Chapter 18
Tessa moved toward it. Years of hypervigilance drove her forward. She reached the doorway. Then stopped. Zo was leaning heavily against the double-sink vanity. His jacket was gone. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned and hanging from his shoulders, stained a deep crimson. He pressed thick white gauze against his left side, directly over his ribs. His face was pale. His jaw was locked against pain. Cold sweat gleamed across his forehead. He had not summoned Dr. Evans. He was trying to handle the injury himself. “Mr. Rossi.” The words escaped Tessa before common sense could stop them. Zo’s head snapped upward. His eyes were wild with pain and adrenaline. His right hand immediately dropped toward his waistband, hovering over the grip of a compact pistol. When he recognized Tessa, some of the tension left him. He swayed against the marble counter.
“Go back to bed, Tessa.” His voice was rough. He pulled the gauze away to inspect the wound. Fresh blood ran down his side and soaked the waistband of his expensive trousers. It was a deep, jagged slash. A blade wound. Not a bullet. The Morettis had gotten close. Too close. Tessa did not leave. She looked at the blood. Her mind shifted instantly into the same clinical focus she used whenever Mia’s blood sugar entered dangerous territory. Panic was a luxury reserved for people with safety nets. Tessa had never had one. She entered the bathroom. The smell of blood and sweat filled the room. She opened the medical cabinet built into the wall. “Where is the suture kit?” “Tessa.” Zo’s tone hardened. “I said go.” “You’re bleeding on the marble.” She found a large sterile plastic box on the second shelf. She placed it on the counter and opened the latches. “If you pass out and hit your head, I have to explain to a house full of armed men why I let their boss bleed to death.” She looked at him. “I’m not doing that.”
