Bert
By the time I returned to the villa, it was already early morning. I guided the car smoothly into the garage, turned off the engine, and pocketed the keys before circling to the passenger side to carry Bianca inside.
The moment my hand touched her, Bianca reacted instinctively, snapping into a defensive posture. Her uninjured right hand clamped tightly around my wrist with a grip so strong it felt as though she might crush the bones.
Her hyper-alertness was automatic, a reflex deeply ingrained. I could only assume this was the result of her upbringing and training as a mafia princess.
Looking at her pale, unconscious face, weakened yet still so guarded, I couldn’t bring myself to blame her.
“Bianca, it’s me, Bert,” I murmured softly, gently patting the back of her hand. My voice was low and soothing, as though I were trying not to wake her. “We’re home now. You’re safe. There’s no need to worry.”
I wasn’t imagining it-her grip loosened ever so slightly. The difference was so minute that it would have gone unnoticed without careful attention. But I knew she’d heard me.
“I’m going to carry you upstairs to your room now, okay? Could you let go of me?”
She didn’t respond.
Her iron grip hadn’t lessened much, and the pain in my wrist made me wonder if I’d actually heard my bones creak.
“Bianca, I think my wrist is about to snap,” I teased lightly, trying to ease the tension. “How are you so strong? You should consider a career as a weightlifter.”
“Does Garrett, as a surgeon, happen to specialize in orthopedics? Could he fix this?”
“If there are suddenly two patients, Mae’s going to have her hands full.”
“I’ll need to give Mae a raise…”
I rambled on for a while, my voice low and steady, talking about anything and everything. Bianca stayed silent, her breathing heavy, the air she exhaled warm against my skin.
Where was Garrett? I frowned, silently cursing his snail-like pace. Just as I was about to reach for my phone, I felt her grip gradually relax.
“Bianca?” I called softly, lightly touching her shoulder.
This time, she reacted. While still unconscious, she seemed to recognize my presence. When my hand brushed against her, she merely furrowed her brow, showing no further signs of resistance.
I exhaled in relief and carefully broke the act of carrying her into small, deliberate motions. It took nearly ten painstaking minutes, but I finally managed to lift her into my arms without triggering her defenses.
“Truly a princess,” I chuckled softly, cradling her as I carried her to one of the guest rooms on the second floor.
The Falcone family didn’t have many properties in Mexico, and I rarely stayed here. However, Mae, ever diligent, kept the place spotless. She didn’t limit her cleaning to the master suite and common areas-she maintained the guest rooms as well.
Thanks to Mae’s hard work, the guest room was ready for use. The bed was neatly made, though the blanket was a bit thin for the cooler weather.
I laid Bianca carefully on the bed and went to the closet to retrieve a warmer quilt. Draping it over her, I leaned closer when I heard her mumble faintly in her sleep.
“Bianca?” I whispered.
It wasn’t my imagination-she was murmuring something, asking for water.
“One moment,” I murmured, my voice low and comforting. Mae had already clocked out for the night, so I had no choice but to head to the kitchen myself.
“Wait here,” I said, gently patting her over the quilt. “I’ll be right back.”
To my relief, Bianca seemed to relax.
Her face, peaceful in sleep, still bore traces of pain and exhaustion. I couldn’t help but think that perhaps the only time Bianca could truly be still was when she was unwell.
I tiptoed out of the room and headed downstairs to the kitchen, searching the fridge for water. Mae had stocked it full of fresh produce and fruit earlier in the day. Moving aside the lettuce and broccoli, I finally found a bottle of mineral water in the back corner.
As I made my way back upstairs with the water, the doorbell rang, the sound urgent and sharp.
“Bert, are you okay?!”
The moment I unlocked the door and cracked it open, Garrett pushed his way inside, his expression frantic.
He grabbed my shoulders and scanned me up and down. “Oh God, there’s so much blood! Are you hurt? Let me see your wounds!”
“Stop, Garrett,” I said, cutting off his panicked tirade. “Why would you assume it’s me?”
Admittedly, my white shirt was stained with blood, particularly over the chest, making for a startling sight. But Garrett’s worry had started long before he saw me-his frantic knocking betrayed his anxiety.
“I overheard Joela on the phone…” Garrett wiped his face, clearly distressed.
“That can wait,” I interrupted. Joela’s affairs were of no concern to me, not when there were more pressing matters at hand. “Come upstairs. There’s someone who needs your help.”
“Severe blood loss, high fever, possible infection…” I summarized Bianca’s condition as I led him to the guest room.
This was Garrett’s first time meeting Bianca.
She was still unconscious.
“Beautiful girl,” Garrett remarked with a low whistle, his tone teasing. “Is she the girlfriend you picked up?”
I felt a headache brewing and reined in my irritation. “Garrett!”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll shut up.”
Garrett approached the bed and reached out to pull back the quilt covering Bianca.
As I set the water bottle on the nightstand, a sudden realization hit me. I spun around and shouted, “Garrett, wait!”
But I spoke too late.
The moment Garrett’s hand touched Bianca, she reacted.
“Ah!” Garrett let out a pained yell, tears springing to his eyes. “She’s crushing my hand! Let go! My God, it hurts!”
“This is murder! My hand is about to break!”
“Bianca, relax,” I said gently, placing a soothing hand on her back while trying to pry her grip off Garrett. “You’re safe here. There are no enemies.”
Bianca’s defensive reflexes were sharp and calculated, her grip strong enough to dislocate a grown man’s arm.
She was a professional, no doubt about it.
Thankfully, despite her instinctive reactions, Bianca was a good-natured person at heart. Slowly, she responded to my voice and let go of Garrett.
The moment he was free, Garrett stumbled back several steps, clutching his reddened arm. “She’s terrifying! I thought she was going to kill me!”
“What kind of person did you bring home, Bert? Do you even know who she is? That kind of killer instinct doesn’t belong to a normal girl.”
“Is she a criminal? Mafia?”
“Garrett, focus! Treat her!” I snapped.
“No way!” Garrett retreated another two steps, cradling his injured arm. “She might kill me!”
I felt a vein throb in my temple. Bianca’s distrust of strangers was certainly problematic.
Left with no other choice, I offered, “I’ll hold her hands to keep her from attacking you. Just come over and treat her.”
Garrett hesitated.
My patience, already strained by worry and frustration, was wearing thin. “Garrett!”
“Alright, alright!” he relented, though his eyes darted nervously between Bianca and me. “It’s just… she doesn’t attack you. That’s incredible!”
“Her defensive mode just… shuts off around you?”
“And you’re telling me she’s not your girlfriend?”