how Martina had come to frequent the gym. But Alexander’s notorious reputation as a playboy tinted her previous words in a whole different color. Alexander was now happily shackled to Ravenna, but that hadn’t been the case until half a year ago, and he’d had a penchant of going through women at an alarmingly fast rate. Samuel hated the idea that Martina could be one of those interchangeable women who had spent a night or two in Alexander’s company.

“Alexander is such a nice person when you get to know him.” Martina looked at him, as if waiting for him to say something.

Trying to manage the red-hot anger clutching at his stomach, he grabbed the rubber wheels with both hands and pressed his fingers in the sturdy material. “He’s all right.” His work cell phone rang, saving him from the misery of that conversation. He raised a finger. “Just a sec.” When the caller ID was displayed on the screen, he was surprised to see his friend Ophelia’s number. She never called him on his office line. “I apologize, but I must take this.”

“Sure.” Martina gave him an encouraging smile.

“Give me a moment,” he said to Ophelia, but Martina thought he was talking to her and smiled again. He wheeled outside the room, then headed toward the exit door at the end of the hallway, pushed it open with his arm on the horizontal bar, and finally reached the emergency stairwell where he parked on the landing.

“Ophelia? Is everything okay?”

“I need you at once.” Ophelia sounded agitated, which was out of character for her. The werewolf was flamboyant and larger than life, but always in control, even when it seemed she wasn’t.

“What’s going on?” He kicked at the metal railing of the stairwell. “Where are you?” He heard a ticking sound. Ophelia must be pacing in her high heels. The werewolf was almost two meters tall and she wore stilettos even to buy groceries.

“I’m at the paranormal morgue at the Tiberina Island Hospital.”

“Why—?” He couldn’t finish his question. Despite his recent less-than-friendly thoughts about Alexander, he couldn’t bear the idea something had happened to any of his friends. He didn’t have many to begin with.

The furious pacing abated for a moment. “A cub has died in a freakish accident and you were mentioned.”

“What?” Samuel stopped kicking the metal rail.

“The cub’s girlfriend has just testified that you had a brawl with her, the deceased were, and one of their friends.” Ophelia was breathless. “Is it true? Did you meet those people earlier today?”

“Yes. I’m actually at the Umberto I because those three idiots were high as kites and hurt a woman who came to my rescue.”

“A woman came to your rescue?”

“Yes. Martina Colonna. I think you’ve seen her once or twice at Alexander’s gym.”