Married to the Mafia Boss

Sofia

I unpack my things and arrange the closet since I’m going to be here for a while. I need to have the rest of my stuff from the house sent to this estate so I can be more comfortable. I try to think about anything other than the hurtful words Dominic said. It’s not like he hasn’t said to my face that I’m a naive princess but somehow discussing it with someone I don’t know, who he hardly knows, hurts more.

Once I’m done unpacking, I decide to go downstairs and explore the house, seeing what there will be to do here while I’m alone during the day. Maybe later, I can look at my college applications.

I walk through the vast home, trying to learn my way around. As I finish my little tour, I hear a car pull up and look out the living room window. It’s Dominic.

I trace my steps back to the kitchen and the back door. I don’t feel like looking at him right now.

It’s dark outside, but a spotlight illuminates the garden when I step onto the patio. It’s beautiful with a lot of flowers. I stand and admire it until I become aware of his presence behind me.

“Are you finding everything okay?” he asks. I can tell he’s trying to be nice, but I’m not in the mood for his hot and cold temperament.

“Do I have a choice?” I ask, crossing my arms.

He walks to the garden furniture near some potted flowers and sits down.

“Look, we can at least be civil since we’re stuck with each other, okay?” he sits back and sets his hand down on the table. Suddenly he springs up shouting, “Fuck!”

I jump back in fright. “What is it?” I ask, my anger forgotten and concern in my voice. I go over to him immediately and look at his hand. I see a bee, and its stinger is still stuck in his hand.

“Oh, that shit hurts,” I say. “Come on. I’ve got a tweezer to get it out.”

He follows me upstairs, and I get my tweezer out, turning around to look at his hand again. I frown. “Is it swelling up?”

“It hurts like a fucker,” he says, sweat beading his brow.

“Are you allergic?” I ask, wide-eyed.

He stares at me as though I’m mad and then coughs slightly. “My chest feels tight, Jesus. I think I am allergic. I’ve never been stung before.”

I take his hand and quickly pull the stinger out, wrapping it in a hand towel. “We need to get you to the emergency room.”

I hurry him downstairs, and I can hear his breathing getting labored. Luckily, I know of a hospital not far away because we drove by. We throw ourselves into the car, and I floor it. I scream at the guards to open the gate, and once they do, I rush into traffic, hazard lights on. I hoot as I weave in and out of traffic as fast as I can. It takes about ten minutes to reach the emergency room, and once there, I can hear he’s really struggling to breathe.

I get him out of the car and hurry him into the emergency waiting room. “Please, someone help!” I yell. “He’s been stung, and he’s allergic.”

Some nurses rush to us and usher him off while one nurse takes me to the front desk to complete some forms. I stare at the forms as if they come from another plant.

“I…uh…don’t know him that well,” I admit to the nurse, who gives me a rather judgmental look. I frown at her. “We only met recently. He was…visiting when he got stung by a bee.”

She takes the clipboard from me. “He’ll have to fill it out before he leaves then. You can take a seat, and someone will come to get you once he’s in the clear.”

I wait anxiously, sitting on the edge of the seat. Every time someone walks out from the ICU area, I look up hopefully. Oh God, I hope he didn’t die. That would complicate my current situation, and I’d also feel terrible because I’ve been such a bitch to him.

I eventually pick up a magazine and try to read it while I wait. Then I go through another. On the third one, a doctor comes out. “Is anyone here for Dominic Sorvino?”

“I am.” I jump up and hurry to him. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, he’ll be fine. He will need to carry an EpiPen with him going forward in case it happens again. We’ve issued three to him in the meantime. He has to stay for observation for an hour or so, but then you can take him home. He’s a bit groggy, but he should be fine. The nurse will take you to him.” The doctor smiles and heads off to his next patient, and I follow the nurse to a bed where Dominic is resting, looking a bit drunk.

I smile at him. “Hey, you look terrible.”

“I feel terrible,” he slurs, bobbing his head from side to side.

“Did you fill in the forms?” I ask.

“I spoke, a nurse wrote,” he says. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

In anticipation, I move my seat a little bit away from the bed, but he simply sways his head from side to side. “It hurts like a bitch. Look how swollen I am.”

He holds his hand up, and it does look terrible. I feel bad for him and give him a reassuring smile. “It’s karma. You were a dick to me, and this is how the universe paid you back.”

“I am a dick; I won’t deny it.” he grins at me, and I swear his eyes are cross-eyed. He rests back and closes his eyes, so I say, “Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” he mumbles. “Thanks.” He starts snoring shortly after that.

I sit there for an hour and a half before he wakes up again. He snorts as he wakes up and looks around, wincing. “My hand is so sore,” he groans. “This is some next-level bullshit.”

I smile and stand up. “Well, let’s get home, and I’ll make you something to eat. Food always makes me feel better.”

He grumbles, but he gets up, staggering a little. I grab the little packet marked for his attention with his EpiPens and painkillers and help him back to the car. There’s a ticket on the window because I didn’t move it, but I don’t care. It’s not my car. I help him into the passenger side before I go to the other side and climb in.

We drive in silence as I join traffic, making the quick trip home and stopping outside the gate. The guard comes to see who is in the car and then nods, opening the gate.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

I help Dominic into the house, and he grumbles, “I think I’m just going to take some painkillers and go to bed.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Did the doctor check out your other injuries?”

Dominic nods. “Just bruising. The painkillers will help.”

“All right, I’ll see you in the morning,” I say, handing his medication to him in his good hand.

After a few missteps, I help him up the stairs and to his room, then leave him there. I’m not undressing the guy and getting him in bed.

I go back to my room and flop onto my bed with a sigh.